kitchen to table when no one was checking the contents. So, dirty clothing and linen probably wasn't counted — why should it be? But if you stole something off a wash line, or out of a pile of clean clothing intended for a particular person, it would be missed.
“So, we gets stuff tha' way, but if's dirty, it ain't wuth so much. ‘F it were just th' odd wipe we git from liftin' lay, wouldn' be wuth cleanin' — an' thas why most on liftin' lay don' clean whut they nobble, 'cause they gotta get glim fer it now so's they kin eat.” Bazie peered at Skif to see if he was following. “Us, we pass straight onta couple lads as has stalls in market, 'cause what we got's clean an' got no markin's on't. Looks jest like wha' ye'd sell t' market stall an' yer ol' mum croaked an' ye're droppin' 'er goods. We spread it 'round t' several lads so's it don' look bad.”
That made perfect sense. The used-clothing merchants buying the things had to know they were stolen, of course — either that, or they were idiots — but there was no other way to tell. And once Bazie's loot was mixed up with all the other things in a merchant's stall, it all looked perfectly ordinary. Servants often got worn, outgrown, or outmoded clothing from their masters as part of their wages or as a bonus, and most of that ended up with a used-clothing merchant. Then those who wished to appear well-to-do or seamstresses looking for usable fabric for better garments would find bargains among the bins. Pickpockets unlike Bazie's gang, who lifted used kerchiefs and the like — and outright muggers, who assaulted and stripped their victims bare — would have to sell their soiled goods to a rag man rather than directly to a stall holder.
“Me old mam made me learn th' sewin',” Bazie continued. “ 'M a pretty dab 'and at un. Mended stuff's wuth more'n tore-up, an' unpickin' the pretties makes 'em plain — well, like napkins. All it costs's time — an' hellfires, I got time!”
“Smart,” Skif said, meaning it. Bazie looked pleased.
“Some lads thinks as is sissy stuff, 'an' couldn' stick i' wi' us,” Deek put in, scornfully. “Some lads, sayin' no names but as rhymes with scare-up, thinks is a waste uv time.”
“Some lads'll end up under the beak inside a moon,” Lyle said lazily. “ 'Cause some lads kin ony think uv glim an' glimmers, an' don't go at thin's slow. I don' care, long's I gets m' dinner!”
Bazie laughed, as Skif nodded agreement vigorously. “Thas m' clever lads!” Bazie said approvingly. “Roof over t'head, full belly an' warm flop — thas' th' ticket. Glim an' glimmers kin wait on learnin t' be better nor good.”
“Righto,” Deek affirmed. “Takes a mort'o learnin'. They's old thieves, an' they's bold thieves, but they ain't no old, bold thieves.”
That seemed excellent advice to Skif, who stirred the cauldron with a will.
It wasn't until he began pulling garments out with the stick that Skif noticed his own clothing was in with the rest — and that Bazie had neatly mended and patched it while he was gone. He'd resewn Skif's clumsy work to much better effect, and Skif felt oddly touched by this considerate gesture.
Raf returned as he started on the next lot of purloined scarves, carrying a packet and another loaf of bread. “They's mort'o doin's over t' Hollybush,” he said as he handed Bazie the packet.
Skif's head snapped around. “What doin's?” he asked sharply.
“Dunno fer certain-sure,” Raf replied. “Summun sez a couple toughs come in an' wrecked t’ place, summun sez no,'twas a fight, an' ev'un sez summun's croaked, or near it. All I knows's theys beaks an' a Guard there now. Figgered ye shud know.”
Bazie mulled that over, as Skif stood there, stunned, the wash stick still in his hands. “Reckon five fer supper,” he said judiciously. “Huh.”
“I cud go wi'im arter dark,” Lyle offered. “We cud reck th' doin's.”
Bazie shook his head. “Nay, no goin' near — Raf! Ye good fer goin' out agin? Hev a drink i' th' Arms?”
The grandly named “King's Arms” was the nearest rival to the Hollybush, and its owner had no love for Kalchan or Uncle Londer. One reason for the rivalry was economic — the Arms didn't serve the kind of swill that the Hollybush did, and charged accordingly. Many, many of the poorest customers opted for quantity over quality, and their custom went to Kalchan. If anything bad had happened to the Hollybush or its owner, the buzz would be all over the Arms.
“Oh, aye!” Raf laughed. “They don' know me there, an' leastwise ye kin drink th' beer 'thout bein' choked.”
“Arms beer's nought so bad,” Bazie said complacently. “Here — ,” he flipped a fivepenny coin at Raf. “Get a drink and fill me can, an' come on back.”
Raf caught the coin right out of the air, picked up a covered quart beer pail, and saluted Bazie with two fingers. “I'm be back afore the bacon's fried,” he promised.
Skif could only wonder what had happened — and how Beel had known that it would. And what if Beel hadn't given him that timely warning? He could have walked straight into a fight, or a trap, or who knew what trouble.
