the subterranean realm. He was too tired physically, too drained to face a climb like that, but his mind was still keen. In a short time he found a way upward, just as he remembered seeing depicted on the old plan, and after that it had been an easy matter to get to the clean air above. It was a long slog home, but he managed, cloak pulled around him to hide the bedraggled condition of his garments.
One thing more remained to be done before Gord could go to his apartment and sleep for a whole day. He was determined to accomplish that last thing before allowing exhaustion to have its way…
“What’s this?” The tall cleric was astonished at the glittering coins he had just found in the chapel’s poor box.
His sole acolyte was uncertain. “A young student was here briefly an hour or so ago. I didn’t pay attention, because I had duties to perform… Could he have given so much?”
“If he was a slight, dark-haired lad of about sixteen, I think he just could have,” the priest said, letting it go at that.
Chapter 14
What is a city? What makes it singular? Memorable? A place regarded with affection or distaste? Gord knew the city of Greyhawk. Industry and trade made it what it was. Its location and government made it a singular entity, similar to other cities, perhaps, but distinctive too… perhaps.
Gord was beginning to hate the place, hate his existence in it, and the questions in his mind had no final answers. Was it eighteen or nineteen years he had been dwelling within Greyhawk? He didn’t know exactly. What was important was that he had never been farther than a long bowshot from the double walls of the place. What was the city of Dyvers like? He had heard about it, read its history, but beyond that the other great free city of the Flanaess might as well have been on one of the moons for all Gord had experienced of its reality.
“Bring me another bottle of the black wine of Pomarj,” the young man called. There was no friendliness in his tone, and the harassed serving wench shot him a look as dark as the wine he had just demanded. Gord returned her look with hard eyes, and the girl went off quickly to comply. She and Gord had been on other, more pleasant terms not long ago, but she knew he was moody and thought him strange.
“Why do you drink this filthy stuff?” the girl demanded crossly as she banged the heavy bottle down before him.
Gord regretted being sharp. After all, it wasn’t her fault that he was thoroughly discontented. “Because it reminds me of you, dear Meg-dark and tasty,” he replied with a small smile, handing her several large coins as he did so.
“Liar!” Despite the compliment and the overpayment. Black Meggin was having none of Gord’s overtures. “You swill it because of the stuff they put in it. You’re an addict!”
“Keep the change, love,” Gord said as the girl spun around and went to answer the call of another patron. She had a point. At two hundred a bottle, the inky stuff was costly. Its bitter aftertaste did grow on one, and its effects were at least habituating.
“Do I drink to dispel the dark mood? Or is it the drink which cloaks me in such a state?” He asked these questions softly aloud. No one was near enough to his little table to hear. “What does it matter? I like it, and I can easily afford it. Drink it I shall.”
A trio of men sat and conversed among themselves several tables away from Gord. They were strangers to this tavern known as the Man in the Moon, and from their garb it was evident that they came from another place- Urnstmen, possibly, and surely merchants or traders. Without being obvious about it, the three had been keeping a close watch on Gord’s every move. Black Pomarj wine was rare, especially costly since so little was made now due to the humanoid occupation of the territory.
“He gave the wench the value of a full silver piece,” a hawk-nosed man murmured to his two associates.
“That’s nothing,” a man with small eyes next to him said. “I saw the gleam of yellow when he reached in and fetched his payment forth.”
The third fellow, a bull-necked man with a closely trimmed beard that only partially hid a sickle-shaped scar on his cheek, merely nodded and called, “Come, girl, more ale here!”
Sunk as he was in his own mood, Gord gave no indication that he was noticing the men’s attention. Since he had abandoned his studies in favor of a more active life, the young man had changed considerably. Even after his friend and companion, San, had gone off to pursue membership in the Thieves’ Guild, and also to pursue the daughter of a member of that association, Gord had remained pretty much unchanged. For a time he had remained a carefree student, a seemingly normal member of the large group attending one or another of the various colleges of Greyhawk’s university.
Certainly, he was different in that he managed to provide for his living all by himself. He did informally and without the sanction of the guild what San now did with its approval… thievery. By using his considerable talents and skills, Gord earned a comfortable living and put himself through college nicely. Discovery of that knowledge would have shocked the authorities of the august institution. It also would have brought the young man before the tribunals of the city. To practice the trade of thief without guild membership was forbidden.
It was almost six months since he had left his old apartment to begin a new life. Gord still read whatever he could get his hands on-and books were not common-and maintained his active work learning the art of fighting with dagger, sword, and the two weapons in combination. He and San had determined to learn fencing skills as a key to their ultimate survival. Being boys alone in a city filled with predatory adults, their decision had been wise. Now that Gord was away from Grey College, he still took instruction. Currently, he went weekly to learn from a retired mercenary who lived in the Foreign Quarter. That would have to change soon, however. Because Gord actively pursued thievery now, as a gambler, confidence man, and burglar principally, it was necessary to change his identity and residence frequently. Still, he knew he could always find instruction, for the city was filled with capable warriors willing to accept coin in return for lessons in weapon-play.
Tonight would be his last at the Man in the Moon tavern. It was time to relocate his dwelling, change identities, and thus effectively disappear. When it came to being a lone thief in Greyhawk, one couldn’t be too careful. Every hand was against the rogue-city police, guild, and citizen alike. Gord idly twisted the drooping end of one of his moustachios. Although young, he had a heavy beard, and his fast-growing facial hair made changes of appearance easy.
“Will more changing help?” He asked the question mentally. “No,” he mused to himself. “I am what I am.”
He didn’t like that conclusion, inescapable as it was. Whether residing in the slums or the High Quarter, he was still an orphan. He knew not his parents or his heritage, nor did he have a friend. As a student he had used his thievery to maintain himself in the sheltered world of the university. There he had felt a sense of meaning, had believed his life had purpose. That had been a delusion, of course.
Now he was using his larcenous and acrobatic abilities to strike out at the place he grudgingly called home. It was only fair that this city filled with hawks be preyed upon by another. His gains would help to repay him for his own suffering in this place. It was long past time that the score be evened, time for Gord to live high at the expense of the other folks of Grey-hawk. There were, he knew, other young rebels like himself in the city. Perhaps if he joined forces with some of them he would find satisfaction and companionship-and best of all, peace of mind.
The bottle was nearly empty. Gord spilled the last of the ebon wine into his goblet and quaffed it off at a toss. “Shall I wait for you tonight, Meg?” He already knew the answer she would give, but the banter was part of his game, related to the art of vanishing without being thought of as having done so for suspicious motives.
The black-haired Meggin stopped and looked at him without smiling. “Leaving so early, Gord? No wonder, what with the amount of that drink you’ve swilled down! That will keep you warm and content, I’m sure, so as not to be needing my company.” Then she softened a little and came close, looking straight into his eyes as Gord stood up. “There’s no use our being together, you see. You’re unhappy, and I can’t change that no matter how hard I try. Ask me again, Gord, when you know yourself.”
Gord gave her his best boyish grin, grabbed her around her narrow waist, and planted a kiss full on her pretty lips. “I love you, darlin’ girl, but you’re right as always! It’s time I was off to see the lands about this great world. I’ll
