“But when did you get the coin?” Coroc wanted to know. “I mean, Alberich broke us up right after he took the bet, and you didn't get anywhere near — ,”
Coroc stopped talking, and his mouth made a little “oh” when he realized what Skif had done.
“ — you took it off him before the bet!” he exclaimed.
“When there was all that joshing and shoving, sure,” Skif agreed. “I knew he'd take the bet; after all that about his special pocket, he'd never have passed it up. He figured it'd be a secret I wouldn't reckon out, and I'd lose. But even if Kris hadn't told me, I'd have figured it anyway,” he added. “The button shows, when you look right, and he ain't no seamstress, that buttonhole ain't half as tight as it could be.” That last in a note of scorn from one who had long ago learned to make a fine buttonhole. “Anyway, I had to have the slug, 'cause I knew once he took the bet he'd be a-fingering that pocket t' make sure his luck piece was there.”
“It's a good thing you haven't shown up a Gift other than moderate Thoughtsensing,” Kris laughed, “or he'd have been accusing you of Fetching the thing!”
Skif preened himself, just a little, under all the attention. If having Skif around was entertaining for his fellow Trainees, the admiration each time he pulled off something clever was very heady stuff for Skif. He'd begun beautifully, a couple of days after full classes resumed, when Kris's best friend Dirk had asked innocently where he'd come from and what his parents did. He'd put on a pitiful act, telling a long, sad, and only slightly embellished story of his mother's death, the near-slavery at his uncle's hands, his running away, and his tragic childhood in the slums near Exile's Gate. All the while, he was slowly emptying goodhearted Dirk's pockets.
“But how did you live?” the young man exclaimed, full of pity for him. “How did you manage to survive?”
By this time, of course, since everyone in the three Collegia loved a tale, he'd drawn a large and sympathetic audience.
“Oh,” Skif had said, taking Dirk's broad hand, turning it palm upwards, and depositing his belongings in it. “I turned into a thief, of course.”
Poor Dirk's eyes had nearly bulged out of his head, and this cap to a well-told tale had surprised laughter out of everyone else. Word very quickly spread, but because of the prankish nature of Skif's lifting, there wasn't a soul in Herald's Collegium, and not more than one or two doubters in Bardic and Healers', that thought him anything other than a mischief maker, and an entertaining one at that. Those few were generally thought of as sour-faced pessimists and their comments ignored.
Not, Skif thought to himself somberly as he accepted the accolades of his fellows with a self-effacing demeanor, but what they mightn't be right about me, 'cept for Cymry.
Except for Cymry. That pretty much summed it up. Everyone among the Heraldic Trainees was willing to accept Skif as a harmless prankster because he'd been Chosen, because Companions didn't Choose bad people. And if anyone among the teachers thought differently, they were keeping their doubts to themselves.
“Time to get to the baths,” Kris reminded them. “Otherwise the hot water's going to be gone.” That sent everyone but Skif on a run for their quarters. Skif lingered, not because he didn't care about getting a hot bath, but because Alberich had given him an interesting look that he thought was a signal.
He made certain that no one was looking back at him, then sidled over to the salle entrance. Alberich was, as he had thought, waiting just inside.
“Working, and working well, is your plan of misdirection,” the Weaponsmaster observed calmly.
“So far.” Skif waited for the rest. There had to be more; Alberich wasn't going to give him a look like that just to congratulate him on his cleverness.
“Would it be that you would know the voice of Jass' master, heard you it again?” Alberich asked.
Skif felt a little thrill run through him. So Alberich was going to use him! He wasn't just going to have to sit around while the Weaponsmaster prowled the slums in his sell-sword guise.
“I think so,” Skif said, after giving the question due consideration. “But, he'd have to be talking — well, he'd have to be talking like he thought he was way above the person he was talking to.”
“Condescending.” Alberich nodded. “That, I believe, I can arrange. There is to be a gathering of Lord Orthallen's particular friends tonight. Get you to that place without challenge, I can do. It is for you to get yourself into a place of concealment where you can hear and observe, but not be noticed.”
“Oh, I can do that!” Skif promised recklessly. “You just watch!”
“I intend to, since it will be myself at this gathering, as guard to Selenay with Talamir,” Alberich replied. “I wish you at the door into the Herald's Wing at the dishwashing bell.”
He turned and retreated into the shadows of the salle, and Skif whirled and ran for the Collegium.
