[ Bastien remembers Byerly’s little ghost in the Crossroads, as tattered as many of Bastien’s unkempt friends in the streets of Val Royeaux. More tattered than Bastien, whose father occasionally had fits of guilty paternal instinct and mended and tailored every article of clothing in their cramped little room.

He bumps their noses together, in place of a kiss. ]

No scraping. Not like that. If we can’t come by your clothes honestly, we’ll come by them dishonestly and do some extra good deeds to make up for it.

[ His fingers wriggle, playing back. ]

Enough about the money. [ He’ll put numbers together later. ] Say we can do anything. What do you want to do?