Sparrow hoped it went well. He had never brought a prentice to a Coronation, but he had experienced enough of the events in his time with the Kings to know the lay of the land. Men dragged the kids away, played silly tricks. Dunking them on stools, Drinking til they couldn’t see straight. ‘Torture’ with pokes and prods. He though of Ori riding the back of some young initiate and chuckled. It was a young man’s game, the last bit of humor before a life spent on the run.

  That life’s payout surrounded him in the dim chamber. He sat with the elders and cripples, gathered in their highly regarded room behind the throne, drinking and playing tiles while youth rioted. Better to earn a spot where you’re a burden than to hang.

  Harrow was the game of choice among the elder Kings. Played for coppers on the point, the game was quick and required strategy. The raised tiles felt good in his hand as he shuffled them back and forth, looking at the men at the table.

  “Been a long time since you showed to a Coronation, one-arm.” his Harrow partner said between tricks. Sir Mole Hill the Blind, the greatest of the Barrow’s fences. Every thief old and young knew if you needed to get rid of ill-gotten gains you went to his dark chambers and let him feel your wares.

  Born of the Hill Family and cast out after doing wrong, his missing eyes didn’t weaken his humor, nor remove his nose’s keen sense for bullshit.

  “What, you haven’t seen me around Mole?”

  “Fuck your mother, you one winged birdshit.”

  “I missed you too.”

  “You’re about the only one worth talking to at these damn things.” Mole sighed, setting down two closing fields in succession. “And definitely the only one to partner Harrow with. Full field gentlemen, and lady.”

  Their partners, old Dove Roost and the peglegged and unfortunately named Cock Tanner, cursed the blind man and got up from the table in a huff. Even in their anger they paid their coins and gently kissed the blind man’s cheek. Mole’s lip curled as Cock put his heavy arm around those thin shoulders, waving the cripple off with a smile.

  “Tiles are a vice, easier to handle than cards. Any man can shake a bag, it takes two hands to shuffle a deck.” Sparrow said, gathering the coins and placing them in front of his partner.

  “If any man could do a one-handed shuffle it’s you. Seeing spots is damn difficult without eyes. If only the cards smelled as poor as that one-legged shit Tanner I would be the greatest gambler since old Sharp Tananger.”

  Mole pushed the tiles over the table to let Sparrow sweep them up into their bag. Mole sipped a glass of sweet fiery Takrim brandy, the dull cataracts of his eyes staring into his partner. They passed the minutes in quiet companionship before Sparrow responded.

  “I didn’t come here to talk about my juggling, nor card sharping, Mole.”

  “Oh? I had hoped to learn. A blind juggler seems even more impressive than a broken one. We could travel round, make ourselves rich, start putting on airs. You know I’ve always wanted a girl of the west country. Skin like honey, those dark eyes, smell as sweet as spicewine.” Mole’s lips curled in a knowing smile, forcing Sparrow to look away.

  “You still have a mouth on you, don’t you boy?”

  “You never beat it out of me, even when dear old Squab sent me out to fend for myself. When was the last sweet thing to warm your bed, Sparrow Tanner? I have a few, you know. Could be a Takrim prince, keep them all in a little house of rooms. Roam about. None could complain if I grab the wrong one if I make them all wear that same perfume!” the blind man cackled, in love with the joke. Mole Hill may love a roll as much as any man, but everyone knew his true love was buying and selling.

  “You were a terrible apprentice, but a great beggar. I still hold the sack of coins the Coinkeep gave me to trade for ya. Better merchant than a thief.” Sparrow tapped a coin then spun it across the table, watching the silver ladies on each side dance together in a dervish.

  “True, tra. Ya got a fine coin, but you still miss me. If only for the conversation, right?” the blind man grabbed the silver up mid-spin, making it disappear down his sleeve. “The real question is, of course, why you have come back to us.”

  “A bit of gossip? Some words with a friend?”

  “The only person your lies play true to these days is yourself. So speak, and let’s have it done.” Mole’s face went blank, his eyes closed like a man listening for birdsong and lies.

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  “You know I live in the Tannery due to my trade and at the service of the Kings.”

  “Ay. And how much service have you done lately? You make the Roost drop, fine. You proved that the carriages could be robbed, sure.” Mole finished his drink, wincing at the dregs. “You earned well when you came back from the war. No one believed a cripple could do what you did, yet you proved them wrong. Hell, you even served us well in some dirtier business. Now, I must ask, what do you plan on doing with a newly minted Knight and no plans to earn his place?”

  “Perhaps you have an idea?” Sparrow clenched his jaw, picking up a stray tile from the tabletop. “If your majesty could provide me such largess, of course. I know you run your own little band.”

  “It’s true. My boys are skilled, but they’re not smart. I trust them for smash and grabs, highway jobs, a beating from time to time. Some men don’t want to take what I offer, and nees taught a lesson.” Mole smiled, tenting his fingers. “Now, a boy taught by Sparrow? That’s a boy who could go places. That boy could learn a trade and make a neat sum.”

  It was then that the horn blew, and the room began to empty to greet the new members of their band.

  “We’ll speak later, sweet Sparrow. I believe our charges have come to kiss the cock.”

  He was small. He was sickly. He was injured and they wanted so much from him. The two boys and one girl who joined him on his coronation were Barrow squabs, grown big and lean and strong. At twelve Ori was the youngest by three years, and even the next shortest towered over him by nearly a full head.

  He only knew one of them by name to start the night. Owl Crypts, a boy who had been the only fat child in Lady Hill’s lands. The Crypts had been home to Ori for a few weeks when he ran from Sparrow, wanting to find his own way in the world. Those weeks had shown Ori how much better his chances would be with the crippled man.

  Owl worked with the Ghouls, a gang of grave robbers that paid fealty to the Hill family, and even now that he had grown from fat to muscle Owl still had the sickening smells of winding sheets.

  “Ey, Oriole! I remember you. How’s life outside?” Owl’s shake swallowed Ori’s hand.

  “We get by. I thought you were ghouling?”

  “The Ghouls sold me out to Mole Hill. Blind man, you’ll meet him later. He speaks of your master well. Old blind fuck makes me run every day, has me working at the docks. The girls seem to like it, some of the river men too. I do work for Mole, and Mole feeds me, and he keeps me in my place.”

  Most buy a child for what they lack then make the child a foil. A weak man buys a thug, a strong man buys a thinker. Some’ll buy a catamite, a little piece of meat to slide in his covers and bugger until he’s satisfied.

  Why did you buy me?

  You? I needed two hands and a mind that don’t asks silly questions.

  “Sure sounds like a sweet deal. My master makes me sing and drop the take.” Ori cast his eyes down, knowing the others had done far more dangerous work than he had ever come close to.

  Ori looked up at the children gathered round him and saw looks of shock and incredulity. Owl’s eyes was soft, humoring the boy. The other boy’s were hard, ready to call out a liar.

  “Nobody would trust a kid with the drop.” the girl said. Shaved head, flat chest, and a hard smile, the girl had bright eyes and a scar across her left cheek. Ori only knew she was a girl because her master had put her in a dress.

  “Old Sparrow’s a liar sure as any, everyone knows that. Maybe it rubbed off on you.” said the tallest of the boys, a scarecrow wearing a noble’s suit of clothes with an empty sheath.

  Ori decided to not pick a fight, and waited in judging silence for the next step. He remembered Sparrow’s advice to listen and stay dumb, and decided to take his mentor’s words to heart. The others all chatted casually about the heads they cracked, the things they stole. The girl, whose master happened to be Heron of the scars and braid, talked about her work sewing up her master’s clothes, his cuts, and how she collected the goods when he went robbing.

  The kids got quiet when she came in. Ori thought she looked like a statue he had seen when Sparrow took him to a temple. The body had been wrapped in red cloth, a woman trapped in stone. She had been one of the most beautiful things Ori had ever seen, a mixture of curves and muscle holding back a two-headed snake. The woman in front of the children had more muscle, and a face shaped by fighting. She kept her hair piled atop her head under what looked to be a cloth bag, and she wore leathers with a shirt of fine chain mail over an ensemble of mixed leathers. A hatchet hung off a belt loop, and she had the crooked nose and broken front teeth of someone who didn’t wear armor for show.

  “All’s well? You ready? If you want to cry off, call your peace. The first part of your prenticeship is done, and you have all rights to walk out the door and into the night, our luck to ya.” she spoke the words slow and solemnly, as if remembering a script. “You’ll never be a King, just another thief alone in the world. What say you?”

  The children looked down, around. Owl coughed into his hand, while the girl pulled at the ruffles in her skirt. The scarecrow, decisive and haughty, gave a curt nod as he marched through the door.

  Owl bowed his head, muttered, then spun twice before walking through. The girl, looking to the hard face of their leader, walked through just a bit too quickly to be casual. Still Ori waited, looking the warrior in front of him up and down for awhile before regaining his voice.

  “Is -- Is it worth it?” he heard the childish tone and wanted to crawl into a hole to pull it over himself.

  “You want to be part of the best gang in the city? We run the Barrow. You’ll fear no Ghoul, no Black-and-White. If you need aid and succor you’ll have a family to stand by you. We’re all the bastards of the Barrow quick enough to steal and smart enough to dodge the rope. The Ladies will love you, and the Cold Brothers will pole your boats. A man fears a thief, but the thief fears only the Kings.”

  Ori thought, then smiled as the words came. The boy bowed to the woman in front of him, extending his hands out as if holding a sword. If Sparrow dresses me as a knight, then I will play the part.

  “Lead on, my Queen. I ask only that you allow me your favor.”

  The woman’s stern face let a smile slip over, a bit of water over a stone dam wall. “Oh, I think I will like you, Sir Oriole Tanner. Your people are waiting. Best not keep them.”

  As the door closed putting them into darkness Ori questioned his decision.