“Pretty much so, Gord.”
“Then how come I can’t go anyplace?” That was phrased as an accusation and objection, not really a question. “Every time I try to go somewhere I get chased by someone, or the soldiers at the gate tell me to go away back home.”
“There are things about freedom, Gord m’boy, which you will understand only when you’re older. Let’s see if we can’t talk the soldiers into letting us climb up to the top of the big tower there now. Won’t it be fun to be able to see all over the city?”
“You bet!”
The big man led him over to the little gate they had passed through to get to the strip of grassland between the walls. There was a guard slouched there, and after the exchange of a few words and a coin, the two were permitted to climb to the top of the tall structure that loomed over the gate. Gord had never seen anything like that view. Bru pointed out where they lived, the inside wall that bounded Old City, and the distant places beyond. Wind tousling his dark hair, the little lad gazed off into the distance for a long time.
“When I’m as old as you are, Uncle Bru, I’ll live way over there,” he finally said, pointing to a place where big trees and a park could be seen.
“You just might at that, Gord. You just might.”
Leena hardly ever bothered him anymore, thanks to his friend. All the old woman ever wanted from him was food or some similar commodity. Scavenging for sustenance was the fate of the poor of Old City, especially in the decaying slums. Garbage and refuse were the mainstays of life for such folk. Occasionally something of worth would be found, and then it could be sold and the money gained used to purchase the stuff of dreams-beer, wine, and the like usually, but sometimes real food, a warm coat, or something else worthwhile.
The smallest coin used in the city, the iron drab, was a treasure to Gord. It would buy a stale bun, a turnip, or something of similar worth. Four drabs together equaled a brass bit. Uncle Bru had taught him that. A bit would buy a sweet, a juicy red apple of monstrous size, even a thick tallow candle. Next came a coin called a zee. Gord had found one once, and with It he had hoped to buy a pair of old shoes at the ragman’s shop. Leena had found the bronze disc, taken it, and beaten Gord soundly for trying to conceal it from her and keep it all for himself. Of course, she then used the whole thing for her own benefit.
He still had to scavenge, but not as much as before. If his friend was around, then Gord didn’t have to crawl around in garbage piles or put himself in danger to get loot, and Leena never cared where the stuff came from anyway. If he brought home fuel, food, or some old shirt, all she expected was to have most or all of the booty. Uncle Bru made him do work for him, or else Gord had to learn things-that was sometimes a lot harder than the chores his friend gave him.
In return for his efforts, Gord would get to eat wonderful stuff and sometimes have something else bestowed upon him too. The old clothing didn’t fit well, but it helped keep the skinny lad warm and dry.
Uncle Bru even taught Gord to wash himself and his garments occasionally. “Why bother?” the boy had asked his friend.
“Because if you ever want to get out of this place,” Bru had told Gord, “you’ll have to look like something other than a guttersnipe.” Thereafter, Bru had given him a lesson on language, including what the word “guttersnipe” meant and what one of that sort of boy was like. Gord knew from Bru’s description that the boys in the Slum Quarter were all guttersnipes, or worse. He feared them and hated the way they were, so he then and there determined that he would never grow up to be one.
Without his knowing it, the young boy’s reckoning of time was very accurate. The big man who called himself Bru had been Gord’s friend for almost exactly a year before they went out on the Green and up to the tower top to view the city from a bird’s perspective. After that, the two saw each other pretty frequently as well. Sometimes his friend would be there every day for a week, then again Uncle Bru might be gone for twice that long before coming back and searching out the urchin within the twisting streets and narrow alleys of the slums. Once Gord wondered aloud why, if Bru knew he was going to be gone a long time, his friend didn’t give him extra food and maybe a few small coins so that Gord wouldn’t have to search and scavenge to stay alive.
“That wouldn’t be fair to either of us, Gord,” the big man had said. “Don’t you have to earn what I hand over to you?” Gord admitted that was the way of things. “Then how would you be earning it if I just gave you things because I was going to be away?”
“Weil, who says you have to earn stuff?” Gord was cross and quarrelsome. “You’ve got lots and lots of food and money and everything else too. If you can’t be my father and let me live with you, then you could at least give me enough so that old bag Leena doesn’t hit me and be mean to me. You could give me stuff to eat so I wasn’t hungry all the time until you came back.” After the last accusation, Gord could restrain himself no longer, and he burst out in tears.
Bru turned away so that the boy couldn’t see the tears in his own eyes. “Maybe I could, boy, maybe I couldn’t. That’s not really the meat of the matter. I’m your friend, and I’m your teacher too. I say that everything anyone gets he earns, or he pays for. Sometimes earning means working the way you work for me, doing little tasks I give you. Other times it means giving up something to have to learn a trade, working at it, and then collecting earnings. And sometimes people earn what they don’t want to get.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ve seen the gangs of prisoners from the workhouse, haven’t you? Bet you’ve seen the gallows there by the prison, too.” Little Gord murmured his assent, but he seemed uncertain what that had to do with earning. “Well, lad, we don’t always get the right wage for what we do, and sometimes folks collect a lot for doing wrong things. Then again, there are those bad folk who finally earn what was coming to them.”
“Oh…”
Bru’s eyes were sparkling again, and he smiled at his small friend. “So, you see, you have to be able to earn a living here, no two ways about that. What’s more, Gord, you can’t count on me either. Not because I don’t want to be a friend and help you,” Bru went on with a rush, “but because you and I don’t know for sure that I’ll be here tomorrow and all the days after that.”
There was still doubt in Gord’s eyes. “You can do whatever you like.”
“I would that were true, little friend, but it isn’t so. Think of it this way. What if a runaway wagon ran over me? I’d be dead and gone. Suppose bandits attacked and killed me? That is hard for a lad to think on, I know, but you have to be hard inside and deal with the world as it is.” At this last part, Bru took the small boy by his hand and grinned. “We’ve had more than enough of that sort of talk for a long time! Let’s you and I take a prowl around the neighborhood, and we can see if there are any interesting prospects for you to go back and investigate later.”
More months slipped by, and Gord and his friend were often seen about the district. The gangs hated both of them, for the big man was not to be threatened and in fact ran them off if they attempted extortion. Perhaps the members of these bands of young toughs secretly wished they had such a friend and protector, but whether from envy or for some other reason they vowed to get Gord whenever he was without the hairy-faced fellow. The little lad had to be very cautious indeed when he ventured forth on his daily rounds, for the older and bigger boys did watch for him and stole whatever he had.
When Gord complained to Uncle Bru about this, the big man nodded sympathetically and told Gord that he could teach some things to him, but some things Gord would have to learn on his own. That way the lad would be fit to survive in the harsh environment of Old City.
“Do you remember how to count?”
Gord proudly counted to twenty, and he was ready to go on all the way to one hundred, but Uncle Bru raised his hand. He asked Gord to show him how to make the numbers he’d just said. “Easy,” the boy replied, and using his finger he began drawing lines in the dirt. “That’s a one… and that’s a two… and here’s a-”
The boot struck him with fair force and sent him sprawling in the dust. The carefully made numbers were obliterated by Gord’s skid as he fell from the kick.
“Get away from me, you filthy little beggar!” Uncle Bru spat in Gord’s general direction and then turned away and walked off. “If I ever catch you trying to steal from me again, I’ll break your scrawny neck!” he called back threateningly over his shoulder.
This couldn’t be happening! Gord’s mind was racing. Leena would do something like that, but not his friend, not Uncle Bru. He could trust nobody but the big man, and his friend would never betray his trust! Bru was walking away with long strides, not even looking back to see if Gord was injured. Perhaps it was a new game or a lesson…
