Saga of the Old City (7 page)

Now the two boys and three sellswords were housed aboard a small fleet of barges sheltering in a small backwater between the docks and the sprawl of Shack Town. This was now to be their base of operations, according to new instructions received by Gord from the pedlar who had picked up their “merchandise.”

When he found that the new orders were addressed directly to him, Gord was flattered and a bit flabbergasted. He was just entering his thirteenth spring, he guessed, and was not used to being treated as anything other than a lad. Now the Beggarmaster was having orders passed on to him as if he were an adult, and an important minion of the Union at that! In the deepest voice he could muster, he had told the three fighting men of the change, and they accepted his instruction without a blink. Perhaps this was because of the new dirk that swung openly from his belt in this relaxed surrounding. But, the trio of mercenaries did actually treat both Gord and San with some respect-not considering them equals, perhaps, but at least worthy associates with skill in their own callings. San reveled in this exalted status, and Gord felt much the same way-but, as befits a leader, he kept his feelings more to himself.

The Rhennee were a puzzle to Gord. They were smallish and dark, much as he was. They seemed enthusiastic and bashful all at the same time. They spoke loudly yet in a self-effacing manner, but they were quick and very quiet when they wished to be so. That they could fight and steal, Gord knew. The mercenaries showed these folks healthy respect, and Gord had heard many tales extolling their virtues as thieves. Fortunately, they were not allied to the Thieves’ Guild. Gord realized that they were too free-spirited and independent to accept such an arrangement, and this was apparently why they had chosen to cast their lot on behalf of the Beggars’ Union, which was also resisting the pressure of the Guild in its own distinctive way. Somehow, Gord felt, there was more to these Rhennee than met the eye. Without committing himself to any firm conclusion, Gord suspected that the Rhennee were quite unusual and something to be reckoned with.

If the men were interesting and capable, their womenfolk were doubly so. The girls were mostly breathtaking in appearance and bold in behavior-to a point. But the elder females seemed to be something mystical, a cross between seer, witch, and clerical matriarch. The young women deferred to the men with respect and downcast eyes, while the old women were deferred to in turn by the toughest of the men. That circle appealed to Gord. He’d happily have a lovely and submissive concubine while seeking guidance and wisdom for his actions from a grand matron. But then, Gord was young and understood little of life….

When they weren’t making excursions into the city, all five of the Beggarmaster’s agents were dressed as bargefolk. Brightly garbed in satins and gaudy accessories, they moved freely among the two dozen interconnected barges. No watcher would suspect that they were anything other than Rhennee. They had been here for more than a sennight now, and three other trips to The Strip and neighboring districts had netted them little in the way of hostages for Theobald. Several dead thieves could be credited to their activity, however, and all of them had acquired a fair amount of spoils from their efforts on behalf of the cause.

But Gord had the feeling that their luck would not hold for much longer, and he had begun to yearn for a change of scenery. Although staying on the barges was interesting and exciting, and this had certainly proved to be an effective base from which to carry out further raids on the thieves, he was eager to get back to find out what was happening in the Thieves Quarter. Besides, he had a fair stash of coins hidden there, and a score to settle with Theobald.

Gord was feeling confident now that he would somehow be able not only to get revenge on the dirty, fat bastard who had slain Violet, but also to profit big in the process. He was willing to trade his independence on the fringe of things for the chance to again be in the heart of the action, even if that meant being at someone else’s beck and call. Anyway, he had promised a young girl named Adaz that he would go with her to the waters of the Nyr Dyv one day soon, and he really believed deep inside that his fate would eventually return him to the Rhennee. Now it was time for other activities, however.

“What’s the matter, Gord?” San inquired forcefully. Gord was becoming irritable and restless. He’d just told his partner to bugger off for the third time in about fifteen minutes, and San was having no more of it.

“Oh, crap! It isn’t your fault, San… sorry. This just isn’t right.”

“Hell, yes, it’s right!” San shot back truculently. He was thoroughly enjoying the freedom and independence of their present position.

Gord shook his head and explained. “The Beggarmaster is a good… tactician-that’s the word-but he’s a bad… strategist. Spreading everyone around Greyhawk-putting us here to operate against The Strip-was smart. It’s paid off.”

“So what’s wrong? You arguing with yourself?”

“Naw… San, the action is going to shift. Buggermaster Fatty has made the big mistake. I don’t think the Guild will ever allow itself to be flummoxed just because Theobald has kidnapped a handful of its members, bigshots or not. The Guild
has
to beat Theobald and destroy the Union, or the thieves are through. And I want to be around Theobald when that happens. I want to be there when that rotten scum gets what’s coming to him-or do it myself.”

San shivered a little at the vehemence of Gord’s statement and made no reply.

For Gord, the timing was right. Word came later that day: They were to leave their current base and return to Theobald’s house. Every good man was needed there for a final confrontation, it seemed. They left immediately, after changing from Rhennee garb to their more mundane apparel. Entering Greyhawk from this area was no problem. Each paid his iron drab and passed through the great gate. Without difficulty, all five made the trek from the dock area to the Foreign Quarter. There they separated, agreeing that each would find his own way back to headquarters to avoid attracting attention in a group.

The mercenaries’ stride never faltered as they passed through Black Gate into the Old City, and the guards there never even looked up as they went by. San went in just as easily a few minutes later, and then Gord went last, after San had disappeared from his view. Despite the hostilities that had erupted, it was evident that those not obviously serving one side or the other were of no interest to anyone. Gord did not slow his step, emulating the fighters he had recently spent so much time with, for he felt himself as important now. He was coming home, more or less, to settle things.

The northernmost section of the Thieves Quarter was the locale controlled by the Beggars’ Union. The beggars’ territory actually spilled over into the Slum Quarter, but Gord avoided that area, assuming that it would be watched closely. He would attract little attention where the Thieves’ Guild felt secure, he reasoned, so he strode up Haven Street and turned left on Redcobbles Lane, not bothering to avoid anyone. Sooner or later, though, he would have to pass through the area between the opposing headquarters. When Gord turned north and began to follow Cleaver, a street that passed near Theobald’s domain, he was accosted.

“Hold it there, laddy,” a voice said. A thin, black-clad fellow stepped out of a nearby doorway, hand on sword. He eyed Gord suspiciously.

Gord didn’t feel intimidated at all. This surprised him a bit, for he still had memories of his “Gutless” days. “What do you want?” he inquired firmly.

“I want to know what you think you’re doing, strolling around in a battle zone! Don’t you know that this is the boundary between the thieves’ territory and those dirty beggars yonder?” It was more of a warning than a challenge.

Dressed as he was, Gord could have been an apprentice thief, some ally, or just about anything except a beggar. Gord certainly didn’t want to cause a scene-who knew what backup this sentry might have?

“Sure,” he said. “I’ve heard about the trouble, and I thought I would take a look to see for myself how badly we’ve frightened ’em. In broad daylight, and armed”-here Gord patted his side where his belt knife was secured-“none of those feeble cowards would dare bother me.”

“Cocky bastard, ain’t you?” the man retorted. He looked closely at Gord and added, “Where you from, anyway?”

“Who the hell appointed you my master?” Gord spat back. He found himself actually incensed at this fellow’s questioning. “I go where I choose and need no permission from you, sir!”

At that the sentry laughed. Before him was a youngster of tender years and scant size, armed with a knife no bigger than that with which the thief used to eat his joint of beef, daring him to contest his passage!

“Well, you’re no beggar, anyway. If you want to get your throat slit, it’s your affair, bandy-boy. Have at it.” With that, the fellow retreated into his doorway, and Gord passed by without giving him another glance.

Although the area immediately beyond looked deserted, Gord felt a prickling sensation at scalp and spine when he passed gaping doorways and empty windows. There were eyes watching him, he knew. Then, a couple of blocks farther north, the streets began to show some signs of life again. Not much, but here and there a figure was out walking, a handcart being pushed, some tiny shops still open and doing business. All told, however, this portion of the quarter was virtually closed. If this dearth of economic activity was any indication, Theobald and his associates were in deep trouble.

As he thought about the impressions that this scene was creating in his mind, Gord realized that he no longer considered himself one of Theobald’s servants. True, he was still officially bound to the fat creature who commanded the army of beggars, and in fact he was now on his way to report to Theobald. Still, Gord knew that he was now something more than a tool of the Beggarmaster….

Abruptly, six young toughs appeared before Gord, breaking his thoughts. Now, as he had expected, he would have to contend with sentries in the employ of the Beggars’ Union. The leader of the group swaggered up to him, hands on hips, and surveyed him. Gord knew that had he been a full-grown man with a longsword at his hip, the six never would have shown themselves-unless they could have ambushed with rocks from above. Now they felt confident that they had an easy prize.

“Take me to Theobald, and be quick about it!” Gord ordered before the chief bully had spoken. The fellow’s mouth dropped open at that, then clamped shut.

“Screw you, ya li’l pimp! Who in hell ya givin’ orders to?”

“You, fool!” Gord replied. “I am Master Gord of the Beggars’ Union, and my orders are taken direct from the Beggar-master. Now either accompany me to the headquarters of Theobald, or get out of my path. I don’t care which you do, but unless you act quickly, you’ll regret it.”

Gord had all he could do to suppress a smile as he watched the spectrum of expressions that passed across the young tough’s countenance. Astonishment, fury, fear, and uncertainty paraded openly before Gord’s gaze, as plainly as if the words themselves had been written on the oafs forehead.

“How in hell do I know that you ain’t a spy for them thieves?” the leader finally asked, groping for some way to gain the verbal advantage. Although his five associates had crowded closer behind him during the exchange, their proximity did not reassure him, and his tone of voice now contained a tinge of whining.

Gord felt like calling him an asshole, threatening him further, and making all six of them sweat some more. How often had he had to suffer the humiliation of fear and cowardice? But instead, he simply said, “Take me to Theobald, and if I am a spy, he’ll deal with me.”

When the leader heard those words and saw the hard-eyed stare that accompanied them, he broke. “Naw… you’re okay. I just hadda check, see? Them’s
my
orders….”

By the time these last words were out of the sentry’s mouth, Gord had already marched around the group and continued on his way. His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he heard the leader’s final, plaintive cry: “Tell Master Theobald that Bugbear and his boys is doin’ a good job… okay?”

In stark contrast to the rest of the neighborhood Gord had seen, the area around Theobald’s place was a beehive of activity. When he was in sight of his destination, slowly strolling along, Gord was taken aback to see a squad of the Watch parade past in the street off to his side-and even more surprised to see a group of city officials entering the building! What was happening?

He stayed back to observe more and was soon further mystified by the sight of several of the beggars he knew openly entering and leaving the place. This was not at all what he expected. To be on the safe side, Gord went carefully around the area, checking everything out. The whole place was filled with the same sort of activity: open comings and goings, and many important-looking folk mingling with the beggars and their ilk, all under the aegis of groups of the Watch.

Gord decided to make his way into the headquarters by means of a secret underground passage that began in a building a bowshot distant from the place. He was not about to take any unnecessary chances despite the seeming security.

Nobody was in the hidden sub-cellar of the house when he entered, and Gord moved quickly through the place and up onto the main floor. There was action there aplenty, with beggars and their allies coming and going. Furgo noticed Gord, approached him briskly, clapped him on the back, and congratulated him for the success of his group’s mission.

“Master Theobald’s strategy was perfect!” Furgo exclaimed. “And Ladav Idnorsea was the key to our success,” he continued. “The other teams met with mixed results. We lost a couple, and took several other thieves prisoner. Even killed a fair lot of ’em, too!”

“What’s happening now?” Gord asked.

“With Idnorsea and the others in the bag,” explained Furgo, “the master called for a truce. Both sides are still armed and waiting, but we’re negotiating a settlement now.”

“But what are the Watch and the city officials doing here?”

“His Lordship the Mayor doesn’t want the warfare to continue… and that’s a fact. Who knows what old rivalries would come up if it did? His emissaries told us that to avoid a possible division of the city into warring factions, they’d mediate the dispute and make certain that the Thieves’ Guild settled things on terms just for both sides.”