Tariik threw the cloak at Raen.
“Put it on,” he said.
Raen picked up the cloak, disgusted. She had been the lowly begger last week. It should be Tariik’s turn to put on the stupid outfit and pretend to be robbed by Raen.
Raen sniffed the cloak. It still smelt of gutter oil and mud from last week’s escapade.
“Can’t we rob someone different today,” she sighed, throwing it back at Tariik, “and it’s your turn to wear the cloak.”
Tariik made a face. For a brother, he could be rather annoying.
“You were spotted last time,” he said, “and if mother and father find out.”
“They won’t find out,” Raen said, “because I’ve distracted them this time.”
Tariik sighed.
“With what?” he asked, “it would have to be something pretty big.”
“Inheriting Uncle’s house,” Raen said. Tariik’s jaw dropped. She smiled.
“See, big enough,” she said, pointing to the cloak, “now put that on, you’re the beggar. Let’s see who we can nick some jewels from today.”
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