“Is more about my need than Mr. Hurley's, ser. ‘E's a very considerate man.” It was the last thing he was, but Simon did not want to go to prison for what he was really paid to do. Simon scratched the back of his head. A gesture that might make his shoulders look broader. “Can't say I know much about it, Mr. Meijer.”

Maybe it was the liquor (the non-kosher liquor Christopher had finally worn him down into drinking), but the assertions of his kindness chafed with that layer of sociability liquidated.

... He did have to urinate.

“He could have found something more appropriate,” he muttered with a glance over his shoulder.

His eyes dropped to Simon’s shoulders.

“You have a... face, for entertainment." His eyes jerked back up. "Card dealing? God knows he’s shit at it.”

Not the only thing he's shit at, Simon thought. "Aye sir." He played cards in the pub quite fequently. His father did not allow him to, but that was what had made it exciting in the beginning. As with drinking. And a good deal of other 'vices'.

He truly had to urinate.

“I could use a card dealer,” he decided, aided by the alcohol currently straining to vacate by a most traditional route.

He had no idea what in the world he would do with a card dealer.

"Wh-what, now?" Simon asked, some concern in his voice. He'd be out of work if Christopher saw him talking to the guest. Worse, for all he knew Christopher might claim he was burgling.

“A card dealer,” he said, words coming out quicker. “Dealing cards. For my guests.”

What guests? Did not matter he had to pee.

Simon looked at him for a moment, unaware of the fact that he was prolonging Zech's ordeal. Was it as card dealer the man was asking him? Or was it a way of communicating he wanted the same as Mr. Hurley. He could just go over and see. Simon did not mind anymore. The first time he had negotiated with Hurley to fix a price for his body, he had felt awkward and embarrassed. No longer. He knew everything had a price. Everything could be bought. "I'd be pleased to, ser." He said.

Meanwhile, as Simon weighed the worth of a human body’s dignity, one lone thought traveled through Zechariah’s head.

Pish pish pish pish!

“Perfect wonderful thank you” came out as a rush that sounded like one word, and then he darted to the opposite door.

Yiddish:

Piss piss piss piss!

Simon looked confused as the man ran off. He popped his head around the corner. He could leave. But he was already late. So it did not matter. Instead he closed the door and went back to napping. He still wanted his money.