Certainly, he was different in that he managed to provide for his living all by himself. He did informally and without the sanction of the guild what San now did with its approval… thievery. By using his considerable talents and skills, Gord earned a comfortable living and put himself through college nicely. Discovery of that knowledge would have shocked the authorities of the august institution. It also would have brought the young man before the tribunals of the city. To practice the trade of thief without guild membership was forbidden.
It was almost six months since he had left his old apartment to begin a new life. Gord still read whatever he could get his hands on-and books were not common-and maintained his active work learning the art of fighting with dagger, sword, and the two weapons in combination. He and San had determined to learn fencing skills as a key to their ultimate survival. Being boys alone in a city filled with predatory adults, their decision had been wise. Now that Gord was away from Grey College, he still took instruction. Currently, he went weekly to learn from a retired mercenary who lived in the Foreign Quarter. That would have to change soon, however. Because Gord actively pursued thievery now, as a gambler, confidence man, and burglar principally, it was necessary to change his identity and residence frequently. Still, he knew he could always find instruction, for the city was filled with capable warriors willing to accept coin in return for lessons in weapon-play.
Tonight would be his last at the Man in the Moon tavern. It was time to relocate his dwelling, change identities, and thus effectively disappear. When it came to being a lone thief in Greyhawk, one couldn’t be too careful. Every hand was against the rogue-city police, guild, and citizen alike. Gord idly twisted the drooping end of one of his moustachios. Although young, he had a heavy beard, and his fast-growing facial hair made changes of appearance easy.
“Will more changing help?” He asked the question mentally. “No,” he mused to himself. “I am what I am.”
He didn’t like that conclusion, inescapable as it was. Whether residing in the slums or the High Quarter, he was still an orphan. He knew not his parents or his heritage, nor did he have a friend. As a student he had used his thievery to maintain himself in the sheltered world of the university. There he had felt a sense of meaning, had believed his life had purpose. That had been a delusion, of course.
Now he was using his larcenous and acrobatic abilities to strike out at the place he grudgingly called home. It was only fair that this city filled with hawks be preyed upon by another. His gains would help to repay him for his own suffering in this place. It was long past time that the score be evened, time for Gord to live high at the expense of the other folks of Grey-hawk. There were, he knew, other young rebels like himself in the city. Perhaps if he joined forces with some of them he would find satisfaction and companionship-and best of all, peace of mind.
The bottle was nearly empty. Gord spilled the last of the ebon wine into his goblet and quaffed it off at a toss. “Shall I wait for you tonight, Meg?” He already knew the answer she would give, but the banter was part of his game, related to the art of vanishing without being thought of as having done so for suspicious motives.
The black-haired Meggin stopped and looked at him without smiling. “Leaving so early, Gord? No wonder, what with the amount of that drink you’ve swilled down! That will keep you warm and content, I’m sure, so as not to be needing my company.” Then she softened a little and came close, looking straight into his eyes as Gord stood up. “There’s no use our being together, you see. You’re unhappy, and I can’t change that no matter how hard I try. Ask me again, Gord, when you know yourself.”
Gord gave her his best boyish grin, grabbed her around her narrow waist, and planted a kiss full on her pretty lips. “I love you, darlin’ girl, but you’re right as always! It’s time I was off to see the lands about this great world. I’ll seek my fortune-and myself, too. When I come back a rich man you’ll marry me, now won’t you, Meg?”
“That’ll be the day,” Meg said, pushing him away with mock anger. “You’ll be back here tomorrow, drinking that nasty wine again and trying to seduce every lass with a well-turned leg,” she snapped, and then hurried off to attend to her work.
Meg didn’t allow Gord to see the moisture in her eyes. She knew he wasn’t just talking-indeed, he wouldn’t be back. That she had sensed the moment Gord had come into the tavern this evening. He was going away, possibly never to return, and Meggin truly cared for the young man, scoundrel though she believed him to be. She would have preferred him to stay, under different circumstances, but Meg was no fool. Gord could never love her, or any other, until he came to some decisions inside, found something he sought after. That was why he drank the black wine of the Pomarj. “Goodbye, Gord,” she whispered as the young man strode out of the Man in the Moon.
A minute later the three nondescript men left the tavern also. They didn’t bother finishing a nearly full pitcher of ale that was at their table. Meggin wondered about that later as she cleared their place, but she thought nothing further of it.
The trio followed the young man as he headed toward the southwestern portion of the quarter, with every step taking him deeper into the dark, quiet byways of the district.
“See, he reels like a sodden sailor,” hissed the pig-eyed man.
“Better still,” the man with the thick neck and the scar on his cheek said with a tone of satisfaction, “he goes to where there will be none to witness what is about to occur!” It was evident that the bull-necked fellow was the leader, and he made a point of letting the other two know this by his words. Scarface had the last and best always.
“As usual?” The query by the hawk-faced member of the trio brought a quick nod in affirmation from Scarface. Without further instruction the questioner strode purposefully across the narrow street. He walked quickly, paralleling the path of their target, and was soon ahead of Gord on the opposite side of the way. The drunken young man paid him not the slightest attention, intent as he was on simply making his journey home without falling.
“As near as I recall…” Gord sang softly to himself as he went, occasionally using his right hand to steady himself against the front of one building or another. “ ’Twas an evenin’…” he caroled out, loudly now, as If pleased with his performance, “…in the fall…”-and at that point he actually lost his balance and toppled to the ground in the darkness beside a building.
“Take him now!” Scarface called out to the man with the hawk face as he and the pig-eyed fellow ran toward the fallen youth. The lead man was already crossing to get to the victim when the command was shouted, for he had been watching and waiting for the right moment. The three thugs converged on the prone victim as vultures swoop down to feast upon the carcass of a dying animal.
The hawk-faced man was the first to arrive, his dagger poised to strike-and an instant after he lunged toward the fallen figure, a scream sounded along the lane. No shutters flew open to shed light on the happenings, no doors cracked to allow the inhabitants of the street to see. Nobody cared to investigate late-night events in the Foreign Quarter. Even the watch patrolled only the main thoroughfares and the streets along the walls. Those who dwelled within or dared to walk through this neighborhood were fair game.
“That blaster is already looting him!” This came from Pig-eyes as he and his companion ran up to where the two shapes were mingled in the deep shadows. They had seen their comrade fall upon the prone fellow, and assumed he must certainly be going for the victim’s purse even now.