That remark puzzled Chinkers all evening and into the night, the time when he usually forgot all concerns as he enjoyed drink and the companionship of other lowly rogues at the Silver Shield. First thing in the morning, he meant to get Jenk or Halfway aside and see if he could discover what was afoot. Surely they didn’t mean to drop Gord from his training! Then sleep overtook the master beggar’s thoughts, and Chinkers worried no more for the night.
“More of that tea, Batcrap,” Chinkers said as he broke fast with several of the other masters. “What were you saying about the apprentices, Jenk?”
The latter had his mouth stuffed with bread crusts soaked in stale beer, so Halfway filled in for him. “The latest lot is ’bout average, save for three or four.”
“Then I’ll be expecting those three or four soon for advanced work, I suppose.”
“Nope,” supplied Foxy Lon. “Furgo tol’ me all but one will be needin’ another few weeks o’ hard work afore he sends ’em on t’you.”
Jenk was about to say more, but Furgo himself appeared in the cellar kitchen and sat down. “Talking about the new crop?”
“Yeah, Chinkers wants to know how many to expect and when,” Jenk informed the one-eyed beggar-thief. “Lon just told him not to worry for a bit.”
“Who are you drumming out?”
“Drumming out?” Jenk shook his head at that. “Did I say that?”
Furgo was readying to eat, but he took a minute to explain. “That little one, Gord-he’s a real find for us. Never seen anyone take to either trade, begging or stealing, so well as him. A duck to water, and that’s a certainty. I’ve put it to the rest here, and we’re all agreed. It’s up to the master In the end, but the six of us who train apprentices all say that Gord should be promoted right on up to master as soon as possible. With what’s going on now, we could use an army of lads like that one!”
The pockmarked face of Halfway was serious. He saw Chinkers take on a concerned look and mistook the expression for doubt. “I know that’s unheard of, Chinkers, but we all agree with Furgo… even if he only can see half what we can!” Furgo was too busy with his breakfast to bother replying to the needling, so Halfway continued. “The boy is a whiz at things. Works his skinny little ass off to be the best at whatever we give him to do. You won’t be able to believe it until you see him in action.”
“I’ll do just that and then let you know,” the stout beggar said as he slid off the bench and headed upstairs. “Next time you take him on an outing, tell me beforehand.”
“Right.”
And soon enough the opportunity came.
For the next week or two, in fact, Chinkers made a point of observing Gord as he plied his trade, but being careful not to let the boy know he was under such scrutiny. Even Chinkers was surprised. Had he not known the boy, and been looking for him in a disguise as well, the master beggar-thief would never have recognized him.
The first time Gord was a one-legged cripple whose tale of woe was sufficient to cause an iron-bearded dwarf to part with a bronze coin. On the next outing he was a drooling half-wit-a fairly common sight, and one not likely to gain more than a few iron and brass coins for a whole day’s effort. But Chinkers was surprised to see that even while Gord was feigning idiocy, the boy was busily filching coins from the unwary. The lad was an excellent pickpocket, and the disguise made marks less conscious of the possibility of being had by a thief.
The third and last time Chinkers saw Gord in operation was the best of all.
Gord was obviously in charge of a squad of beggar-boys and girls who were probably meant to operate as a group to surround and harangue likely-looking folks. Sheer weight of numbers and the impact of the all-too-evident misery of so many hapless children was meant to melt the hearts of otherwise stolid individuals. It was a tried and true means, but it took careful control so as not to underwork or overdo it. The lad got the hang of it quickly after a few trial-and-error runs at passersby going through the Foreign Quarter. Then Gord worked the gang for several hours to near perfection. During one episode, however, Chinkers suddenly lost track of him.
“Now where has he gone off to?” he muttered, seeing all of the apprentices but Gord break from their whining, pleading knot surrounding a trio of well-equipped Outlanders, their actions indicating that the three men had broken down and tossed them coins.
A flinty-eyed merchant came into view, leading a mule-drawn cart whose cargo was secured under a sheet of canvas. Chinkers noticed that the two biggest of the lot, a gawky, stringy-haired girl and an even uglier boy, were watching a narrow alley nearby. Suddenly they rejoined the other children and rushed off in a pack toward the merchant. He was as unlikely a mark as any the pudgy expert could think of. Nonetheless, the band of urchins quickly crowded around him and began their begging. The hard-faced fellow simply ignored them at first. They persisted. He then cursed the lot soundly. The flock of filthy beggar-children was undaunted. This infuriated the merchant, and he began to berate them in earnest as he struck out with fists and feet to teach these guttersnipes a lesson.
“Eat shit!” the gawky girl cried, picking up a lump of horse dung and hurling it at the man. It was a well-aimed shot.
The merchant had a short, heavy whip, and he began to lay about him with that instrument. The urchins howled plaintively when struck, but those out of range threw more filth at the raging man. He was incautious with his whip and struck a passerby, who promptly punched the fellow. At this point a full-scale brawl erupted, with an eventual chase of the beggar-children as its climax. During the confusion, Chinkers was almost too distracted to keep watching for Gord-almost. But the man was, after all, a master in all respects of begging and thievery, so he spotted the boy just as Gord was setting knife to canvas at the back end of the cart.
With uncanny speed and deftness, especially for one so young, Gord slashed, grabbed, loaded the loot into a sack, and faded away at a casual stroll down the street without a backward glance. Best of all, Gord was no longer in the filthy attire of a beggar. Chinkers saw what appeared to be a typical apprentice boy of the lower class toting a heavy burden on some errand.
It was robbery, pure and simple. Beggars were involved, but no witness would incriminate them in any reported loss of goods. Anyone could have decided to take the foolish merchant’s goods. To chase after urchins and brawl in the streets is to ask for loss, and no sensible man would do it. In Old City, everyone was a potential thief. Protect yourself and your property at all times: that was the axiom of survival here, and all knew it.
“Did you hear about it?” Squiddle asked excitedly when Chinkers entered. Before he could reply, the old fellow went on. “That apprentice, Gord. He came back here with a haul which would have made the master of thieves proud. He’s a lad to watch, all right!”
“Is that so?” said Chinkers dryly as he pushed past the man.
Not a month later there was a minor fete in progress for the newest master cadger and thief of the union, Least Master Gord. Not a few of the others at the celebration, especially the others of the lad’s rank, and some of the Associate Masters as well, were displeased or jealous of one not yet fully grown being elevated to the status of master of thiggery and expert thief, the agreed-to ranking of a Least Master of Theobald’s new union.
That brought up something else that bothered some of the members. They were proud of being beggars, and they knew that soon the gross beggarmaster would disdain that name. He favored cadger or thigger over beggar, and when he became head of thieves in the city, Theobald would certainly wish himself to be called something like Archmaster of Thieves and Thiggers. Such was the gossip at the party.