With dark, wide-brimmed hats pulled down over their ears to keep the tips from showing, Pipper and Binkton stepped out from the side entrance of the millinery and headed for the small inn Lady Jane had recommended as being one frequented by people of limited means. “The food is good, and you’ll fit right in with other urchins who gather there. Just keep your hats on and don’t let them see your eyes, and don’t flash any silver or gold.”
On the street, Binkton paused a moment to examine Pipper, who peered out from under his jammed-down hat like a mouse peeking out from a hole, and said, “Gah, Pip, but we look like a couple of simpletons.”
“Simpletons or no, Bink, I think we need some seedier clothes. Right now we look too prosperous.-Oh, wait, all we have to do is smear a bit of dirt here and there and on our faces too; then we’ll fit right in.”
In distaste, Binkton stared at the gutter, running as it did with a thin layer of water over a grayish sludge. “Dirt?”
“No, Bink, not from the gutter. We’ll find a better grade of mud.”
A quarter candlemark later, a pair of street urchins entered the common room of the Yellow Lantern.
“Two bowls of your stew,” said Pipper as they passed the barkeep on the way to a table.
“I need to see the color of your coin, lads,” replied the man.
Pipper tossed two coppers onto the counter; then he and Binkton sat down and waited to be served.
“When are we going to get some weapons, Pip?” asked Binkton. “You a sling and some bullets, me a bow and some arrows.”
“Bink, I don’t think an urchin bearing a bow and a quiver full of arrows would blend in.”
“Barn rats! You’re right.”
“But we can both carry slings and bullets,” said Pipper.
Binkton sighed and said, “I’m not as good with a sling as you are, Pip, and not nearly as good as I am with a bow. But I suppose a sling’ll have to do.”
The buccen fell silent as their stew and bread were served. But as soon as the man walked away, Pip said, “Now, here’s my plan. . ”
Every day and part of each eve they spent on the streets of Rivers End, and over a fortnight they made friends with “other” urchins, at times springing for a meal for an underfed kid at the Yellow Lantern, and at other times sitting quietly in doorways and watching the traffic flow-pedestrians and carts and carriages and riders and the like. And idly they chatted with their newfound acquaintances-cadgers all-occasionally bringing up the subject of Queeker and Tark, but none of the urchins knew anyone by that name, though descriptions of the pair sounded familiar.
Most of the talk, though, was about the number of shops that had been damaged, burglarized, or set afire, and the fact that the city watch seemed helpless in the face of these deeds. Many businesses had begun paying someone for “protection” from such unfortunate events, which gave rise to the idea of a shadowy, so-called crime lord of Rivers End, yet none of the urchins knew who he might be. And just that morning another store had been broken into and the merchandise strewn about.
“It’s the crime lord’s doings, right enough,” said Cricket, the smallest of the urchins, who stood about Pipper’s height. “Wos a warning to pay up.”
“Maybe it’s Tark,” said Binkton. “He’d do such a thing.”
“The rumor is that the crime lord hisself, well, he’s someone in high circles,” said Weasel, the skinny lad pointing a finger straight up toward the sky for emphasis.
“Well, that lets Tark and Queeker out,” said Pipper.
“Wot is it y’ve got agin this here Tark and Queeker?” asked Tope, wiping a sleeve across his ever-running nose.
“They stole our bindle,” said Pipper. “Took nearly everything we have.”
“The dirty rats,” growled Cricket. “No wonder you’re looking for them.”
Weasel nodded and said, “Me and my friends, we’ll all help you.”
“Ri’,” agreed Tope.
“We’ll keep an eye out,” said Cricket.
“Ri’,” again agreed Tope.
But six full months passed altogether with nary a sight of either Tark or Queeker, and the buccen were quite discouraged. The reports of some shadowy crime lord continued to circle, but as to just who he might be, neither the urchins nor Warrows came across even a rumor as to his name.
Even though disheartened, Pipper and Binkton had never considered making their way back to the Bosky. Still enraged in spite of the lack of success, Binkton often declared, “We can’t let those Ruck-loving, rat-eating, thieving bullies win, Pip.” Pipper would sigh and nod his agreement, though his own anger had long since vanished. Even so, a pledge was a pledge, and Pipper was a Warrow through and through, and, as was the wont of his kind, it was ingrained in his very fiber that a mission undertaken was to be finished. After all, it took a millennium for Gwylly and Faeril, the Lastborn Firstborns, to finish the mission begun a thousand years before by Tomlin and Petal, distant ancestors of theirs.
And so they continued their surveillance of the streets, cadging a few coins from passersby, to pay for the rent and food. .
It was Binkton who finally spotted Queeker, the small, skinny man just entering a leather-goods store.
“Come on, Pip,” snarled Binkton, fumbling in his pocket for his sling, “let’s get that son of a Spawn.”
“No, Bink, no!”
Binkton whirled on Pipper. “What?”
“We need to follow him so that he’ll lead us to our chest.”
Binkton stood glowering at Pipper, but then took a deep breath and slowly let it out and nodded. “You’re right, Pip. We’ll deal out swift and sure justice in good time, then.”
“Right,” said Pipper. “And surely he will lead us to Tark, too.”
Again Binkton nodded, and then scowled. “Speaking of Tark, there he is.”
Outside but looking in the window of the leather-goods store stood the burly man.
“Come on, Bink. Let’s see what they’re up to.”
Like a couple of disinterested street children, the buccen meandered down the opposite side of the crooked lane. Inside the store they could see Queeker talking to a young woman, who had a look of distress upon her face. Queeker pointed over his shoulder at Tark. Moments later she handed the skinny man a small pouch, and Queeker stepped out into the street. Laughing, the two went on down the way and across the street to the very next establishment, where once again Tark hulked at the window, while Queeker went inside.
Opposite the leather-goods store, the buccen could see the woman inside weeping.
“You watch them, Bink,” said Pipper. “I’m going to talk to her.”
“Right, Pip, but you and I both know what they’re doing.”
Moments later, Pipper was back at Binkton’s side. “As we suspected, they’re collecting protection money.”
They followed the pair the rest of the afternoon, always keeping to doorways and alley openings and other such concealment. Finally, Tark and Queeker seemed finished for the day, for they headed down a twisting street and entered no more establishments. At last they came to a small yellow house and unlocked the door and went inside.
“That’s where our chest will be,” gritted Binkton.
“Perhaps,” replied Pipper. “But we need to wait and see.”
They took station where they could watch the front of the dwelling.
A candlemark later, as evening fell, Tark and Queeker emerged. Queeker locked the door, and then he and his burly companion went back toward town, Tark whistling a tuneless air.
“Now what?” whispered Binkton. “Follow them some more? Me, I’d rather get our chest if it’s in there.”
“So would I, Bink. But if we can, I’d also like to find their stash of ill-gotten gains and give it all back to the merchants.”
“Good idea,” whispered Binkton, and he pulled the long piece of wire out from his belt.
As soon as they were certain Tark and Queeker were well out of earshot and sight, the two buccen slipped through the shadows and across the street. Binkton peered in the dim light at the lock. It was a new one, made of brass hanging through the hasp shackle. Moments later- snick! – the lock sprang open.
