Tricks of the Trade

Davy scowled at the ground, scuffing the toe of one boot back and forth over the dirt aimlessly. Lucy had ordered him to stay around the wagons, and not to go anywhere today, or get in any trouble, and he was resenting the strictures immensely. In fact, he had made up his mind to disobey them - within about ten seconds of hearing it - and was just waiting until he thought she'd be busy far enough away on her errands about the place that she couldn't catch him in the act.

His eye came up from the little pile of freshly-turned earth in frot of his shoe when movement distracted him. Someone was coming through the encampment; Davy had noticed because this man didn't wear the red coat of the 33rd. He was in a green rifleman's jacket, and that had instantly caught Davy's eye. He watched the fellow as he came into view, until he was close eboughto recognize the slender, smallish lad with the distinctive scar across his nose and one side of his face. Pye was mentor, teacher, friend, and hero to Davy.

Since he had left the regiment of foot for the rifles, Davy hadn't seen Pye except for once, when the lad had sent him back with a message for his old friends. But he couldn't see any reason for Pye to be back here, unless he was here to visit, and that meant he was here to see Davy. (Perhaps a few of his other mates too, but Davy would monopolise his time if given half a chance.)

Leaping up, Davy called out, "Zack! Hoo ye gannin', marra?" He dashe pell-mell towards the rifleman, skidding to a halt in front of him. Davy was not the sort of person to hug - he hated getting stifling displays of caressing affection from anyone, and didn't give them out either - but he reached for Pye's arm, catching hold of him at the elbow to swing it back and forth. "Ah've been missin' ye, me."

Before he knew it, he had a child hanging off of his elbow and swaying it like it were a swing. He had noticed young Davy a short while back, while approaching and it thus came as no surprise when he appeared at his side. Pye grinned and allowed the lad his form of greeting, still careful of his bag, which he adjusted so that his arm would not brush at it in any way. "'ello there." He said. And lifted his arm to see how firm a hold the lad had. If it was firm enough young Davy could have been raised of his feet. If not, he meant to drop it anyway.

"Missed me n' haven't come 'round ter visit?" He teased, though he knew that Davy would not have been allowed. Not so far up the front, Lucy would've thrown a fit. He was a disobedient little brat as it was, though Pye did not see much wrong in that. As long as he did not get himself in over his head. " Am mindful ter ask Lucy how well yer behaved all this time, lad." He said, not kneeling as some would when talking to a child. He considered it would feel as if he was babying him if he had done so. But he was in mind to lift him up, swing him over his shoulder and see what the boy would do. All in good jest and tease, and then see if he had learned what he had taught him before.

Davy's toes lifted off the ground, and he clung to Pye's arm, laughing as the rifleman flexed his arm. "Ye bonny showoff!" he said, loudly. "Ye can ernly de tha' cos us weighs nowt." He let go of the arm, and his feet thumped onto the ground. "Missed ye, elwis. An' wor sista did too."

He was about to defend himself from the accusation of not having come to visit - he had tried! Only Lucy wouldn't let him go far from the 33rd - but his protestations were cut off when Pye caught him up and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Give ower, ye sackless donnered get!" he protested, wriggling to try and get free of the hold. One of his hands slipped down under cover of the wriggling into Pye's pocket, lifting out and palming whatever he found there, while with the other he tried to push himself away from the rifleman. "Ah'll give ye sich a byestin' as ye nivver got i' yer leif!"

Pye chuckled, and took a few steps in a circle, so that they swung about. "How's your sis', lil' monst'uh?" He asked changing his grip from holding the lad with both hands to only one. He noticed the young scamp slipping his hand into his pocket. He was proud to notice though, that it had been done much better than last time when it was so obvious even a daft man could feel it. The lad was improving.

"Mind your gob, if'n you don't want me ter take you over m' knee." He threatened half heartedly and tapped the boy's side with his free hand. He clamped his hand over the little grubby fist and pressed a finger past his thumb to feel what the lad held inside. It was a single coin, and a small piece of jewelery or something similar to that. He made it look as though he had not noticed it though and just grinned shifting the boy about, holding him a bit like a mother would a baby. "Worm, dun' think you deserve that." He said with a laugh.

Davy hated restraint; he hating being held, or hugged, or any such thing, and he wriggled in even more determination to get out of Pye's grip. He'd not hold it against a friend, but he still didn't like it, and Pye should have known - he shoved at Pye again with his free hand as Pye caught hold of the hand that was hiding what he'd just stolen off the rifleman. It didn't seem that Pye had noticed, though; he was only holding onto it to keep Davy from flailing about as much. Davy felt a surge of pride, somewhere in the muddle of happiness and irritation.

"Haddaway!" he exclaimed, taking the opportunity as Pye shifted his grip, and gave one eel-like squirm, slipping right out of the rifleman's arms and landing with a bruising thump on his rear end; he hopped upright again, scampering away to get enough range that Pye couldn't catch him that way again so easily.

"Lossie, findie, seekie, keepie," he crowed, holding up his hand with the coin and the little ring that he'd come out with from Pye's pocket. "Ye divnae even scunner me liftin' it!"

" Didn' I?" Pye might have debated whether to play the boy's game, give him some pride, or tell him where he had gone wrong. He chose for the second best thing, holding a bit that he had picked out of the boy's own pocket. It wasn't much, not that he thought there would be. He wasn't a rich man, not even a well of lad. He held the object between his fore and middle finger and waved it at the boy. He turned his back on the lad, as if annoyed that he took his coin and upset enough not to think even to run after him. He folded his hands and made a step forward, away from the boy, keeping his expression that of an unhappy lad.

He knew that Davy wasn't the sort of child who liked to hug, he'd never been the sort to cuddle, not atleast as far as he'd seen him. He had his ways of coming close and Pye had let him eel out of his grip as much as he barely held onto him. He could've tried to tighten the grip, attempt to keep him in, but decided it wasn't his place to do it and that it was indeed, enough.

Davy's eyes widened as he saw Pye holding onto Davy's own thin little purse, and belatedly his fingers delved into his pocket to feel about in the corners. He found nothing but lint, of course. He'd not even felt Pye pick his pocket. Then Pye turned around, looking angry, and stalked off a short ways.

What he'd had off Pye was probably more valuable than the purse, though; he inspected the shilling in his fingers, and counted up in his head how many farthings he had in the leather purse Pye was holding. This plus the ring was definitely worth more. "Ye got us," he said, grinning, "but Ah'll consida it fair trade." He was sure Pye wasn't really angry - he thought - he hoped. "Ye aren't angry for fairs, Zack?"

"Sure I am.. , I'm friendly ter a lad like that, trust ye. Trust ye real much not ter be picked at .. n' here wot' I find. You had yer hands in m' pockets, like I was a common buggerat." When he looked about at the boy, his expression was serious, upset, but when he looked away, he knew a grin was threatening to appear. He waved with his hand, as if cursing at something.

"Sure.. a trade. But wot' if yer want t' fool me jus' now again eh?" He shook his head.

Davy believed the mock anger for a few heartbeats, until Pye looked to the side and he caught sight of the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. Then he knew that Pye was fooling, and let his own grin break out ear-to-ear again. "Ye knaas Ah'd not lift frem ye for fairs. Divvent act leik ye've tyen the huff!"

Davy held out the ring and the coin in his open hand, to give them back to Pye. "See." Thinking for a moment, he added belatedly, "Wor sista's in good fettle." He'd forgotten to answer that earlier.

It was sometimes hard to understand what the lad rattled on about, but Pye took the talk in stride, and would only have asked if something had been completely foreign to him. He'd talked fairly well enough, though he had lived amongst men for a time, that spoke so that some would think it a different language. He smiled and placed the little one's purse in the same palm as he took the ring and the coin from it.

He seemed to change his mind then, as the purse was snatched up. "You'll let me see 'er won't you?" He asked with a smile, and the purse was yet again lowered to the boy's palm, this time though it had a certain weight that suggested it had gained a bit or two. "You're takin' good care o' her, ain't ya?" He asked, adjusting the strap on his shoulder as he had ridden down. After all the trouble happening so recently, it was a relief to come here and not think of it a while. If it meant laughing and having Davy throw about threats of eternal damnation, it only appealed to him more.

Davy scowled briefly at Pye as he took his own items back, but acted as if he was going to keep Davy's purse as well. He kept his ferocious expression until the rifleman put the leather purse back in his hand. Davy jounced it about in his palm for a second, frowning in concentration as he tried to decide - had it weighed that much before? He did not think it had. But he was never one to turn down a gift, so he slipped it back into his pocket. "Thank ye."

"Whey aye, man! Ah mind she divnae gan te pot," Davy said proudly. Pye, at least, recognised what (Davy thought) was the real order of things! It was Davy's business, as the man in the family, to look after Lucy, not in the least the other way around. "Ah guess Lucy's gan off te darg, but mevvies she'll come back. Ye'll fadge wi' us this neet? Since ye flit to Rifles, we divvent lay eyes on ye."

"Dun' ferget ter share some with your sister." Pye warned as the lad thanked him. He did think he could spare some more for her, of course, but the boy did need to learn a few things if he did not know them already, and have some enforced. Blood, relations, ties. Pye had none himself, but Davy did and should value them.

He smiled. Indeed, Davy was a good lad, though Pye didn't let on that it was still Lucy who was really taking care of the lad, really. "Hmm, well, maybe I could. Cotton n' Newbury... that's two riflemen from the 60th, are probably goin' ter be busy anyhow. Will you have me if I do though? I'm awfully starved. Really." Keeping out of the way of provosts from a day ago, this was the best place to be. As long as the sergeant was away.

"Whey aye," Davy said again, slightly wounded. Of course he would! He'd not keep the money all to himself and give none to his sister - what sort of brother would that make him?

"Whee's Cotton an' Newbury leik, yer messmates?" Davy inquired, with a flash of jealousy. "Divnae they feed ye proper?" Good thing if they didn't - then Pye would like them better, and come back around more often.

"My ..well Cotton's teachin' me stuff's right now.. n' so's Newbury. See, bein' a rifleman's differen't n' being a 33rd lad." He smiled at Davy and knowing that he would not appreciate being hefted up, just moved to walk with him. "They're mates.. sure. N' food.. oi, you ought ter come sometime. We've got rabbit n' all." He grinned thinking that he would've loved to show the boy around in his new camp and that he would save a rabbit's leg the next time they have one cooked. Meat, some for Lucy and some for Davy, along with the rest of the stew.

"They did feed me." He shook his head. It almost felt like Davy was a bit jealous of things, people even. "You know it's never t' same as wot' I get fed with you lot."

Davy fell into step with Pye, leading him back to the spot where he and Lucy had made their tiny camp. "Rabbit wad be canny," he said, rather wistfully. "Is't gan be panhagglety agyen toneet, if ye come." It seemed it had been forever since they'd had any meat, except for the stew he had cadged off Kerr and Braggins the evening before. "But there's hasty puddin' frem mornin', an' it's areet. Isn' caad yet. An' there's ne ither hasty puddin' as Lucy does it."

"Say what. Ifn' there's a chance that you two both can come to eat it, I'll have you do so." Pye promised, though he neither knew when such an occasion would arise, nor if yet the other riflemen would agree into having a pair of the camp followers that had nothing to do with them, come drop by for dinner.

"That I know. " But he could eat anything, would eat anything as long as it was offered to him. He wasn't picky, and he was most grateful for the food, always was. If the food was good or great, he would only be so much happier and blissful.

"Wot's you been up to since I've gone. You didn't cause any gray hair's to Wilton... o' yer sister?" He asked , nearing the camp, that was in its essence rather small and quite basic.

Davy plopped down cross-legged next to the small firepit, and handed Pye the pot with the oatmeal porridge slowly congealing in the bottom. "Ye hev te wash it oot syne, ye knaas," he warned Pye. It hadn't occurred to Davy until just now that this was a good way to get out of the washing-up.

"An' wor sista, she's always worrited. Divvent mek a lick o' difference what Ah de, ye knaas!" He thought for a moment. "Ah've been datallin' here an' there, leik. Div a bit o' liftin' wark fer Sergeant Donnelly, as is quartermaster."

"Yer leave me impressed lad." Pye might've told the lad that he ought to wash up himself, knew that Davy was just saving himself from the task, but instead rather took the pot, straightened again. "Well, means I'm gettin' this ter t' river. You'll do a'right with gettin' t' fire good?" He held the pot in one hand, glancing about to see which direction the river would be, and which the shortest way there.

"How much 'ave ye been practicing?" He added, but mentioned not the 'what'. The boy could catch up on what he meant on his own. Pye knew Lucy would skin them both alive, if she knew about it. Not that it stopped him. It was a valuable sort of knowledge which might well safe the lad's life one day. If he knew how to do it well, it would be a fortune that it might earn him. The war wouldn't last, and even there a lad could go by knowing different trades.

"Just a lick here an' there," Davy said, grinning. "When Ah sees a chance. Cruck yer hough an' eat afore ye wash up!" he exclaimed, when Pye seemed to be about to go off with the pot to the river.

Rooting about in the small heap of things belonging to Lucy and him, Davy turned after a moment back to Pye, as pleased as Punch with himself. "Keek a' this an' see wha' ye thinks," he said, holding out the ratty little sack. It held a complete set of silver buttons, a little tarnished and of uncertain - probably French - provenance, but they were real silver, Davy was sure.

Pye sat himself down smoothly and began to eat. He looked as happy as pie, and ate fast. He might've appeared like a half starved puppy who had just been offered his fill. He hadn't looked up till the pot was empty, and empty enough that it might not have needed a wash. He licked his fingers even if they might not have been the cleanest ten, the world had ever seen. He had looked into his pot one last time before turning to look at the small sack that Davy had brought him.

What he did notice, surprisingly, was the boy and from where he had been bringing his little treasure. It was something of a matter that needed be addressed. The place the boy had hid it was the first a provost would look when searching for stolen goods. He studied the sack and its contents. Another bit that the boy might have done better. He nodded slowly. "Very good. Seem to be right." He picked one or two of the buttons, turned them about and then placed them back in.

"Davy, need' ter be telling you some." He placed the little bag back into his hands. "Do ye keep all 'yer' things... hid like that?"

"Anyone wad think they nivvor feed ye there," Davy said, disapproving mightily of the Rifles as he watched Pye eat. Lucy might be a little ticked at him that he'd just gone and given Pye all that was left of the porridge, but Davy'd just tell her that he ate some of it himself for luncheon, if she bothered about it.

His grin wilted underneath the look that Pye gave him and his treasure, however. "Whey aye," Davy answered, nonplussed. Pye seemed to disapprove, for some reason. "Dear knaas where else ah's gan te putten them."

Pye shrugged. "They feed me a'right." And very well too, but he just felt that food could, if offered, could never be left. Food could not be wasted, if other things should. Not even on a dead Frenchman, fresh out of battle. He glanced at the buttons.

"See here.., yer ain't want to be caught ever, right?" He murmured and held the sack to the boy to have him put it out of sight. "...you can't leave it in a place where people's gonna look. Not good fer anythin' valuable yer have.. couse there's other thieves 'bout. But not good if'un provosts come neither." He shook his head sharply. "Now think.. where's you wouldn't you look fer a coin.. or summat stolen, if you was one in need ter find it?"

Davy shook his head. No, he did not want to be caught - not at all; he knew good and well that if the provosts got their hands on either him or Lucy it would be all up for them. There wasn't anyone who'd stick up for their sort. A private soldier like Pye might get a certain amount of protection from his officers, if they were the right sort of officers, but camp-followers - especially not on the strength - didn't have much in the way of options.

He thought for a moment. "Doon under where wuz div wor business?" he suggested, thinking of the small place that he and Lucy used as a privy. There was plenty of digging going on there, where they buried other things - who'd notice some extra digging going on?

"An' when you's on a march with us. You's goin' ter take that lump o' earth with you?" It wasn't exactly the first place Pye would have thought, but he could give the lad points for originality, no matter how smelly it was. "Think some'ers where yer able ter have it with ye, yet t' provosts won't know t' look there." He suggested.

Davy looked uncertain, as he tried to come up with such a place. He could put it in someone else's things, and take it out again later, but the provosts would be equally likely to find it there, even if the finding wouldn't result in trouble for the two siblings. "Ah divvent knaa," he said finally. "Weor's best?"