When he saw this maelstrom Thorby felt that he had wandered into Joy Street — bigger, brighter, and seven times busier than Joy Street with the fleet in. This was the fraki’s chance to turn a fairly honest credit while making suckers of the shrewdest businessmen in the Galaxy; this was the day, with the lid off and the Trader without his guards up — they’d sell you your own hat if you laid it on the counter.
Fritz took Thorby dirtside to keep him out of trouble, although Fritz’s sophistication was hardly complete, since he had seen just one Great Gathering. The Chief Officer lectured the young people before granting hit-dirt, reminding them that Sisu had a reputation for proper behavior, and then issued each a hundred credits with a warning that it must last throughout the Gathering.
Fritz advised Thorby to cache most of it. “When we go broke, we can sweet-talk Father out of pocket money. But it’s not smart to take it all.”
Thorby agreed. He was not surprised when he felt the touch of a pickpocket; he grabbed a wrist to find out what he had landed.
First he recovered his wallet. Then he looked at the thief. He was a dirty-faced young fraki who reminded Thorby poignantly of Ziggie, except that this kid had two hands. “Better luck next time,” he consoled him. “You don’t have the touch yet.”
The kid seemed about to cry. Thorby started to turn him loose, then said, “Fritz, check your wallet.”
Fritz did so, it was gone. “Well, I’ll be –”
“Hand it over, kid.”
“I didn’t take it! You let me go!”
“Cough up . . . before I unscrew your skull.”
The kid surrendered Fritz’s wallet; Thorby turned him loose. Fritz said, “Why did you do that? I was trying to spot a cop.”
“That’s why.”
“Huh? Talk sense.”
“I tried to learn that profession once. It’s not easy.”
“You? A poor joke, Thorby.”
“Remember me? The ex-fraki, the beggar’s boy? That clumsy attempt to equalize the wealth made me homesick. Fritz, where I come from, a pickpocket has status. I was merely a beggar.”
“Don’t let Mother hear that.”
“I shan’t. But I am what I am and I know what I was and I don’t intend to forget. I never learned the pickpocket art, but I was a good beggar, I was taught by the best. My Pop. Baslim the Cripple. I’m not ashamed of him and all the Laws of Sisu can’t make me.”
“I did not intend to make you ashamed,” Fritz said quietly.
They walked on, savoring the crowd and the fun. Presently Thorby said, “Shall we try that wheel? I’ve spotted the gimmick.”
Fritz shook his head. “Look at those so-called prizes.”
“Okay. I was interested in how it was rigged.”
“Thorby –”
“Yeah? Why the solemn phiz?”
“You know who Baslim the Cripple really was?”
Thorby considered it. “He was my Pop. If he had wanted me to know anything else, he would have told me.”
“Mmm . . . I suppose so.”
“But you know?”
“Some.”
“Uh, I am curious about one thing. What was the debt that made Grandmother willing to adopt me?”
“Uh, ‘I have said enough.’ ”
“You know best.”
“Oh, confound it, the rest of the People know! It’s bound to come up at this Gathering.”
“Don’t let me talk you into anything, Fritz.”
“Well . . . look, Baslim wasn’t always a beggar.”
“So I long since figured out.”
“What he was is not for me to say. A lot of People kept his secret for years; nobody has told me that it is all right to talk. But one fact is no secret among the People . . . and you’re one of the People. A long time ago, Baslim saved a whole Family. The People have never forgotten it. The Hansea, it was . . . the New Hansea is sitting right over there. The one with the shield painted on her. I can’t tell you more, because a taboo was placed on it — the thing was so shameful that we never talk about it. I have said enough. But you could go over to the New Hansea and ask to look through her old logs. If you identified yourself — who you are in relation to Baslim — they couldn’t refuse. Though the Chief Officer might go to her cabin afterwards and have weeping hysterics.”