Charley fought the urge to bark a laugh at the boy. This crazy Duke o' Limbs was pulling her leg, he was having a laugh and all at her expense. His name couldn't be Charles, not for real. The urchin twisted her grin, adding more pressure to her squeeze. "Sure, Charles," she said, releasing him at last with one finger pointed back his way, "Don't go changin' yer mind now, alright?"

Her eye fixed him with one last stare, a dead serious one. Even though they hadn't spit-shaked on it, she was trusting him to be a man of his word. It was probably folly, but that's all Charley had left for the moment.

She took her place on the other side of the circle, the gobstones there waiting patiently for her return. It wasn't the same game she was returning to, but it wasn't like the stones were about to care. They stood gleaming in the sunlight, as proud and indifferent as the cobblestones of the street. None were so pretty as an aggie, the prize he'd stolen from her, but she could fix that soon enough.

Picking up her shooter, Charley sat back on her haunches and gestured for Charles to pick up a stone. She rolled hers between fingers, feeling the pits and cracks in its surface. Learning them as well as she'd learned the rooftops and shop alleys of Hogsmeade. Impatience took over as Charley called out, "Yer shot, Chuck."

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