“No. Thanks, Tapper, but I’m too busy with studies to manage the work on them now.” That wasn’t exactly true. Gord simply didn’t find enjoyment in the work anymore. He knew about all he could learn, or at least cared to learn, on the subject, and without San there to encourage him, the effort was sheer drudgery.

Tapper studied the boy for a moment. He’d grown some and filled out well In the last few years. There was lean muscle on the lad, and there could be no doubt that he was nearing full manhood. Gord’s voice was deep and his cheeks showed the darkness of a heavy beard that the boy hadn’t bothered to shave today.

“Sorry to hear that, lad. We had a nice little business going, but all things come to an end eventually, don’t they?” The question was obviously rhetorical, and Gord didn’t bother to reply. “You will come and see me now and again, won’t you?” That was not a question to be ignored.

“If I happen to be around here. Tapper-but I doubt that will be very often,” Gord said in straightforward fashion. “Not much reason to come to Old City-at least other than the attractions of the Foreign Quarter.”

There was some wistfulness in the boy’s tone. There was also pain hidden underneath, but not so deeply that the other man could not sense it. Tapper could understand him not liking to refresh his memories of childhood in the slums or of his stint as a beggar-thief.

“Not much excitement hereabouts, that’s true,” the locksmith supplied. “Here’s your payment, Gord, and luck be with you.”

Gord seemed a little hesitant about leaving. He hated to sever this link with his most recent and enjoyable past, for it was so unlike all of his previous experiences. He took the little heap of coins from Tapper, set them down, and clasped the man’s hand. “You have been a good friend, Tapper. I’ll miss seeing you… Thanks, and you have good fortune, too,” he added in a serious tone.

“If you don’t come to visit me, I’ll drop in at the university to see you.”

The boy grinned. He knew very well that wasn’t likely to happen. “You do that. Tapper. I’ll show you how we students toss off bumpers of ale while singing!” With that, Gord departed.

The whole of the city had altered greatly in the last few years. The Beggars’ Union had been soundly defeated by the Thieves’ Guild, and a new beggarmaster, Chinkers, ruled the re-established organization-called the Beggars’ Guild, of course. As far as Gord knew, he was the only master beggar-thief to have survived the debacle. The thieves and their hirelings had done for the rest-all but Theobald. The hunt was still on for the ex-king of beggars, but Gord knew that the obscenely gross devil would never be found.

Quite a few thieves had been slain in the brief war. Now the number of beggars in Greyhawk was slowly increasing again, but after the last fight-the invasion of Theobald’s headquarters-so many beggars had died that hardly one in six of the old union survived. Even those who only tithed to Theobald’s organization had suffered. The citizens of the city were indeed pleased at the overall result: fewer thieves and not half as many beggars, street gangs nearly wiped out as well, and honest folk the better for it all.

Gord had changed in appearance sufficiently so as to no longer fear recognition as a former Least Master of the Beggars’ Union. Other than San, there was no one alive to recognize him anyway. Well, he thought, perhaps Chinkers also might be able to, but Gord had serious doubts about that. The wily old fellow had been too busy with his own schemes, certainly, to notice a boy beggar-thief; otherwise he wouldn’t be beggarmaster today. Any thieves who had encountered Gord two or three years ago would never recognize him now either.

He and San had feared a hunt for them at first.

They had fled from the Beggars Quarter when the end came. First they’d hidden here, then there-Foreign Quarter, Craftsmen’s Ward, and even the Low Quarter briefly. Then they settled down below the Halls District in the University’s precincts, just south of Clerksburg. They insinuated themselves into the academic community and took up formal studies, primarily as a means of concealing themselves. In the throng of students, the two boys were as invisible as they could be to any search-and probably there had been none at all anyway. Both of them had overestimated their importance, but that was part of being boys.

Of course, being a student had other advantages, too. The time he had spent studying under a tutor and then in a college had served Gord well. He had matured, grown, changed. He was far better educated now and more capable of dealing with the world as it really was. Being able to survive in Old City was by no means a measure of viability anywhere beyond those circumscribed limits.

Gord was pleased with recent events, all in all, yet he missed San. He was near manhood, but the part of him that was still a boy needed and wanted a companion of the same sort. He had been denied that luxury throughout most of his life, and the feeling of being close to another was something that Gord now comprehended and appreciated more than ever. But now San had left, feeling a need to follow his own path, and Gord was on his own again.

Gord paid over a small iron coin, toll for passage from the Foreign Quarter into New Town. Suddenly it occurred to him that he was halfway back to the apartment that he had, until recently, shared with San. He had been so lost in thought that he couldn’t recall most of the walk. Alone again…

“I am meant to be that way,” he murmured to himself as he strode through the streets on his way south to the university area. “I’m a loner, and that’s another reason why San left. I’m pretty poor company.” No, he told himself in the next instant, that wasn’t really true. Gord’s estimation of himself went from one extreme to the other as he tried to take stock of himself and decide what to do next. He knew that when he felt like being so, he was excellent company, always ready to banter, desport, or devise some new prank. Much of the time, however, he did prefer to be on his own. That wasn’t being selfish or reclusive, considering his skills and his lot in life. Study, weapons practice, exercise, and thinking all required time alone.

And being alone did have its benefits. A solitary person was not burdened by responsibility for anyone else’s welfare or safety. And there were some things he could do by himself that would be impossible, or at least more difficult, to do as one member of a team. If there was treasure to be gained, and it could be gained without someone else’s assistance, was it not better to undertake the project as an individual?

Snatches of thought began to come together in his mind, and as they coalesced he began to feel better and better. Soon Gord came to his own neighborhood, his loneliness submerged beneath the excitement of a new plan he had conceived.

“Doctor? Doctor Prosper, are you there?”

The old sage was getting crotchety these days, and when he came out to answer the call he didn’t look too pleased at first.

“What? Oh, it’s you, Gord. Now what is it?” The boy started to reply, but the old fellow cut him off. “Don’t stand out there. The draft is going to be the death of me! Come in, come in. Talk inside where it’s warm.”

The day was balmy, the season spring. Gord noticed the woolen shawl wrapped around Prosper’s narrow shoulders and understood. Leena had always been chilled-not because of the temperature, but because of old age, poor circulation, death creeping closer day by day.

“I brought you a bottle of nice brandy, doctor,” Gord said as he entered the old sage’s little cottage.