Buskin the Urchin

It's been a few days since I posted-- there've been exams and all sorts of lovely horrible things that I don't like at all. Anyway, I figured now would be a good time to present you with another one of the crew.

Again, this is near the beginning, I have this dread of putting samplings out of chronological order. That would just be confusing. They're a little off, but all of them are from the beginning, so I figure that doesn't matter so much :) Told from Liv's perspective, we meet Buskin.

Children were rarely clean in Kingston, but Buskin was dirtiest by far, to the point of which I believed his skin was permanently stained almost the same walnut color as his scruffy hair. Jewelry of all sorts bounced on his bare chest under his tattered jacket-- Japanese jade, Brazilian beads, African amulets-- some worthless, others priceless, all so dirty that no one could tell, so no one ever tried to have them off him. I watched as he accidentally ran right into the flabby paunch of an overweight merchant in an extravagant wig, who shoved the small boy almost sprawling with a curse. What a costly bit of temper. I didn’t see Buskin’s nimble fingers at work, but I hadn’t a doubt that the tradesman was now lacking a wallet. The boy looked up, knowing how well I liked the roof of the smithy, slanted, secure, with ample attraction to the warm Jamaican sun I loved so much. He leapt off a barrel, caught onto the hanging sign, and hooked his foot over the top of it. He began to lever himself up, reaching for the makeshift rain gutter, but I extended my hand and pulled him up instead. He perched by me and poured the contents of the wallet into his lap.

“Reese sent me to find you,” he told me.

“How much is there?” I asked, ignoring him.

“T’owd gobdaw don’t fetch much,” he answered, lifting his eyebrows. “Four bob an’ two tanners.”

“Are the ships in?”

“Middlin’ near to it, last I saw.”

“What does Reese want?”

He shifted.

“He wants you home.”

“Why?”

“I dunno.”

I rolled onto my back, sat up, and frowned at my knees.

“Is Suyin on the game?”

Buskin knew where this was going. He moved out of arm’s reach.

“Aye.”

I knew where this was going too. Quicker than he could dodge, I leaned over and caught him by the wrist.

“And Kutch? Where’s Kutch, eh?”

“On the game.”

“And Reese, the big man, where is he?” I queried, lifting a derogatory eyebrow.

“At home.”

“Where is he, Buskin?”

I glared at him. He tightened his lips and turned away. Sometimes Buskin was less comfortable with the truth than he was with falsehoods.

“The Naval docks.”

I released him, and he sat there, sullen and annoyed that he had been caught lying even when he was so good at it. He never liked conflicts and he hated it worse when he was involved.

Well, here he is, aged twelve, munchkinny, in all his dirty, superstitious glory. This little guy was the first to join Reese's gang a few years back. Tell me what you think of him! Criticism welcome!

God bless, everybody!