When they ... and we all know who they are ... found out I knew how to be a gentleman in the full meaning of the word ... they asked ... politely ... if I could see my way clear to preach what I practiced.

“It’s mostly runaways,” that came with the vast wave indicative of inclusion of ‘the wayward.’ “and those are mostly teens.”

“What’s the pay?”

Ooo ... the look ... the look helped resolve the fuzzy image of my mother into the social climber she was ... is ... had been ... Baronesses are just a step above knight. She wanted more.

Daddy might be dead.

Holy shit ... I might be a Baron.

Convoluted thinking, tempered with caution, decided I might not want to know. I had no idea how long I’d been confined ... or why ... but ... one thing for sure ... mom had something to do with it.

No ... wait ... STEP mom.

Gods above ... or below ... the ascent from the morass of insanity is more trouble than it’s worth. I liked me better crazy.

“Seriously ... what’s the pay?”

“A gold a month.”

“Sure.”

“Depending of production.”

“Make ladies out of ‘em?”

“Yup.”

“Nope.”

“No?”

“Not only No, but Hel no!”

“Hmm.” Arm across waist other hand cradling chin ... fingers tapping cheek and scratching beard. ‘Give it a think’ mode ... he did the same.

Like twins we said, “How about...” “Sorry” “Excuse me” “Beg pardon”.

The nod.

The palm up gesture.

We shut up.

I started...

“A silver...”

“A week...”

“I’ll try...”

“Not dependent...”

“On success...”

“Done.” “Done.”

The spit ... the shake.

“Start First day.”

“Yes ... I’ll need a room.”

“I’ll put the diggers to it.”

That meant the cliff trail.