As Hutsham and The Shacks huddled at the base of the outer wall along the broad Selintan, so too did buildings abut the inner works. The inner structures, however, were tall and substantial places of brick or masonry. The hovels outside Greyhawk were quite the opposite. Thus the whole place was defined and segregated. Old City from New Town, outside from in.
Each portion of Greyhawk was clearly defined and relatively ordered. This was especially true of the original part of the metropolis. There, because that part was made of older buildings crowded closely together, the less desirable elements of Greyhawk’s population were confined.
Old City’s southern third was, as it had long been, the Foreign Quarter of Greyhawk. This area was connected to the rest of the world by four gates, one going to the outside, two leading into New Town, one northward into the northern portion of Old City.
Two great gates led from the northern two-thirds of Old City to the outside, and two others gave access westward into New Town. Because Old City was quartered into sections for thieves, beggars, laborers, and brewers, and one portion known as the Slums, the whole place was shut up fast after dark. Walls can be used to keep enemies out, or undesirables in… at least in theory. Passages under the wall were numerous, from aqueducts and sewers that were part of common knowledge to those built for escape or more nefarious purposes. So too were there forgotten postern gates now masked by one building or another, and carefully made ways to allow a route between New Town and Old City after the gates were closed and barred. Yet if a thief or an adventurer could move about with relative freedom, not so the ordinary residents of Old City-especially not denizens of the Slum Quarter, and certainly not small urchins dwelling therein.
“What are all those horses doing here?” Gord’s eyes were big at the sight of a herd of about two score of the animals.
Bru explained. “Those are the mounts of a troop of the Greyhawk Guards, lad. There aren’t many cavalrymen in the city, of course, because mounted men aren’t very useful inside a crowded place.”
That made sense to Gord. He’d seen the carts and wagons typical of the place, vehicles drawn by massive draught horses or broken-down old nags. Mules and donkeys there were aplenty, as well as the occasional riding horse of some well-to-do visitor to the quarter. Someone on foot could easily elude a mounted man, thanks to narrow gangways, walls to scramble over, steep steps and narrow catwalks, and more. “Why have any… cavvary-men… at all?”
“Well, here on the Green they can be useful-no buildings. If an enemy got over the outer wall and up here, the cavalry would be used to drive them back. Every section of the Green has a troop or two of mounted men. If enemy troops ever actually got inside the city, all the cavalry would be withdrawn to defend the threatened part. See?”
They approached the big horses, and as the two did so Gord was pondering what he’d just been told. “Uncle Bru, if horses are not good inside the city, then why take them inside? That doesn’t make any sense to me.”
The big man laughed as he often did when Gord questioned him. The boy was used to it by now, and knew It was not meant as an insult. After all, he and the man he now called Uncle Bru had been good pals for a long time-about a year, he reckoned, although his childish mind didn’t keep track of time very closely. Bru helped to make sense of a lot of things for Gord. “There are places where the cavalry can be used. Along with men on foot, they can be a big help in defeating an invader.”
“When will we be attacked?”
“Never, I hope. Everyone should hope the same, because in wars there is a lot of suffering and people get killed.”
“But lots of people are pretty miserable now, Uncle Bru, and I’ve seen big fights where people get killed-like when the gangs fight each other,” the small boy explained.
“Those fights are like wars, Gord, but very little wars. Put ’em all together, every one you’ve ever seen, and that’s just a bit of what a real war is like.” Bru went on to explain why wars were fought, doing so in simple terms.
“Then we are free here in Greyhawk?”
“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.