Bazie had strict rules about that, too — not the least because if by some horrible accident someone was hurt, it could be a hanging offense. It made no sense to court that kind of trouble all for the sake of some loot you could get another time. Better to drop everything and run if it all went bad. Even if you were one of a team, there was no point in coming to the rescue when that would only mean that two of you would be caught instead of one.
The worst that would happen to any of them would be some time in gaol, and perhaps a beating administered by the victim; only Raf had a previous offense against him, and he would take care to give another name if he was caught. Bazie had coached Skif on this with great care. The very best ploy was to get rid of anything you had on you, so you'd be clean. If you couldn't do that, the next best was to act scared, and cry and carry on and say that you were starving, had no job, and couldn't get one, then produce a convincing cough as if you were very sick. None of them were so well-fed that they looked prosperous, though none of them ever went hungry either, and they could probably carry the story off as long as the beaks didn't get involved. Lyle, with his innocent face and ability to make his eyes seem twice their size, had gotten away with that more than once.
Wish I could, Skif thought with envy. But — Lyle was another on the liftin' lay, and it was easier to get away with that when you were caught out on the street than it was when you were caught in someone's house.
Raf was sitting up with Bazie, although Deek and Lyle had already gone to bed. Their voices came easily through the shutters of his bed. “Lissen, Bazie, Midwinter Fair's a-comin', an' I'm thinkin' we should be workin' it in twos,” Raf said quietly. “One liftin', an' one t'carry. Mebbe I'm bein' nervy, but I don' like t'idea uv yon white shirt sniffin' round.”
“You reckon?” Bazie sounded interested. “Hadn' tried that afore, hevwe?”
“Ain't's risky. Reckon I take's the young'un, Lyle take Deek. An ev'ry time we gets a lift, we takes it t' carrier. Carrier brings it here. Then no matter how wrong 't all goes, ain't no'un caught wi' more'n one lift on'im.” Raf sounded very sure of himself, and truth to tell, Skif agreed with him. It would be a lot more work that way for the carrier, who would have to run back and forth between wherever the Fair they were working was being held, and here, but Raf was right. No matter what happened, no matter what went wrong, no one would be caught with more loot than a single kerchief or pouch.
“Som'thin' got ye spooked?” Bazie asked shrewdly. Skif could imagine Raf's shrug. “Can't 'magine white shirts lookin' fer lifters.”
“Mebbe. Somethin' i' th' air. Not like white shirts t' be i' this t' th' chancy parts'uv town. Somethin's up. An' — ,” Raf paused. “Lots'uv forners pretendin' not t'be forners lurkin' about, i'taverns, askin' questions, little too casual- like.”
“Na, ye stay clear'uv them, boy!” There was real alarm in Bazie's voice. “Tha's stuff fer th' highborns! Ain't no call t'get mixed up wi' them!”
“Eh.” Raf agreed, but he still sounded worried. “Bazie, ye gotta wonder — how long afore their bizness gets down amongst us? Ye know whut they sez — rotten apple falls fastest and futhest.”
“On'y thin' you an' me an' the likes'uv us got t' 'ave t'do wi' them is t' get out uv way when they falls.”
And that seemed to be the end of that. Skif was asleep before Raf helped Bazie into bed.
* * * * * * * * * *
When the Midwinter Fairs began, the first thing they had to do was try and figure out which ones they would work, because every other thief and pickpocket in Haven would be doing the same. Bazie had a shrewd way of eliminating them, based on the number of beaks assigned to each, the general level of prosperity, and the number of drunks by midafternoon. He wanted a moderate number of beaks, a slightly-better-than-middle level of prosperity, and a high level of drunks. So, not too surprisingly, he decided that they should work the Fair associated with the Brewers Guild. He also picked one very large Fair held just outside the city, where there were going to be a large number of tent taverns because it was playing host to a series of contests among performers. Not Bards; in fact, Bards were excluded. These were to be contests among ordinary musicians with no Gifts.
He chose a third Fair for no reason that Skif could tell, but Raf and Deek grinned over it so broadly that he figured he'd get the joke when he saw it.
The last chosen was the first Fair of the seven days of Midwinter Festival; Lyle went out with Deek early in the afternoon, with Skif and Raf following about a candlemark later.
It was an overcast day, the still air with a soft feeling about it, and humid. The clouds hung low, so low they looked about to touch the roofs of the buildings to either side of the narrow street. Skif kept looking up as they walked down the streets, heading for the square where the Fair had been set up. Weather like this meant snow, the kind that packed together easily.
He wasn't disappointed; it came drifting down shortly after they got on their way, big, fat, fluffy flakes of it.
“Is snow good or bad fer bizness?” Skif asked anxiously. Midwinter had never been more than a date to him before this; he'd avoided the Fairs, since he hadn't any money to spend and kids as ragged as he'd been back in the bad Kalchan days were generally chased away by stall holders and beaks. Why bother to linger about the edges of a place you wouldn't be allowed into? So he hadn't any idea what to expect, or whether weather would make any difference in the number of people crowding the aisles between the stalls.
