Chapter 9

Most of those who pursue begging as a vocation are lean. Certain devotees of deities that allow the asking of alms by begging can be robust and rotund. But poor and hopeless individuals, or those seeking to give that appearance, are not well-fed monks or devotees. They are thin, starved-looking.

Chinkers was neither of these things. That is, the fellow was plump even though he was not a religious man but a master beggar. He sat now at the Silver Shield, an inn typical of those that bordered the street dividing the Beggars Quarter from the Thieves Quarter as it wound its way to New Town.

“And a bumper of ale for the mendicant cleric there!” A roar of laughter and many jibes were directed at the robed figure-none other than Chinkers, in the grimy attire of a wandering priest of Fharlanghn.

“Perhaps a bit or two for the good work as well?” The suggestion was made so piously, and with alms bowl so politely extended, that anyone who did not know the brown-robed man would have thought he was earnestly begging contributions for his deity. Of course, begging was indeed his trade, although as far as anyone familiar with him knew, the fruits of his religiously sought donations went only into his purse, with the requisite share to the beggarmaster and various barkeeps.

There were more rude jests and roars of mirth at this. “Here’s a drab, but I expects a special blessin’ fer it!” The bawd who said that then thrust out her rump suggestively.

“You are amply blessed already!” Chinkers said, giving her a loud whack. “Be off now, or there will certainly be lightning gathering above.”

The beggar-cleric quaffed his newly come tankard while the latest round of laughter ran its course, and then he rose. “I have more of the good work to do yet this night,” he announced. Then he headed for Theobald’s massive headquarters.

It was a fair hike from the Silver Shield to the central place where the newly created union had its headquarters, but no one he encountered along the way troubled Chinkers. This was the Beggars Quarter, and he was a prince among the folk dwelling here. In fact, a fair number of thieves and various sorts of other scallywags frequented the tavern he had come from, and all knew Chinkers well. He was one of the few of his kind who dared to pose as a clerical beggar or some sort of otherwise sanctioned raiser of donations and get away with it successfully for years. Thus, Chinkers could be plump and remarkably different from the vast majority of his ilk.

For a beggar, Chinkers was both renowned and respected. A good part of that status came from the fact that the Thieves’ Guild officially sanctioned his activities. Even though he was not a member of that group, Chinkers occasionally had to pay it a tithe too because his activity was of that class of operation that was normally performed by a member of that guild. As additional compensation for his unofficial license to “steal”, he fed information to Arentol, the master of the Thieves’ Guild.

It was a dangerous game, but Chinkers enjoyed it. He spied on both beggars and thieves on behalf of the Balance. Now he was Involved in yet more duplicity, for there was young master Gord to see to as well-and beggarmaster, thieves, and boy were all to be kept totally unaware of what was going on. That was a challenge.

“Top of the night to you, Emmit,” Chinkers murmured as he passed the hidden sentry guarding the rear entrance of the old building. “Get on with ya,” the fellow replied just as softly, moving to the side of the narrow door but not coming out of his shadowed alcove.

Chinkers entered and went directly to the narrow stairway nearby. He managed to climb the steps without a sound, despite his bulk and the decrepit condition of the wooden construction. He and a score of the masters who served the Beggars’ Union had quarters on the second floor.

Just as Chinkers did, each of the other masters knew well the craft of thievery. Unlike the normal thieves of Greyhawk, though, the beggar-thieves performed almost exclusively in broad daylight, the normal time of day when beggars ply their trade. The vast majority of their illicit thievery was performed when the sun was above, while the reverse was true for those serving Grand Guildmaster Arentol, who only robbed and stole with full sanction of the city’s governing officials. Thus, Chinkers could go to sleep each night without worry. The newly apprenticed Gord would be locked up fast until dawn.

The boy had been with them only about three months now. At first Chinkers had thought him hopeless; why anyone involved in the Balance should concern himself about such an urchin seemed inconceivable to the plump beggar. Gord cringed at the sight of Theobald, but that wasn’t the way he behaved at other times. Chinkers soon saw the significant difference in Gord’s makeup. The boy wished to excel, to prove himself better than, not just as good as, any of the other apprentices being trained.

“Here, you!” Chinkers had called to the lad one day after observing him for some time. The boy had looked at Chinkers uncertainly, so he reinforced the command. “That’s right, you. Come with me. I have a special drill for you.”

Gord had gone along without comment, and when they were alone Chinkers had grilled him on his past, what he thought of the present, and where the lad thought he would go in the future. That had been only a few weeks into the training. Then and there, Chinkers had been suddenly aware of the involvement of powers greater than he. The facts of Gord’s previous existence in the slums, his adaptation to life in the headquarters and the rigorous discipline and training, and the carefully veiled, evasive answers Chinkers received regarding the future the lad saw amazed the master beggar. Here was one to keep an eye on indeed.

Just months later, Gord had proved exactly what Chinkers had suspected. He was far and away the brightest pupil any of the masters had ever seen. The skinny boy, weak from deprivation and hunger, had turned into a lean little powerhouse, full of questions, brimming with energy and enthusiasm-all masked, naturally, so as to protect himself. The others who served in Theobald’s cadre suspected the true measure of the boy. Chinkers was very certain of it.

It was all he could do not to take a direct hand in the boy’s training. Somehow Chinkers resisted the urge. He kept back and even glowered at Gord now and then so that the lad would not suspect he had the favor that Chinkers was determined to employ on his behalf. It was also difficult to fool Theobald. The vile beggarmaster was none too fond of Chinkers anyway, for the beggar-thief was plump. That was the mark of an exceptional beggar. Perhaps that was the reason why Theobald had originally become fat. It applied no longer, of course. He was gross and obese and thoroughly given over to his appetites. Still, it did provide a remarkable contrast between master and beggar, save in a case such as Chinkers, where the contrast was not so extreme.

“What do you think of that skinny urchin I purchased, Chinkers?” the gross man asked.

He looked at Theobald and shrugged. “I see him at his work with the other apprentices, Beggarmaster Theobald. As you know, I work only with the journeymen these days, but it seems that the boy… Gord, is it?… shows occasional bursts of rebelliousness. I’d watch that, were I his master.”

“Hmm… A point which Furgo himself has mentioned. One-eye says the boy is quite superior to the rest, however. I told him to work or beat the rebelliousness out of him-or I would do so, with pleasure!” Theobald laughed at his own joke, and Chinkers had to smile as if he enjoyed it, too.

“Should the little upstart ever gain journeyman status, master, rest assured I’ll see to his discipline.”

“You are a good servant, Chinkers, despite your airs,” Theobald said then with a secret smile. “Your peculiarity won’t be so notable soon, and then perhaps you and I will become better acquainted once again.” He paused and stared into space for a minute, during which time Chinkers imagined Theobald was envisioning his soon-to-be-realized empire of beggar-thieves and a position high in the ruling oligarchy of Greyhawk. Then the Beggarmaster dismissed him, saying, “Don’t concern yourself with the apprentice boy, Gord. Furgo and the other masters who have him tell me he will not be a journeyman at beggary.”