Studies were hard under the crotchety Doctor Prosper, but he was a mine of information. Although it was surely known to Calvert that his tenants attended no regular school, but were instead tutored by his neighbor, the good man never made mention of it. The drill continued for the whole time of the university’s sessions. The sage worked both boys hard, and they found that they had to do more than pay tuition to him and bring extra food. There were always things to buy-quill pens, parchment, blank scrolls and books, and occasionally even a scribed text of some sort, although Prosper would usually allow the boys to utilize his personal library under his keen-eyed surveillance.

Although studies, homework, and occasional carousing took most of their time, both boys had promised themselves that they would not allow their more nefarious talents to grow rusty and forgotten. Things had quieted sufficiently so that they felt comfortable outside the district. On their one day of the week free from lessons, Gord and San would walk with the stream of students drifting toward The Strip. There, and in the fringes of the River Quarter and Low Quarter as well, they worked at picking pockets, slitting purses, pilfering small items, and even the planning of mock burglaries, robberies, and executions. By these activities they didn’t profit much, but enough, and neither was detected.

One day San brought two old locks back to the loft. He’d picked them up at a locksmith’s for a small price, for both were old and in need of work. It became a game for them, first to repair such old locks, then to pick them open. Soon the place was littered with heaps of repaired and oiled locks, of all sizes and descriptions, that the two had mastered. Gord made a fair profit by peddling them back to the same locksmiths who had originally got rid of them. San was pleased, talked Gord out of the money they’d made, and went out to find the best locks that their money could buy. In this fashion-studying, practicing, carousing, and lock-picking-the boys passed nearly a year, and generally had a good time in doing so.

With the end of the instructional term came news from Doctor Prosper. He informed the boys that teaching them had grown tiresome to him-they were slow students, always asking dumb questions, and generally trying the patience of a weary old scholar. No, he didn’t deserve such punishment in his declining years. Instead, he had talked to some old associates at Grey College, and the troublesome fellows would be their charges next term.

This was incredible news! Grey College wasn’t the most fashionable institution, but it was the oldest and was renowned for its professors. Now they were true students! During the “nineweek,” the hiatus in summer that included Wealsun month, Richfest week, and Reaping month, the two celebrated continually. They also spent a lot of time at their work, so to speak. One of the first things they managed was a new wheelbarrow for Prosper, which they filled with gardening tools, a keg of Renstish schnapps, and wheels of cheese and huge sausages, and an assortment of old ale to top the load off. The Doctor never mentioned it, but Gord knew he was pleased. Before their schooling began again, Gord also located an arms instructor willing to accept two young pupils who wished to learn the use of sword and dagger, for while they had often practiced the nonviolent crafts of thievery, they were both in need of bettering themselves at weaponplay.

College was not all that they had hoped. It wasn’t just that the studies were hard; their classmates were snobbish and the dons were worse. Gord managed better than San, for he was older-though by this time the younger boy had grown taller and larger than Gord. When their first year of instruction at Grey College ended, San informed his friend that he had had enough of bookish pursuits. There was no arguing with him, and that week he went off to apply to the Thieves’ Guild as a cutpurse, even though they both knew his skills were a notch or two greater than that.

San had met a pretty young lass in the course of one of the boys’ forays on The Strip. They were soon seeing one another regularly, and she had told him that her father was a ranking member of the Guild, so San had confessed his own skills. After that, nothing would do but for him to talk with her father, and the result was foregone thereafter.

Gord and San had a farewell party, and then the latter young man left their loft at The Acorns, promising to return often. He had come a few times at first, but the visits grew less frequent, and shorter too, and then stopped altogether around Needfest break during Gord’s next academic term. Gord maintained the big apartment alone, using the empty area as an exercise and practice space.

Now his second year as a college student had come to an end, and Gord was undecided and restless. After all, how much did he need to know about politics, philosophy, natural and supernatural arts, pantheology, and the like? Sure, it was interesting to learn ancient, dead tongues and the history of Oerik and the Flanaess, but enough was enough. Gord liked action better, and he needed excitement-like the time he had tossed a light-stone into the window of the professor of mathematics and its light had revealed the don in a compromising position with the flighty son of a city official…. Gord’s fellows had been ringed round to see and had cheered!

Gord wanted adventure-not lectures, scrolls, and tomes. He thought it was high time he put his lessons in the art of swordsmanship and dagger-work to the test, too. How much better than this sheltered life!…

Four craftsmen from a nearby village entered the Roc and Oliphant and took a table nearby. Gord recognized them; they were staying at The Acorns while they attended a meeting of their chapter of the Artisans’ League. After ordering bumpers of the local brew, the four fell into conversation about their trade. Gord could not shut out this droning and endless shop-talk, even by downing all of his wine and ordering more. When more of their fellows joined them, Gord abruptly decided that, as of this minute, he had had enough of this kind of life. He got up, stalked away to his chambers, and began gathering up his necessary possessions. An hour later he bade the good ostler Calvert adieu and exited the inn forever.

Soon he was beyond the pale of Clerkburg and striding up The Processional. Since he had money to spend and wished some real action, he was going to the High Quarter to see what he could see. It was time to start at the top!

Chapter 8

“A dragon!” exclaimed Lord Dolph. “You must now beat three towers, Your Reverence!”

The Patricians’ Club, a luxurious gaming house in Greyhawk’s High Quarter, had many tables, each offering a different amusement for those rich and noble gamers who sought excitement and the thrill of wagering fortunes upon chance. Little skill was required; most of what transpired depended upon the spin of a wheel, the sum of oddly shaped dice, and similar devices where random patterns allowed long odds and dumb luck to reign supreme. At an ornately carved table in a special corner, however, a game that pitted players directly against each other was taking place.

Five wealthy participants were involved, and they had contested for several hours now, fortune smiling first upon one, then another, so that not a single player had yet been forced to quit the table for lack of funds. The most notorious of the five was Arentol, the Grand Guildmaster of Thieves, a tall, thin fellow of saturnine nature and somber dress. He always watched the eyes of his opponents with an unblinking gaze.

Next to Arentol was Sir Margus, a very young, effete-looking Velunese. His age combined with his title indicated that he was undoubtedly the son of a great noble and thus had gained his knighthood through means other than bold deeds.