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wearing a new shirt. And fourth, you stood totally still when I said you were worried about something, and every muscle in your face froze, which was you trying not to give anything away, and which gave everything away.”
    Mr. Baram looked at him for a long minute. His nostrils flared and his eyes blazed. Syd thought he might get hit. It wouldn’t be the first time. Mr. Baram could be moody, especially when he was nervous.
    But he broke out in a wide smile and put his hand on Syd’s shoulder. “You’ve learned very well,” he said, laughing. “I knew you weren’t a hopeless case. Ever since you were a little boy, I knew! You see? Kindred spirits, Syd! My mishpucha ! Well done!”
    “So what’s the worry? A big deal? Something good or bad?”
    “Good or bad, who can say until Messiah comes and all our debts are forgiven?” Mr. Baram cleaned his glasses with his shirt.
    “You sound like a Rebooter,” said Syd. “Praying for the forgiveness of debts.”
    “There are worse things than forgiveness, no?” Mr. Baram shrugged. “We should all get a little forgiveness—without it, there can be no kindness.”
    “Kindness is expensive,” Syd said.
    “And yet, you are going to help out this sewer boy.”
    “Sawyer,” said Syd. “Tom Sawyer.”
    “These orphan names, I’ll never understand.”
    “They get them from old books,” said Syd.
    “I wonder if they read any of them.”
    “Doubt it. It’s just a database.”
    Mr. Baram rolled his eyes. “So, Sydney, I gather that you are helping this Tom Sawyer with no compensation in return?”
    Syd shrugged. “Like I said. Kindness is expensive.”
    Mr. Baram smiled. “So shines a good deed in a naughty world.”
    “That another of your sayings?” Syd asked.
    “Ach!” Mr. Baram threw his hands up in the air, muttering to himself. “You don’t know Shakespeare?” He shook his head. “They teach you nothing in that school you pay so much for. Next time you use my library, read something beyond the dictionary. My visage? Phfft.”
    “So what’s your worry? Anything I can do to help?”
    “Now, Syd, I don’t go prying into your personal business, do I?” His tone was friendly, but he wasn’t joking.
    “No, sir.”
    Mr. Baram nodded and went toward the inner door that led back to the rest of the shop. “Use what you need with this charity case of yours . . . with my blessings.” His eyes lingered on Syd for a moment, then he left the room and shut the door.
    Syd watched one of the holos on the wall. It showed Mr. Baram walking into the front of the shop and sitting on his usual stool with his hands resting on his belly. He looked like a lazy old man taking a nap, but he was certainly looking at his datastream on his glasses, getting feeds from informants all over the city about parts to sell and parts to buy. He could broker entire deals through his glasses without ever appearing to do a thing except blink and wiggle his fingers.
    Syd watched him for a while, trying to get a clue about what could have Mr. Baram on edge, when he saw Tom come in the front door and linger nervously, looking around for Syd.
    “Come in, bubeleh, come in.” Syd heard Mr. Baram’s muffled voice through the door. He used his old language much more whenever a new customer came in. He called it Yiddish, and said it was a language of great history, texture, and richness and a shame that nobody bothered with it anymore. “ Nu, you must be Tom?”
    Tom nodded and said something, but it was too quiet for Syd to hear.
    “Welcome, welcome. You can go right through the shop back there.” Mr. Baram pointed. “You’ll find Syd. You’re a lucky young man. He’s quite a mensch. Not a lot of those left in the world.”
    Tom looked as confused as a fish off the farm (another of Mr. Baram’s sayings), but he went to the door and Syd opened it for him, letting Tom into the workroom.
    “Leave the door cracked open a bit,” Mr. Baram called in a forced casual tone. That was