amounts of it. We could forbid the parents to supply it, but why inflict hardship on those who deserve it not? So — the stipend. All Trainees receive it alike. Pocket money, for small things. Since you have money already — ”
He paused.
And I am not asking you where it came from, nor demanding that you give it back, said the look that followed the pause.
“ — then you will have yours on the next Quarter-Day, with the others.”
“Oh. Uh — thank you — ” Skif, for once, felt himself at a loss for words. Blindsided, in fact. This wasn't something he had expected, another one of those unanticipated kindnesses. There was no earthly reason why the Heralds should supply the Trainees — him in particular — with pocket money. They already supplied food, clothing, wonderful housing, entertainment in the form of their own games, and the Bardic Collegium on the same grounds.
Why were they doing these things? They didn't have to. Trainees that didn't have wealthy parents could just do without pocket money.
But Alberich had already turned away. He brought out a longer knife, and was preparing the salle for another lesson in street fighting. That, Skif could understand, and he set himself to the lesson at hand.
* * * * * * * * * *
“It's a fool's bet,” Herald-Trainee Nerissa cautioned a fascinated Blue four weeks later. “Don't take it.”
But the look in her eyes suggested that although honesty had prompted the caution, Nerissa herself really, truly wanted to see Skif in action again.
Eight Trainees, two from Bardic Collegium and six from Herald's, and three Unaffiliated students, were gathered around Skif and a fourth Blue in the late afternoon sunshine on the Training Field.
The group surrounding Skif and the hapless Blue were just as fascinated as Nerissa, and just as eager. Skif himself shrugged and looked innocent. “Not a big bet,” he pointed out. “Just t'fix my window so's the breeze can get in and them — those — moths can't. He says he can, says he has, for himself and his friends, and I don't think it'd put him out too much.”
“It seems fair enough to me,” said Kris. “Neither one of you is wagering anything he can't afford or can't do.” He pointed at the Blue. “And you swore in the Compass Rose that Skif could never pull his trick on you, because you in particular and your plumb-line set in general were smarter than the Heraldic Trainees.”
The Blue's eyes widened. “How did you know that?” he gasped.
Kris just grinned. “Sources, my lad,” he said condescendingly, from the lofty position of a Trainee in his final year. “Sources. And I never reveal my sources. Are you going to take the bet, or not?”
The Blue's chin jutted belligerently. “Damn right I am!” he snapped.
“Witnessed!” called four Herald Trainees and one Bardic at once, just as Alberich came out to break the group up and set them at their archery practice.
At the end of practice, once Alberich had gone back into the salle, virtually everyone lingered — and Skif didn't disappoint them. He presented the astonished Blue with the good-luck piece that had been the object of the bet, an ancient silver coin, so worn away that all that could be seen were the bare outlines of a head. The coin had been in a pocket that the Blue had fixed with a buttoned-down flap, an invention against pickpockets of his own devising, that he was clearly very proud of.
In a panic, the boy checked the pocket. It was buttoned. He undid it and felt inside. His face was a study in puzzlement, as he brought out his hand. There was a coin-shaped lead slug in it.
Skif flipped his luck piece at him, and he caught it amid the laughter of the rest of the group. He was good- natured about his failure — something Skif had taken into consideration before making the bet — and joined in the laughter ruefully. “All right,” he said, with a huge sigh. “I'll fix your window.”
As the Blue walked off, consoled by two of his fellows, Herald-Trainee Coroc slapped Skif on the back with a laugh. “I swear, it's as good as having a conjurer about!” the Lord Marshal's son said. “Well done! How'd you think of slipping him that lead slug to take the place of his luck piece?”
Skif flushed a little; he was coming to enjoy these little tests and bets. Picking pockets was something he did fairly well, but he didn't get any applause for it out in the street. The best he could expect was a heavy purse and no one putting the Watch on him. This, however — he had an audience now, and he liked having an audience, especially an appreciative one.
“I figured I'd better have something when Kris told me that Henk had been a-boasting over in the Compass Rose, an' told me I had to uphold the Heralds' side,” Skif replied, with a nod to Kris. “We've all seen that luck piece of his, so it wasn't no big thing to melt a bit of lead and make a slug to the right size. After that, I just waited for him to say something I could move in on.”
