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Mounted again the next morning, Richard rode out on to the highway with the scent of autumn in his nostrils and a concentrated point of vindication in his heart, certain that he was on the right track at last.

Beside him, his new valet trudged along with the heavy tread of a sulk. Pennyworth’s erstwhile employers had proved reluctant to expel him from their establishment, but chiefly because they were concerned that Richard was deceived as to the boy’s true character. From their tone, Richard suspected George’s acquiescence was based on the knowledge that his dismissal from the inn was if not pressing, then an unavoidable eventuality. 

“Pennyworth, tell me,” Richard asked, “Can you read?”

“No.”

Richard sighed and cracked the boy across the shoulder with his crop, although not hard.

Pennyworth glared at him resentfully. There was a black smudge of bruise on his cheek, a smearing of scabs around his nose form his tumble in the bothy. 

“I shall repeat the question as many times as it takes to get an acceptable answer from you. Can you read?”

“No, sir,” it came out from between gritted teeth.

“Figure numbers?”

“Little bit,” a pause, “sir.”

“Cook at all?”

A sound of annoyance, “Don’t know why you’d be so keen t’gimme a job, sir, if I int none the skills f’r it.” 

Richard smiled. “That manner of speech, acceptable as it may be in your previous occupation, is what gentlemen call gross impertinence. This is the only time I will warn you about it.”

“Right, sir.”

 “The next time I catch even the breath of it upon your answers, I will thrash you. Do you understand me?”

There were a few moments of silence, then, “Aye, all right, sir.”

Really, it was very easy when you remembered how. 

“So, I shall ask again: do you cook?”

“A little bit, sir. Not well.”

“Doubtless we shall muddle along. What about fencing?” he made his tone as light as he was able.

“Sir?”

“Or is it a fence? I’m never sure of the terms. Could you find me a fence, Pennyworth?”

The boy was staring at him, bewildered, “A...? What d’you...”

“For the passing of stolen goods, boy. Is it called a fence?”

A pause. A long one, then understanding. “Aye. Aye, yeah, it is, sir.”

“And I assume someone like you could you find me one.”

 “Maybe I could, sir. Maybe it’d cost you, though.”

Richard smacked him with the crop, a little harder than the last time. “The price is your continued employment.”

The boy seemed about to say something, but thought better of it.

“If you conduct yourself in a fitting manner, and do as I command, you will find me a liberal and reasonable master. You’ll have a share of our profits, and I will provide you with an education so that, when I am done with you, you will be fitted for better employment than you have endured hitherto. Your duties will be those of a servant, and an… assistant, in certain endeavours I hope to undertake. These will ask nothing more of you than that you follow your natural inclinations. Does that not strike you as generous?”

“Not really, sir, no.”

“I suppose the alternative is that I could shoot you in the head. Whatever you might assume from my manner, I am a desperate character and would not hesitate. I dislike you excessively. That aside, I do not see why we should not become great friends. Do we understand one other?”

Pennyworth stared at him with undisguised hatred. “Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Don’t worry, Pennyworth, I’ve taught worse rogues than you decent manners. At the end of this you shall have a glowing reference and all the skills you need for a comfortable position – surely that’s incentive enough? I’ll teach you all of that, and you, my boy, can teach me to be thief.”