Nothing more — but nothing less. And right now, he was settling for less.
Still, that Brother Halcom had a point, too. He'd seemed to think that the two highborn nobles that had been robbed had pretty much deserved it and probably Lord Rovenar had done a dirty deed or two in his life, and Skif had been nothing more than the instrument of payback. That wasn't a bad thought.
Brother Halcom knew the highborn…
Brother Halcom might know enough to give Skif a clue or two to the identity of the one highborn that Skif really wanted. So maybe Skif ought to see if he could get Brother Halcom to talk.
Finding someone to hurt that he knew deserved it might feel better than this random lashing out.
And maybe, just maybe, Brother Halcom would know who the smooth-voiced highborn was.
* * * * * * * * * *
Skif watched Brother Halcom from a distance for a full week before making a tentative approach. He learned two things in that time; Brother Halcom was from a highborn family, and he was here because he wanted to be. Not that his family hadn't tried to get their “deformed” offspring out of sight, but they'd chosen a much more comfortable — and secluded — Temple for him to enter. Halcom had stood up to them, and threatened to make a scene if he wasn't allowed his choice.
That gave Skif a bit more respect for the man, and Halcom's value rose again in his eyes when he realized that Halcom didn't shirk the dirty work after all. He just did the small things, rather than the large. He did his share of cleaning — usually cleaning up after the Healer Trainees when they'd finished treating a sick or injured animal. When there was a beast that needed to be tended all night, it was Halcom, like as not, who stood the vigil. And when an animal was dying, it was Halcom who stayed with it, comforting it as best he could.
Finally, Skif found a moment to make a cautious overture to the young priest. Halcom had hobbled out to the stable to assist, not a Healer Trainee, but a farrier who often donated his time and expertise, and Skif was also called on to help. The injury was a split and overgrown hoof on a lamed carthorse; Halcom was asked to hold the horse's head, since he, more than anyone else, was able to keep animals calm during treatment. And Skif was there to hold the hoof while the farrier trimmed it and fastened a special shoe to help the hoof heal.
When the farrier had left, and Skif had taken the horse back to its stall, Halcom seemed disinclined to leave. “You've been doing good work here, friend,” Halcom said, looking around at the rest of the stable without getting up from the hay bale he was sitting on. “I'm glad you came here. Poor old Brother Absel just isn't up to the heavy work anymore.”
“Thankee, sor,” Skif said, keeping to his persona of country bumpkin, and bobbing his head subserviently. “Would ye might be a-givin' me a character, too? That be what'm here for.”
“I could probably do better than that, if what you want is stable work,” Halcom admitted, but with a raised eyebrow. “I've no doubt I could recommend you to several people for that. Is that what you want?”
“Oh, aye, sor,” Skif replied, feigning eagerness.
“Balderdash,” Halcom countered, startling Skif. “You're better than that. You don't really want to be a lowly stable hand for the rest of your life, do you?” His eyes gleamed with speculation. “You are much too intelligent for that. What are you aiming at? Master of Horse? Chief Coachman?”
“Ah — ,” Skif stammered, before he got his wits together. “But I've got no training, sor. Dunno much but burthen beasts, and never learnt to drive.”
Halcom waved that aside as of no consequence. “Nor have most boys your age when they go into service. As small as you are, though — learning to handle the reins could be problematic. I'm not sure you could control a team.”
“I be stronger nor I look, sor,” Skif said, stung.
Halcom laughed, but it didn't have that sly, mean sound to it that Skif had half expected. “Oh, you'd make a fine smart little footman, sitting up beside your master on a fashionable chariot, but I'll tell you the truth, lad, there is not a single highborn or man of means and fashion that I'd feel comfortable sending you to in that capacity. The good men have all the loyal footmen they need — and the others — ,” he shook his head. “I won't send you to a bad master.”
“Ye might tell me who they be, sor?” Skif offered tentatively. “If I didna know it, I might take a place I was offered — ”
“So you can avoid them?” Halcom nodded thoughtfully. “That's no bad idea. Clever of you to think of it.” And he proceeded, with forthright candor, to outline the character of every man he thought Skif ought not to take service with. He was so candid that Skif was, frankly, shocked. Not at the litany of faults and even vices — his upbringing in the worst part of Haven had exposed him to far worse than Halcom revealed. No, it was that Halcom was not at all reticent about unrolling the listing of faults of his “own kind.”
As Halcom spoke, Skif found himself at war within himself. He wanted to trust Halcom, and he had sworn
