A shiver ran down his back — for his own near miss, and not for anything that might have happened to Kalchan. In fact, he sincerely hoped that Kalchan was at the very least cooling his heels in the gaol. Given all the rotten things that Kalchan had done — just the things that Skif knew about — he had a lot coming to him.
He shook his head and went back to his stirring. Bazie had been watching him closely, and seemed satisfied with what he saw. “Ye mot not hev a home,” he ventured.
Skif shrugged. “Hell. Bargain's a bargain. Ye said, a moon, I'll not 'spect a flop afore that. ‘F nobuddy's there, I kin sneak in t' sleep. I kin sleep on roof, or stairs, or summat.” He managed a weak grin. “Or even Lord Orthallen's wash house.”
Bazie now looked very satisfied; evidently Skif had struck exactly the right note with him. No pleading, no asking for special consideration — he'd got that already. Just matter-of-fact acceptance.
'Sides,'tis only for a moon. That ain't long. Even in winter.
Actually, the wash house wasn't a bad idea. Skif had slept there once or twice before, when Kalchan had decided that in addition to a set of stripes with the belt, he didn't deserve a bed, and locked him out in the courtyard overnight. From dark until dawn the only people there would be the laundry maids, who slept there, and none of them would venture up to the storage loft after dark. The ones that weren't young and silly and afraid of spirits were old and too tired to do more than drop onto the pallets and snore. It would be cold, but no worse than the Hollybush.
The only difficulty would be getting in and out, since beaks and private guards were on the prowl after dark in force.
Well, he'd deal with the problems as they came up and not before. Hard on me if I can't slip past a couple beaks.
He didn't have very long to wait for his news; by the time the next batch of laundry was in the cauldron, Raf returned with Bazie's pail of beer and a mouth full of news.
“Well!” he said, as soon as Deek let him in. “Ol' Londer did hisself no good this time! What I heerd — 'e cheated a mun, sommun wi' some brass, an' th' mun got a judgment on 'im. So's the judgment sez the mun gets Hollybush. On'y nobuddy tol' yon Kalchan, or Kalchan figgered 'e weren't gonna gi'e up, or Londer tol' Kalchan t' keep mun out. So mun comes wi' bullyboys t' take over, an' Kalchan, 'e sez I don' think so, an lays inta 'em wi' iron poker!”
“Hoo!” Skif said, eyes wide with glee. “Wisht I’da been there!”
“Oh, nay ye don' — cuz it went bad-wrong,” Raf corrected with relish. “Th' cook, she comes a-runnin' when she hears th' ruckus, lays in w' stick, an th' girl, she tries t' run fer it, an' slippet an starts t' scream, an' that brings beaks. So beaks get inta it, an' they don' love Kalchan no more nor anybuddy else, an' they commences t' breakin' heads. Well! When 'tis all cleared up, they's a mun dead wi' broke neck, an' Kalchan laid out like cold fish, t'cook ravin', an' t'girl — ,” Raf gloated, “ — t'girl, she turn out t'be bare fifteen, no schoolin', an' pretty clear Kalchan's been atop 'er more'n once!”
“Fifteen!” Skif's eyes bulged. “I'da swore she was eighteen, sure! Sixteen, anyroad!”
Then again — he'd simply assumed she was. There wasn't much of her, and she wasn't exactly talkative. She had breasts, and she was of middling height, but some girls developed early. Wasn't there a saying that those who were a bit behind in the brains department were generally ahead on the physical side?
“Thas’ whut Londer, 'e tried t'say, but they got th' girl's tally from Temple an' she's no more'n bare fifteen an' that jest turned!” Raf practically danced in place. “So ol' Londer, he got it fer not schoolin' th' girl, an' puttin' er where Kalchan cud tup 'er, an not turnin' over Hollybush proper. Cook's hauled off someplace, still ravin'. Girl's taken t' Temple or summat. Kalchan, he's wust, if'e wakes up, which Healers sez mebbe and mebbe not, 'e's up fer murder an fer tuppin' the girl afore she be sixteen.”
Skif had to sit down. Kalchan and Uncle Londer had always come out on top of things before. He could scarcely believe that they weren't doing so now.
“Good thing ye weren' there,” Bazie observed mildly. “Kalchan 'ud say t'was you was tuppin' girl.”
“Me? Maisie?” Skif grimaced. “Gah, don' thin' so — ugh! Druther turn priest!”
“Well, wouldna' be call fer th' law if 'twas you. Couple kids foolin' 'round's a thing fer priests, not the law. Summun old's Kalchan, though, thas different, an' reckon 'f ol' Londer don' 'ang 'is boy out t' dry, he'll say 'twas you.” Bazie rubbed his chin speculatively. “Don’ 'magine girl 'ud conterdick 'im.”
“Don’ fergit, she's in Temple,” Lyle piped up. “Dunno 'f they'd git 'er t'talk. Mebbe use Truth Spell.”
“It don' matter,” Skif decided. “I don' want nothin' t'do wi' em. I ain't goin' back.”
Londer wouldn't know where he was, nor would Kalchan, who was, in any event, in no position to talk. The trouble was Beel knew he had stayed away. So would Beel send anyone looking for him? And should he tell Bazie
