Free Take a Thief by Mercedes Lackey Page B

up and Deek sorted through the things that Lyle and Raf had brought back.
    Presently he looked up. "Six spoons, two knifes, packet uv needles, three uv pins, empty needlecase, four spinnin' bobs," he said. "Reckon thas 'nuf wi' wot we alriddy got?"
    Bazie nodded. "Arter supper ye go out t' Clave. Ye kin take napkins t'
    Dooly at same time. An' half th' wipes. Lyle, ye'll take t' rest uv th' goods t'
    Jarmin."
    "Kin do," Lyle replied genially, taking the last of the napkins from Skif.
    "Young'un, git that pile an' dunk in wash, eh?"

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    He pointed to a pile of dingy shirts and smallclothes in the corner with his chin. "Thas ourn," he added by way of explanation. "Ye kin let fire die a bit, so's its cool 'nuf fer the silks when ourn's done."
    Skif had wondered— the stuff didn't seem to be of the same quality as the goods that the boys brought back to Bazie. Obediently, he picked up the pile of laundry and plunged it into the wash cauldron and began stirring.
    "Ye moght be a wonderin' why we does all this washin' an wimmin stuff,"
    Bazie said conversationally. "I tell ye. Fust, I tell m'boys allus t' nobble outa the dirty stuff— 'cause thas inna pile, an nobody ain't counted it yet.
    See?"
    Skif nodded; he did see. It was like playing a page at Lord Orthallen's meals. Food was checked before it became a dish for a meal, it was checked for pilferage before it was taken to the table, and it was checked when it came back to the kitchen as leftovers. But there was that moment of opportunity while it was in transition from kitchen to table when no one was checking the contents. So, dirty clothing and linen probably wasn't counted— why should it be? But if you stole something off a wash line, or out of a pile of clean clothing intended for a particular person, it would be missed.
    "So, we gets stuff tha' way, but if's dirty, it ain't wuth so much. 'F it were just th' odd wipe we git from liftin' lay, wouldn' be wuth cleanin'— an'
    thas why most on liftin' lay don' clean whut they nobble, 'cause they gotta get glim fer it now so's they kin eat." Bazie peered at Skif to see if he was following. "Us, we pass straight onta couple lads as has stalls in market,
    'cause what we got's clean an' got no markin's on't. Looks jest like wha'
    ye'd sell t' market stall an' yer ol' mum croaked an' ye're droppin' 'er goods.
    We spread it 'round t' several lads so's it don' look bad."
    That made perfect sense. The used-clothing merchants buying the things had to know they were stolen, of course— either that, or they were idiots— but there was no other way to tell. And once Bazie's loot was mixed up with all the other things in a merchant's stall, it all looked perfectly ordinary. Servants often got worn, outgrown, or outmoded clothing from their masters as part of their wages or as a bonus, and most of that ended up with a used-clothing merchant. Then those who wished to 54

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    appear well-to-do or seamstresses looking for usable fabric for better garments would find bargains among the bins. Pickpockets unlike Bazie's gang, who lifted used kerchiefs and the like— and outright muggers, who assaulted and stripped their victims bare— would have to sell their soiled goods to a rag man rather than directly to a stall holder.
    "Me old mam made me learn th' sewin'," Bazie continued. " 'M a pretty dab 'and at un. Mended stuff's wuth more'n tore-up, an' unpickin' the pretties makes 'em plain— well, like napkins. All it costs's time— an'
    hellfires, I got time!"
    "Smart," Skif said, meaning it. Bazie looked pleased.
    " Some lads thinks as is sissy stuff, 'an' couldn' stick i' wi' us," Deek put in, scornfully. " Some lads, sayin' no names but as rhymes with scare-up, thinks is a waste uv time."
    " Some lads'll end up under the beak inside a moon," Lyle said lazily. "
    'Cause some lads kin ony think uv glim an' glimmers, an' don't go at thin's slow. I don' care, long's I gets m' dinner!"
    Bazie laughed, as Skif