***

Mince entered the loft by climbing to the roof of the warehouse, pulling back a loose board near the eaves, and scrambling through the hole. The Nest, as they dubbed their home, was the result of poor carpentry. A mistake made when the East Sundries Company built their warehouse against the common wall of the Bingham Carriage House & Blacksmith Shop. A mismeasurement left a gap that was sealed shut with sideboards. Over the years, the wood had warped.

While trying to break into the warehouse, Elbright noticed a gap between the boards that revealed the hidden space. He never found a way into the storehouse, but he did discover the perfect hideout. The little attic was three feet tall, five feet wide, and ran the length of the common wall. Thanks to the long hours of the blacksmiths, who usually kept a fire burning, it was also marginally heated.

A collection of treasures gathered from the city’s garbage littered The Nest, including moth-eaten garments, burned bits of lumber, fragments of hides tossed out by the tanner, cracked pots, and chipped cups.

Kine lay huddled in a ball against the chimney. Mince had made him a bed of straw and tucked their best blanket around him, but his friend still shivered. The little bit of his face not covered by the blanket was pale-white, and his bluish lips quivered miserably.

“How ya doing?” Mince asked.

“C-c-cold,” Kine replied weakly.

Mince put a hand to the brick chimney. “Bastards are trying to save coal again.”

“Is there any food?” Kine asked.

Mince pulled the wedge of cheese from his pocket. Kine took a bite and immediately started to vomit. Nothing came up, but he retched just the same. He continued to convulse for several minutes then collapsed, exhausted.

“I’m like Tibith, ain’t I?” Kine managed.

“No,” Mince lied, sitting down beside him. He hoped to keep Kine warm with his body. “You’ll be fine the moment the fire is lit. You’ll see.”

Mince fished the money out of his other pocket to show Kine. “Hey, look I got coin—five silver! I could buy ya a hot meal, how would that be?”

“Don’t,” Kine replied miserably. “Don’t waste it.”

“What do ya mean? When is hot soup ever a waste?”

“I’m like Tibith. Soup won’t help.”

“I told ya, yer not like that,” Mince insisted, slamming the silver in a cup he decided at that moment to use as a bank.

“I can’t feel my feet anymore, Mince, and my hands tingle. I ache all over and my head pounds and…and…I pissed myself today. Did you hear me—I pissed myself! I am like Tibith. I’m just like he was and I’m gonna die just like him.”

“I said ya ain’t. Now quit it!”

“My lips are blue, ain’t they?”

“Be quiet Kine, just—”

“By Mar, Mince, I don’t want to die!” Kine shook even more as he cried.

Mince felt his stomach churn as tears dripped down his cheeks, too. No one ever recovered once their lips went blue.

He looked around for something else to wrap his friend in and then remembered the robe.

“There,” he muttered, draping the robe over Kine. “After all the trouble you’ve been, try to be of some use. Keep him warm or I’ll toss ya in the smith’s fire.”

“W-What?” Kine moaned.

“Nothing, go to sleep.”