“What would a S’danzo want-” the young man began.
“You’d gainsay me. Zip, now or ever?” Walegrin repeated.
The PFLS leader shook his head and extended an arm across Arbold’s chest, pre empting any untoward response from that comer.
“Say goodbye to your daughter, pud,” Walegrin commanded, lifting his hand from the sword-hilt and fumbling through his belt pouch instead. “This is for you,” he dropped a silver coin in Masha’s hand, “for the birth of a healthy child. And this is for her,” he gestured to the dead woman before dropping similar coins in
Zip’s palm, “to buy a shroud and see her properly buried beyond the walls.”
His hands were empty now; he reached out for the infant. Masha had already assessed his determination and placed the squirming bundle gently in the crook of his off-weapon arm.
“Shipri bless you,” she whispered, pressing her thumb against the child’s forehead so it left a white mark when she lifted it, then she spun her shawl off the splinter and tucked her leather chest under one arm. “I’m ready,” she told
Walegrin.
They left before the two piffles could say another word. Walegrin was more nervous about dropping the child than about having Zip at his back. He could feel it struggling against the bands of cloth and the awkwardness with which he held it. Once they had clambered through the courtyard and warehouse to the
Wideway, he offered to swap burdens with the midwife.
“Never held a hungry newbom before?” Masha guessed as she settled the infant under her breast. Her companion grunted a noncommital reply. “I certainly hope you know what you’re doing. Not every man’s mistress is eager to take a foundling.”