what they should do. Neither was certain if the Thieves’ Guild was looking for them or not. There could be a price on either or both their heads for all they knew.
The Foreign Quarter had soon proved to be a poor choice. Two small boys, even lads who appeared competent and wore weapons, were something of a novelty. They were too noticeable. Some thought them prey, others curiosities, and so forth. They moved from place to place, seeking to avoid these unwanted intrusions on their privacy. A shabby inn here, a waterside boarding house there, and even a deserted shanty made into a secret den. Nothing seemed to suffice for long. Compounding their problems, both boys knew they must continue to exercise and practice, even though this ran counter to their desire for seclusion, for neither had a thought about abandoning the pursuit of their skills in the arts and crafts of thievery. Hate the thieves of the city they did, but not their profession!
They found themselves forced to give up the Foreign Quarter when they bungled a job of pocket-picking on some foreigner whom both managed to underestimate. He set up a hue and cry after them as they fled, and the pair were lucky to escape that incident. That night they moved out and into the Quarter of Craftsmen just beyond the south wall of Old City. The place was safe enough, as long as they kept a very low profile. They stayed in a dull hostel there for about two months, hardly ever venturing out. They paid promptly, and the ostler didn’t ask any questions. However, staying low didn’t make for fun, and they were young and fun-loving. It wasn’t a place to work at thievery, either. They did, discreetly, a few times, but the returns were hardly worth the risk and effort. Dreariness and confinement led to pacing and short tempers. After several senseless arguments and exchanges of blows, Gord and San knew that they had to find a real place for themselves in this big city.
Funds were not a problem. It turned out that San also had a reserve of coins he’d managed to sequester. Even without the orbs and plates provided so thoughtfully by “Buggermaster Fattybald,” the boys had been happily surprised by the size of their combined stack of coins. The worth of that hoard was near a thousand zees. And they had augmented their cash by clever applications of their mutual profession, so that they had not been forced to touch their reserve.
Although it seemed probable that there was no active search for them, and that no bounty was posted for their heads, they would be in trouble if any thief recognized them. This was very obvious, for there were still few beggars on the streets. Knowing full well that the upper part of New Town was closed to the likes of them, they tried to determine what viable territory remained for them to inhabit. After careful discussion and debate it was agreed that the Low Quarter, The Strip, and the River Quarter were not conducive to their continued liberty and life. Either they could remain where they were-perish that suggestion! — or try the Clerkburg. And while the latter thought had little appeal, staying put had less.
Clerkburg was the district of the bureaucrats and the bookish. The upper end was filled with clerks, administrators, scribes and the like, for it was near The Halls-the government sector of the city and the location of many of its religious edifices as well. The lower portion was given over to the colleges of Greyhawk’s university, with attendant housing, shops, and minor schools as well. There was no choice other than this, and off the two went as soon as was practical.
As they soon had discovered to their mutual surprise, Clerkburg was a wonder unto itself. The great stone colleges and imposing cathedrals lining The Processional hid another world behind them. This area was dotted with mazes of interconnecting buildings, small, walled parks, and other such obstructing physical features that formed a second line of defense between the world of academia and the rest of the city. Inside Clerkburg were hundreds and hundreds of students, many of them nearly as young as Gord and San. This was just the place for them.
It was an easy matter to find an out-of-the-way place to stay. Their new digs, as they later learned to call their chambers, were in an ancient inn called The Acorns, near the great wall that surrounded the New City. Their host, Calvert, an elderly, red-faced man full of good humor and jokes, told them that his family had run the inn since before the wall was extended to encompass it. A narrow stone stairway led up to the rooms above the ground floor, which contained the bar, the dining room, the kitchen, and the hosteler’s own apartment. Gord and San arranged to take the attic above the guest floor, and although it needed attention, they were delighted with it. Not only was it large and complete with several windowed gables, but a gnarled oak lifted its stout branches from the rear yard to the windows that looked over it-an unobtrusive means of egress and entry whenever they wished to go undetected. The rent was one copper common a week, four a month if they paid that way, in advance. Gord had paid a month’s price immediately, and they had stayed there at The Acorns ever since…. Could it truly be almost three years already?
Making good on their supposed reason for coming to the Clerkburg promised to be more difficult than finding quarters had been. When they first took up residence in the academic area, the college term was over, and most students were elsewhere for several weeks until the new one began. But if Gord and San were to be seen as students, they had to
They hit upon the idea of becoming acquainted with an old sage by the name of Prosper who dwelt nearby. The fellow grew herbs and puttered in his workshop when not reading. Since Calvert had once introduced them, the boys felt free to approach the old man. Their vast ignorance in all subjects was quickly made obvious to them, as the ancient scholar deluged them with what he claimed were simple questions, and neither lad could answer one in twenty.
“What are the nine known dimensions of the multiverse?” the good doctor demanded.
San managed the three obvious ones-length, breadth, height.
“Astrality and ethereality,” Gord added proudly, but he was stuck after that.
“Time, probability, extra-conceivability, and nonconceivability,” Doctor Prosper finished, and both boys squirmed.
“From whence came the Common Tongue?”
“When was the Empire of the Aerdi overthrown?”
“What is leverage?”
“How can you explain technology?”
Gord took a shot at that one. “It is a myth of the ignorant used to fool gullible folk and frighten children!”
“Nonsense!” the elderly scholar retorted. “It is the counterpart of magic within the dimension of probability and works in inverse proportion to it.” Then he resumed firing off questions.
“What was the Invoked Devastation, and when did it occur?”
“Of what use is basilisk blood in alchemy?”
“Enumerate the Inner Planes-there are twelve. Name them.”
“Relate the major deities of Oerth to the minor ones, and explain how they relate to the forces of the Lower Planes.”
“What is the largest tree known?”
“Roanwood,” San shot back with relief.
“Good,” said Prosper. “And what vegetation and creatures are typically found in association with roanwoods?”
There was no reply forthcoming, so the sage continued his barrage.
“What are the characteristic differences between the races of men? Do they make us into different species, or merely indicate variations? Likewise, explain the racial differences of demi-humankind, and relate them to humans.”
“This is most unfair, Doctor Prosper! You are a renowned sage!” said Gord, a twinge of desperation in his tone.
“Come, come, lads,” the white-bearded chap said, shaking his head. “What authority have you that I am renowned? No, no. Quite the contrary. I am but a minor scholar now put out to pasture, seen as being too old to have anything worth teaching today’s students….” The old man paused and fixed first San, then Gord with his stern gaze. “That’s not to say you both aren’t abominably ignorant, though it is surprising that you know your letters so well.”
