waiting to be prompted for his request.
“I am interested in the city, doctor.”
“The city? That’s a lot to be interested in-you must have in mind something more specific than that. You know its history, politics, and demography, don’t you? I’ve given you lessons on those subjects myself, and the college hasn’t neglected your learning, I am certain. Come now, boy! What exactly is going through that fertile mind of yours?”
Of course, Gord did have something specific in mind, but he wanted to ease into the subject so that he didn’t give away any more information than necessary. Gord suspected that if the doctor knew the full extent of his plan, he would not only refuse to give him the information he wanted but might even turn him in to the authorities. The doctor never would have done anything this drastic, but Gord had no way of knowing that for sure.
“I’m interested in planning-the planning out of Greyhawk, the way the early engineers built it,” he ventured.
Prosper’s wrinkled brow became more furrowed still. Try as he might, though, the old man couldn’t discover anything actually nefarious in Gord’s expressed desire. “Are you considering becoming an engineer, then? An architect?”
“Well… no, not exactly. I haven’t ruled out those professions, of course,” the boy added quickly. “This is my city, my only home. I need to comprehend it better, know it more fully, in order to be knowledgeable and understand its history and its future.” That was a broad and ambitious claim. Would Prosper let it go at that?
In fact, the old fellow could relate to such a thirst for knowledge. The broader the base of information from which one drew, the better the decisions one could arrive at. Information along with understanding were keys to success in any endeavor or calling.
“So, why not simply consult the library at Grey College? They have material of the sort you need.” Prosper pretended annoyance he didn’t feel.
“That’s just it, doctor. I’ve searched through the entire library and found nothing to really satisfy me. I want to see the old plans, the original drawings of the city, its water ducts, walls, sewers, the whole works! Do such plans exist?”
Still no clue to give away what Gord was after. Perhaps the boy in truth was becoming a dedicated student, as Prosper had always hoped he would. The old professor pondered the question Gord had posed. Where would such stuff as original plans exist? Possibly the Lord Mayor’s archives would have them, but no student would ever be allowed access to such information as would be contained there. There would be secret escape tunnels, means of defense, and other secret stuff not for the eyes of any save the rulers of the free city. That left only one possibility.
“Landgrave,” the sage muttered.
Gord understood instantly. Landgrave College was the oldest of all the schools that made up the university. It had originally been located in what was now the Labor Quarter of the Old City. Centuries ago, when the New Town had begun to take shape. Landgrave had acquired the land and buildings of a monastery whose sect desired seclusion, not inclusion in a burgeoning metropolis. The college was moved to the place where once monks had been and now stood in the very heart of the whole district of learning. “That is a most respected institution, doctor. As a mere student at Grey, I’ll never be allowed to enter Landgrave’s library.”
“Don’t be hasty, and don’t say ‘never’-too negative and restricts the thinking accordingly. There is always a way.” Doctor Prosper looked around, found a clean sheet of paper, and began scratching away with a quill pen, pausing only to dip the instrument into a pot of sepia ink now and then. “Should your chum… San, is it?… have access to the facility as well?”
“Ah, no, Doctor Prosper. You must have forgotten, but he has left college.”
The elderly sage shook his head, covering his irritation at having forgotten. He hated to face the fact of declining memory. “Yes, yes, of course. No matter. You alone will have the means, then.” He added a few more words to the letter, signed it, and sprinkled sand on it to dry the ink.
“You can give me a letter which will enable me to use the library of Landgrave College?” Gord’s tone was properly deferential, and his awe, though subdued, was genuine.
“Of course,” Prosper said, concealing his pride in his status. “You are a student engaged in research on my behalf-I’ve stretched things a bit by telling an old associate of mine at Landgrave that I am no longer able to manage such strenuous work myself.” He gave the missive over to the boy with a bit of a flourish. “Go right over to the college and seek out Doctor Bizzell. He is a senior don, you know. He will take care of all you need.”
“Thank you!” Gord was excited and eager to be off on his new quest. “I’ll remember this always, doctor, and you can bet-”
“I can bet you’ll forget it almost as soon as you’re outside my door,” the sage interrupted, saying what was probably true but which Gord would never admit. “You’ll stay right here for a while yet, boy. I have a few chores for you to do, and then you can fix me some eggs for supper. While you’re at that, I intend to ask you some questions. As a former pupil, and one for whom I have just done a considerable favor, I am entitled to at least that much.”
Grinning, Gord acquiesced to the old fellow’s demands. He did the work as instructed, whistling as he went, then started preparations for a special meal. It was an honor to be able to serve the good old sage thus, after all, and despite the quizzing that he knew Prosper would give him afterward. Time was always precious, but he could certainly put off his plans for a few hours.
It took longer than he had anticipated to find the facts he needed. Gord had entered the sanctum of Landgrave’s ancient library thinking that it would be a simple matter to find what he sought. Many days, many pages, and much dust afterward, he finally discovered the drawings he was looking for bound into a great, flat book. That tome, along with similar works, was stored in a section of the library that probably had not been visited in years. That was no surprise. Not even scholars had much interest in the aqueducts and cisterns beneath old Greyhawk. The boy was happy to have it remain that way. Only San would know the real reason for Gord’s interest, if he had been aware of the young man’s current search for knowledge.
Gord recalled the whole incident from his past with crystal clarity. It was one he would never, never forget. The young lad paused a moment, reflecting on what had taken place nearly three years ago to the day. He and San had been part of the roving force of the Beggars’ Union that had brought the war to the Thieves’ Guild. In one of their “illegal” thieving excursions, Gord had obtained his cherished ring by slaying a vicious killer in hand-to-hand combat. Thereafter, he and San had roamed the Low and River Quarters, hidden among the Rhennee bargefolk, and done everything else they could to defeat their enemies, even though both young boys had despised Beggarmaster Theobald. It was a matter of sheer survival, and despite their lack of years, both of them understood that all too well.
Suddenly a summons had come to them. The war was over, a peace was about to be negotiated. Gord and San had no choice; they returned to the vast old warehouse that Theobald had made his headquarters and palace. Gord laughed inwardly at the term. Palace, indeed! The building was a gross exhibit of shabbiness and decay, a monument to the sick and perverted mind of the beggarmaster and his hubris.
The slaughter of the beggar-thieves and all who associated with them occurred the very night of the boys’ return. Perhaps Chinkers had been in the old building, but Gord doubted it. He imagined that the chubby rascal had slipped away beforehand. Considering his current position, there was no doubt in Gord’s mind that Chinkers had served as a spy for Arentol and the Thieves’ Guild.
Gord and San had been very lucky indeed not to have been murdered in their beds when the assault came. Fortunately, San had fled his quarters on the top floor of the building when he heard noise from below. Gord, who had been sequestered on a lower floor, was assaulted in his room and had been forced to kill a man who was bent on stabbing him to death. That brush with death still gave him nightmares occasionally. It had also earned him a superb short sword to complement the dagger he had won from his very first fight to the death.
Gord had tried to escape by going into the bowels of the building, where he met up with San and Theobald, who promptly forced the boys into carrying out a load of treasure for him. It had been poetic in a way… Gord had driven the fat devil to his demise with his own metal strongbox-a coffer containing coins of unguessed value, used to smash a disgusting monster of no worth whatsoever.
What had been the beggarmaster’s plan after commandeering the two boys to assist him in his flight? Gord thought there could be no doubt. Theobald certainly would have stabbed or strangled both of them, dumped them into the cistern, and pleasurably gone on his way. Ironic, then, that the gross murderer had gone to his end in the
