“Now that’s very clever and considerate,” Clyde thought to himself. “He’s saved me a lot of work and taken away the risk, too!”

Clyde got the “body” out, and the records of the workhouse showed Gord dead of disease, type unknown. In reality the boy was indentured, just as his secret benefactor, Markham, had instructed. The fat trader was glad when he heard the news from Clyde (although he already knew the truth from his other sources), but not quite so elated when he heard what followed.

“You expect twice the pay I promised?” Markham asked with a tinge of angry incredulity in his voice, repeating the request so as to give his irritation a chance to die down.

Clyde smiled serenely. “Yes, Markham, I do expect just that.”

The fat trader paid, grumbling loudly, but was actually very satisfied inside. It was a cheap price to pay for the lad’s safety. Safety? Well, more like a better chance of survival. Markham knew well the master of beggars in Greyhawk, and the fat trader also was aware of the clandestine thieving activities of the group. One of the trusted masters of the place was also one of Markham’s agents.

Theobald’s ascension from leadership of the Beggars’ Guild to the head position of the recently formed Beggars’ Union made the already egotistical man full of hubris. Obscenely fat, lazy, and a dangerous psychotic, the Beggarmaster was not one to trust or cross. Now the guild of beggars had allied itself with peddlers, tinkers, actors, and similar riffraff to form the Beggars’ Union, and Theobald sat haughtily atop the entire organization.

It was an odd association, but one that actually worked. The beggars brought goods they found, expropriated, or were given and dispensed them to peddlers for sale, or to tinkers to repair and then sell. They also traded with these groups for goods. Actors, the lowest of society save the beggars themselves, were paid to assist the latter in their performances on the streets, and when out of work the actors could then likewise earn a living with a bowl. Certain street gangs were also brought into the association, as were wandering folk and traveling entertainers.

Theobald had forged the union In order to increase his own power, of course. It combined all of the elements that the Thieves’ Guild disdained. The gross master of beggars hated the thieves, for they had both respect and wealth. Theobald was bent on gaining both as well, and at the expense of the more prestigious guild of thieves.

Chinkers was as skillful a beggar as any in Grey-hawk. In the process of perfecting his art, Chinkers had learned petty thievery and the craft of convincing others to become part of a scheme that resulted in their being fleeced. Certain thieves would employ him as an assistant, a cloyer to enable them to pick pockets or cut purses more easily. These fellows taught Chinkers more skills. Soon the beggar could sham merchandise, switching real for fake or actually making the shoddy seem otherwise. He could counterfeit coins, forge, and cheat at games such as dice and plaques. Why, thereafter, he still chose to practice begging as well, even Chinkers couldn’t say, but he did.

Then Theobald decided to displace the thieves of the city with his own beggars, found willing teachers, and began to arrange instruction for his most trusted minions. Chinkers was one of those trusted souls, and in a short time there were a half-dozen trained beggars able to perform as well as any cutpurse or robber belonging to the Thieves’ Guild, with Chinkers better than the rest.

One day soon thereafter, the three outlaw thieves who had agreed to take the treasured gold orbs of the Beggarmaster in return for teaching his lieutenants the craft of thievery were invited to a banquet in Theobald’s own quarters.

“Chinkers, Furgo, Jenk!” It was the squeaky voice of Theobald summoning them to him next morning. They hurried to him at once. “Our dear friends are no longer with us,” the gross beggarmaster told them blandly.

“You mean they ran off?”

“Of course not, Jenk. Don’t be a bigger dolt than you are! We all supped together last evening. I think some vile assassin must have made an attempt on my life.”

“No!” The three lieutenants chorused disbelief at that.

“But yes,” Theobald retorted without force, his fat face still emotionless, jowls hanging placidly. “Fortunately, I had no taste for the wild mushrooms grown in our own cellar by Bellytimber Jane, so I passed the dish. The three instructors loved them-devoured the lot. When you have finished disposing of them-the old cistern will do nicely, I think-bring the cook to me.”

“Jane wouldn’t try to poison you, Theo-”

The greasy visage of the Beggarmaster instantly grew livid. “Never contradict me!” he screamed at Furgo, making the one-eyed man flinch. “Now get on with it, and make certain nobody knows about it, either. If anyone dares to inquire, you say the three simply moved on to some new city where the pickings were thought to be easier.”

Chinkers and Jenk managed to dispose of the stiff corpses of the dead thieves, and Furgo went off and brought Bellytimber Jane to her audience with Theobald. Chinkers made a point of eavesdropping from a place in the cellar where he could hear what went on above.

“Furgo seemed very nervous, Theo,” he heard the voice of the cook say clearly.

There was a high-pitched titter from Theobald. “Three stiff bodies are sufficient to make most men a trifle edgy.”

“I made the whole batch just as you ordered,”

Jane said slowly, “and those three will never be able to tell now. Are you pleased?”

“Of course, Jane, my dear cook and assassin. It turned out just as I had planned. But…”

“But?” Bellytimber Jane’s voice sounded strained. “What else am I to do?”

“Come here, my dear, and I shall whisper it in your ear.” Chinkers envisioned the woman approaching Theobald. She was youngish and rather plain, but she fancied herself a favorite of the beggarmaster. Suddenly a shriek sounded, but it was cut off almost immediately. He could hear a hammering sound accompanied by the high-pitched giggle of Theobald. After a minute or two all of the noise stopped, and then there was a thud.

The beggar made haste to leave the cellar then, for Chinkers had no wish to be discovered spying on Theobald-especially not now!

What happened to Jane’s body he could not guess. Theobald had taken care of that himself. Chinkers never said a word about it to anyone in the place, and the beggarmaster never spoke of the cook again except to say, “Find me a new chef, Furgo. Our old one is no longer with us.” Furgo asked no questions, either. Next day Bald Jim was made official cook. Soon his nickname was changed to Batcrap in honor of his cuisine, but despite the man’s seeming ineptness at preparing meals for the inmates of the place, Theobald seemed satisfied with the decision. Chinkers, and others, supposed that this was because the beggarmaster ate different fare from what they were forced to settle for.

Because Chinkers believed strongly in certain things, the beggar-thief served as an agent for the Balance. Everything that went on in the Beggars’ Guild, and the Beggars’ Union thereafter, was noted and duly reported to Markham. When the hews of the boy arriving as an apprentice was transmitted to him, Chinkers was pleased that he had been selected the safest bet for the child’s survival.

“I won’t actually work with him myself,” he assured the trader. “I’ll see to it that those who do are the best, though, and that young Gord is treated fairly. That’ll be hard, with that monstrous bastard to contend with, but I’ll manage.”

Markham was confident he would, and Chinkers did.