Funeral of Hearts

The way the boy sobbed reminded Nairn of a time when Haulean was small, and had fallen down and scraped his knee. Though this pain was nothing like that pain, he couldn't help but think of it. Especially as the boy clambered clumsily into Nairn's lap. Alright, hold on, he murmured, leaning forward to dip his hand underneath the mattress, lifting it easily.

The boy wasn't the strongest, and the toll a loss like this took wasn't to be overlooked. Besides, Haulean was quick, a good pickpocket and thief. One of the better in the group of orphans. Even if he wasn't quite as orphaned as Nairn had once thought. The thick, corded envelope was snagged in his other hand, and the mattress dropped.

And the envelope was carefully settled into the boys hands. What was your mother's name? He inquired, curiously. As he asked the question, he added, I might know what she was so frightened of. Given my line of business. Nairn was more than a pickpocket; and as the person structuring the Coterie now, especially, he had his fingers in all kinds of business, legit and illegal. He knew many people, and if this woman had been frightened of someone, then it was likely not legal business.