7.

     The Dormitories weren't the most glamorous neighborhood of boarding houses, but the rooms were clean enough and the ceilings didn't leak too badly. And Corva had an arrangement with the publican of this particular establishment – a Mr. Dowelling, who kept several buildings including The Bitter Maid. For a reduced fee, her unruhe made regular use of one of the larger rooms; Corva paid in coin or trade based circumstantially on her financial situation and his mood. Tonight most of the Tiere were bunking in. Ducks, suddenly shy, clung to Corva's skirts with his good arm. The other was in a sling and bound tightly to his chest.
     "What's this now?" asked an attractive boy, who looked to be venturing sweetly toward manhood. He sat on one of the beds next to a girl with remarkably similar features. He had been plaiting her hair, but paused when he'd noticed the new arrival.
     "I've brought another one for you to mother, Hen," Corva said, pushing Ducks forward so that the rest of the Tiere could appraise him.
     "What good is he?" asked the girl whose chestnut hair Hen had his fingers in.
     "He survived a run in with a Taker, Henne. Nicked something off him too. "
     Another of the unruhe whistled appreciatively. Corva withdrew the blue fabric from her bodice. All eyes went wide.
     "Where's Kitty?" Hen asked. Corva blanched.
     "She didn't show."
     "Corva, is she–? Did he–?"
     "She didn't show."
     "You didn't say she were to meet a Taker, Corva." Henne said, her green eyes bright.
     "There was no need," Corva said sharply. "No more about this now. Everyone say hello to Ducks." She placed a hand on his shoulder as he tried to squirm away from view. "Those two are Hen and Henne," she said, pointing out the pair on the bed. They looked a matched set with their heart shaped faces and delicate features. Hen smiled kindly at the young boy, who just burrowed further into Corva's skirts.
     "They aren't even sibs, though they could pass for twins," Corva explained.
     "Lucky for us," Hen said. Ducks was baffled by this statement,
     "Makes us more 'spensive," said Henne as though this clarified things.
     Corva ruffled Ducks hair. "People will pay for the pair of 'em, thinkin' they're gettin' more. Henne and Hen could be türen one day. Could've already been if they'd've left our little family. Specialty tastes, Ducky," she said.
     His expression was all confusion, still. Corva laughed sweetly. Such innocence! "Never you mind, Ducky. Someone will explain it all when you're older."
     The brutish body skulking in the corner gave a laugh that was more of a smirk – a short vicious explosion of mirth. Ducks drew back. He'd known that sort, all over muscles and a hard taste for cruelty.
     "Oh behave, Ducky," Corva said and she ushered him forward. "It's only Kurr. And he won't touch a hair on your head. Will you Kurr?"
     "Whatever you say, Corva." The reply came as a soft growl.
     "He's a good lad really, Ducky. Looks after them as needs it." Corva said as she tenderly stroked the boy's hair. "But that's Ratter. Knows a lot of chappies does our Ratter."
     The small shabby figure on one of the thin pallets littering the room looked up from his pile of ragged clutter – old boots; broken toys; articles of clothing, every one in need of mending. Each object had obviously been once fine but in disrepair for some time. A cracked pocket watch, its casing dented and battered, dangled from a snapped chain clutched in the boy's fingers. He offered a brief nod to the newcomer.
     Ratter did not appear much older than Ducks nor were their circumstances markedly at variance, but the difference between the boys was immeasurable. Already Ratter's expression was sharp and closed. His squint eyes glittered with a shrewd understanding of the world and his place in it. He conveyed himself with the seriousness of one cusping adolescence. Ratter had ambitions. Whereas Duck's main advantage was his seeming innocence. His wide eyes lit with a disarming sweetness, his cheeks appeared overly full despite the gauntness of his frame, and his fragile features made one yearn to swaddle the child and protect him from his lot. In short, he looked a bit like a cherub who had fallen into a coal bin. He stared, wide-eyed, at the gathering of souls, each so varied and distinct, and yet not at odds with the disparity, rather like Ratter's fine trash.
     "And that's the lot of us–"
     "Save Kitty," Kurr said.
     "Save Kitty," Corva amended.
     "D'ya think–?" Hen began.
     "I think that wench can take care of herself. Be the delight of her to have us lose our heads. Now, who pulled today?"
     The talk in the room turned to business.
     "D'ya think Kitty met her Taker?" Hen whispered into his partner's hair.
     "I think Corva's right, Hen," Henne said. "Kitty can take care of herself.