“Do more than that, Tapper,” said Markham with new vigor in his voice. “Tell Clyde that there’s a lucky in it for him, too, if he gets the boy out of the workhouse without attracting attention. Wait a minute,” the fat trader added as Tapper started to leave. “Perhaps I should speak to Clyde myself. You two meet me at the Four Pots tonight.”
“About nine,” Tapper said as he left. He knew the little tavern well, and knew that Sharp Clyde would have no objections to going there either, for it was out of the way and safe for meetings of this nature, since thieves seldom went to it.
When the nondescript Tapper had gone, Markham took the note and burned it, then broke up the ash into powder.
Finding the parts of a key in the message told Markham all he needed to know. No matter what the note seemed to say, the boy was very, very important to the Balance. Of course, this fact could not be conveyed directly in writing, in case the paper intended for Markham found its way into the wrong hands. But it was now obvious that, for some reason, the skinny little urchin from Old City’s slums was thought to be so vital that no hint of his importance must be revealed even if the boy’s life was at risk.
Markham knew that his duty was to do everything possible, short of revealing the organization’s interest in him, to get Gord out of the workhouse and located elsewhere, preferably in a place where he could be overseen and would not be so vulnerable to other sorts of outside influences and threats. No, that last was too much of an assumption… Markham decided that before the meeting tonight, he would seek more detailed instructions as to just what he should do in this matter. Cursing himself for not having deciphered the message without Tapper’s help, the fat trader hurried out to atone for his stupidity.
“I’ve made a small fortune this day, barkeep! Ale or wine for all of these good patrons gathered round the bar, and for yourself too!”
The stolid proprietor of the Four Pots nodded and touched his forelock in thanks and respect. “Thanks, Trader Markham. Right happy to hear you’ve done well… as are the fine souls here who will be glad to drink to your health and prosperity-right, lads?”
“Aye!” came a chorus from the seven or eight others in the immediate area. “To your health and fortune, trader!” they added, quaffing the drinks that the tavernkeeper hastened to deliver to them.
Markham beamed, swigged a good portion of his dark beer, and casually looked around the place. He noticed two men sitting at a back table idly playing a game of plaques. The fat trader ambled over to the pair and watched the play for a minute. “May I join the game?” he asked amiably.
“Why not, friend?” one of the men said, barely glancing up from his study of the tableau on the stained wood. “We can use some fresh coin.”
“Barman! A round for me and these two here. They’ll soon be making me richer still, and I’ll want them happily oiled before that.”
Nobody in the place paid any attention to the three gamers thereafter. Markham was well known as a drab-pincher. Although his largess tonight must mean he had indeed managed to cheat some unfortunate customer out of much silver, he’d never spend that much on drink nor lose it in a game of chance. The plaques game would involve nothing more than brass and bronze coins, perhaps a copper in a big pot. Watching such a contest was about as exciting as viewing the wet rings on the table as they were slowly absorbed by the wood and dried away by the air. For all the other patrons were concerned, Mark-ham and the other two didn’t exist after the first flurry of excitement.
“Two zees on that one!” The fat trader said this loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. Then, under his breath, he added, “The lad has promise if we can train him. Can you manage to get him out?”
“And another!” Clyde cried out in the same loud tone as he tossed three bronze coins onto the table in answer to Markham’s bet. “In time, I am sure of it,” he said softly.
Quietly, Markham said, “Do so, and you’ve earned a lucky.” Then, loudly, looking at Tapper, “And what about you, friend?”
“I’ll match the three zees, never fear!” Tapper replied, then whispered, “What’s the boy to be trained as, a thief?”
“Can’t be done,” Clyde said in a hushed voice. “He has to be sponsored, and that’d attract attention.” He revealed his plaques then, and the three talked loudly about it, for he had won the hand. Between plays, however, the undertone of conversation progressed. Clyde was to get the boy apprenticed to the Beggars’ Union. That was the best prospect any of them could come up with.
“Enough!” Markham rose with a sour look “You two have managed to reduce my profits to nothing in the space of an hour. I’m for home and bed, a poorer and sadder man.”
“Bah,” Tapper said, looking at the coins in front of him. “You lost but a copper or two in total.”
“I’m an honest trader, not some rich noble. Besides, I swear I’m down twice that sum,” the fat man said as he stumped from the tavern. Several of the customers laughed at his display, but Markham didn’t mind. All had occurred as he’d hoped. Tapper and Clyde thought that they had determined the course of apprentice beggar for the boy. All the while, however, Markham had steered them to it-as instructed by the man he took orders from, the learned sage…
…No. He mustn’t even think of that name. In any event, it was out of his hands now. Sharp Clyde would manage things from here on. If he succeeded, then another would take over. Who that was, even Markham didn’t know. It was enough that his part had gone smoothly and as planned.
Tapper and Clyde spent a little more time and money at the Four Pots so as not to arouse suspicion. The place was frequented mostly by laborers and the common workers from the brewery nearby, but there was no harm in avoiding unnecessary risks. One could never be certain who was a spy, an informant, or the like.
“I cursed my assignment to the workhouse,” Clyde said quietly to Tapper. “Now it seems lucky indeed that I pissed off the captain and got the Old Citadel assignment as punishment.”
“Not much there in the way of income for a thief, though,” Tapper observed.
Clyde grinned. “I thought so at first, but there are plenty of coins to be picked up-bribes for adjusting the work schedule, bribes from the better-off inmates for special treatment, and good money for selling off prisoners.”
“Selling prisoners?”
“Sure. Change identities with some corpse due for discharge soon, or a falsified death sometimes. Then the former prisoner can be sold into indenture. Of course,” Clyde added thoughtfully, “it’s more profitable to have a long-termer buy freedom that way, but not many with that much money need to use such means to escape.”
The nondescript locksmith looked at his associate with new admiration. “So you’ll sell the kid as an indentured servant, take Markham’s coin too, and be paid as a guard in the bargain!”
“None of which will make me a wealthy man. Tapper,” the thief said as he nodded agreement. “I still need to get out and about in order to make ends meet.” He referred to his trade, naturally.
Tapper, older and less interested in carousing, managed quite well on his fees for services from the Balance to augment the income from his trade and kickbacks from thieves. He understood what Clyde remarked on, though. High living In Old City cost plenty. If it was done in New Town, it was even more expensive. “It’s hard to keep a full purse,” Tapper agreed.