Footsteps sounded on
the wooden stairs outside. He recognized that heavy tread and groaned. Barton Gumbroot might be light-fingered, but he certainly wasn’t light-footed.
He waited for the inevitable slapping sound. Barton always used the flat of his hand and not his knuckles when he knocked. Pin went to
the door and his lip curled. Barton’s peculiar odour signified his presence even throughthe wooden door. He smelled of many things, but overwhelmingly of dried blood (someone else’s) and bad breath (his
own).
Barton Gumbroot stood outside in the gloomy corridor in his usual attire: a grey shirt (perhaps it had once been white) with wide
sleeves pulled in by strings at the cuff, a suspiciously stained waistcoat and a dark pair of cloth breeches of indeterminate origin. His neckerchief was stiff with dried food and his boots were spattered with mud and other matter that did not require
closer examination.
But it wasn’t Barton’s clothes that concerned Pin. It was the shifty look on his face. Pin knew it meant one of two
things. He was either going to ask for more money (as he had done three times already in the recent past) or he was going to ask him to leave.
‘I’ve got some news for you, lad,’ Gumbroot began, rubbing his knuckles with the palm of his hand, the dry skin
rasping softly.
Pin folded his arms across his chest and stood with his feet wide apart. He had found it was the best way to deal with the man. He
looked him up and down, his face expressionless.
‘Whatis it?’
‘Rent’s going up.’
‘But you know I cannot pay any more than I do,’ protested Pin.
Barton looked around the door and sized up the room. ‘I could have four times as many people in here.’
‘You mean four people.’
Gumbroot looked confused. He wasn’t one for mathematics. He sniffed. He was always slightly nervous at evictions. This was not
out of any concern for those he was about to throw out, but more because he feared the ructions it would cause. To be evicted from Barton Gumbroot’s lodgings was usually the last straw for desperate people and desperate people do desperate
things.
‘Don’t play clever with me, young lad. I need you out by the morning.’
‘I don’t suppose I have any choice,’ said Pin bitterly.
Gumbroot pulled at his nose with finger and thumb and cocked his head to one side. ‘That’s about the long and short of
it,’ he said with some satisfaction. ‘I knew you’d understand. You always were an intelligent—’
That was when Pin shut the door.
‘In fact, if you could do me the favour of leaving tonight ,’ came Mr Gumbroot’s disembodied voice from the other side, ‘I’d be much obliged.’
And so later that evening Pin left. He knew if he didn’t go, the next time he came back he’d find his belongings on the
street and a whole new family moved in. That’s how it was round here. He packed his bag with what little he had and took off.
‘I suppose at least now I might find something better,’ he had reasoned, trying to stay cheerful. And at least he no
longer had to listen to the screams from the basement. There had certainly been something unspeakable going on down there tonight. But for all his optimism Pin was worried. Winter was never a good time to be looking for rooms in Urbs Umida and tonight
most likely he would be on the street.
Chapter Twelve
An Evening’s Entertainment
From where he was standing sheltering in the doorway of the Nimble Finger, Pin could easily read the discarded handbill that
lay at his feet, one of many that littered the gutters.
The Gluttonous Beast. Deodonatus Snoad – Pin spat at the mere mention of his name – had written of him recently. And the
Bone Magician . . . That could be interesting. Pin had a few pennies in his pocket – he had left Barton’s owing rent – but did he want to spend them here? The decision was made for him when a large shadow fell over him. It was Constable
the wooden stairs outside. He recognized that heavy tread and groaned. Barton Gumbroot might be light-fingered, but he certainly wasn’t light-footed.
He waited for the inevitable slapping sound. Barton always used the flat of his hand and not his knuckles when he knocked. Pin went to
the door and his lip curled. Barton’s peculiar odour signified his presence even throughthe wooden door. He smelled of many things, but overwhelmingly of dried blood (someone else’s) and bad breath (his
own).
Barton Gumbroot stood outside in the gloomy corridor in his usual attire: a grey shirt (perhaps it had once been white) with wide
sleeves pulled in by strings at the cuff, a suspiciously stained waistcoat and a dark pair of cloth breeches of indeterminate origin. His neckerchief was stiff with dried food and his boots were spattered with mud and other matter that did not require
closer examination.
But it wasn’t Barton’s clothes that concerned Pin. It was the shifty look on his face. Pin knew it meant one of two
things. He was either going to ask for more money (as he had done three times already in the recent past) or he was going to ask him to leave.
‘I’ve got some news for you, lad,’ Gumbroot began, rubbing his knuckles with the palm of his hand, the dry skin
rasping softly.
Pin folded his arms across his chest and stood with his feet wide apart. He had found it was the best way to deal with the man. He
looked him up and down, his face expressionless.
‘Whatis it?’
‘Rent’s going up.’
‘But you know I cannot pay any more than I do,’ protested Pin.
Barton looked around the door and sized up the room. ‘I could have four times as many people in here.’
‘You mean four people.’
Gumbroot looked confused. He wasn’t one for mathematics. He sniffed. He was always slightly nervous at evictions. This was not
out of any concern for those he was about to throw out, but more because he feared the ructions it would cause. To be evicted from Barton Gumbroot’s lodgings was usually the last straw for desperate people and desperate people do desperate
things.
‘Don’t play clever with me, young lad. I need you out by the morning.’
‘I don’t suppose I have any choice,’ said Pin bitterly.
Gumbroot pulled at his nose with finger and thumb and cocked his head to one side. ‘That’s about the long and short of
it,’ he said with some satisfaction. ‘I knew you’d understand. You always were an intelligent—’
That was when Pin shut the door.
‘In fact, if you could do me the favour of leaving tonight ,’ came Mr Gumbroot’s disembodied voice from the other side, ‘I’d be much obliged.’
And so later that evening Pin left. He knew if he didn’t go, the next time he came back he’d find his belongings on the
street and a whole new family moved in. That’s how it was round here. He packed his bag with what little he had and took off.
‘I suppose at least now I might find something better,’ he had reasoned, trying to stay cheerful. And at least he no
longer had to listen to the screams from the basement. There had certainly been something unspeakable going on down there tonight. But for all his optimism Pin was worried. Winter was never a good time to be looking for rooms in Urbs Umida and tonight
most likely he would be on the street.
Chapter Twelve
An Evening’s Entertainment
From where he was standing sheltering in the doorway of the Nimble Finger, Pin could easily read the discarded handbill that
lay at his feet, one of many that littered the gutters.
The Gluttonous Beast. Deodonatus Snoad – Pin spat at the mere mention of his name – had written of him recently. And the
Bone Magician . . . That could be interesting. Pin had a few pennies in his pocket – he had left Barton’s owing rent – but did he want to spend them here? The decision was made for him when a large shadow fell over him. It was Constable
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