The lad’s big eyes grew bigger when he saw chunks of meat drop from the ladle into the big wooden bowl. “You got meat?”
“Sure, lad… I mean, Gord. A hunk of bread to soak in the soup, too. Now eat that up, and we can talk a bit. See, I been looking ’round for someone like you to talk to. There aren’t many folks in these parts who are worth talking to, of course.”
“Why me?” the newly named boy managed to ask through a food-stuffed mouth. Nobody ever wanted to do anything with him except pick on him or make him work. Maybe this hairy-faced man was a crazy-a dangerous man after all! He wanted to get out quickly-but not so quickly that he would leave any of this wonderful soup behind. Eyes darting from the bowl to the man and back again, he began shoveling the stuff into his mouth as fast as he could.
Bru noticed the sudden tension in the skinny little body, the suspicion plain in the child’s eyes. The big man let the child eat in silence for a couple of minutes, then got up slowly and went over to his cupboard. “That’s it for the soup, Gord, but I think you’re about filled to the top anyway. I’ll give you a piece of cheese to take with you when you leave,” he said slowly as he pulled a package off a shelf.
Gord was relaxing more with each passing moment. If the man meant to do him harm, he wouldn’t have let him fill his stomach first. As hard as it was to accept, Gord had to admit to himself that maybe this bearded stranger really did want to talk to him.
“I guess I like talking to you, lad, because I’ve got a sharp eye-’most as magical as that pippin I let you gobble up.”
Now that was just too much for Gord to pass up. “That old apple wasn’t magic!”
“Look at how blue my eyes are,” Bru countered. “Ever seen anything like that?”
“No,” the boy admitted slowly, “but I don’t see hardly anybody. Does a sharp eye hurt?”
That made the man laugh. “Hah! Good question, though, Gord m’lad. See how much you’re talking? That proves the apple was magic, I think. And see how good your question was? That’s what my sharp eyes spotted! Not everyone can tell a good lad who can talk so well and ask sharp questions. That’s sharp thinking, a sharp mind. Like my sharp eye, it means it gets to the point of things.”
Gord belched contentedly and gave a small smile. This was kind of fun. Not the eating-although that was enjoyable, it was done more as a matter of survival. The fun was in having someone like the hairy-faced man… Bru…to talk to.
“Do I really have a sharp thinker?” Gord asked, not quite convinced of what Bru was saying. “Leena tells me I’m a-”
“Never mind her-not for the time at least. Poor old woman is a little off her noodle,” Bru explained, tapping the side of his head to enable the boy to understand what he meant. “Maybe you’ll want to give her some of your cheese when you get home.”
“No! Anyway, maybe I could stay here with you, Bru. I’m pretty sharp at finding stuff.”
The big man shook his head ponderously. “Love to have you for company, Gord, but I’m not around most of the time. Tell you what, though-I’ll make a point of looking for you whenever I am about. Then we can have eats and a good talk. There are many things I can show you, and you’ll think It’s all fun, too.”
That seemed like a lot of empty promising to the boy, but he was too accustomed to disappointment to bother trying to argue. Things were as they were, and he had learned long ago that someone as small and weak as he was had to accept the pain and sadness that came along with lack of size and a shortage of strength. “Sure… I’ll go now.”
“Not just yet, Gord. I have to put my knife to the cheese for you. What were you looking for when I saw you, anyway? Something I can help with?”
That brought Leena’s warning back to mind. “Shit! I gotta find some wood in a big hurry!”
“Hold on, Gord, hold on. Here’s your cheese,” he said, handing over a hunk of the stuff as he finished wrapping it in a bit of cloth. The piece was bigger than the small boy’s fist. “Well, look at that, will you? You’ve no pocket to carry this back in, and I daresay you wouldn’t get far holding it out in the open. Say, would you maybe like a little sack to use? That way I could dump in a few bits of charcoal and some splinters of wood, too. That would sort of take care of things for you, I suppose.” He looked at Gord with his kindly, blue eyes, and the boy was happy.
“That would be…”
“Great! You got a deal, Gord. Now, just say ‘Thank you’ and that’ll make us even. Then we can be true friends.”
“Thank you,” Gord said quietly, humbly. He knew the word “friends,” but he had never heard it used to refer to himself before. Then it occurred to him that friends should help each other, and he became more animated. “Can I get the sack for you? I’m good at getting things.”
The big man considered the offer for a moment. “Well, you gather up some of the charcoal there in that box by the fire, and I’ll fetch the sack. Look around for the kindling wood-the broken stuff that’s in small pieces. You can take as much of that as you like.”
Bru produced a bag from the bottom of his cupboard. It was old and had several holes, but it was a prize nonetheless. They loaded the black sticks of charcoal into it, added handfuls of wood bits and ends, and then plopped the chunk of hard cheese atop the lot.
While all this work was going on, Gord kept thinking about something that puzzled him. Just as the cheese went into the sack, he looked at Bru and asked, “Was that apple really magic?”
“Do you feel any different?”
Gord smiled and nodded. He felt far, far different. He even had a name now. “It was magic…”
“Magic is funny stuff, Gord. It isn’t anything to talk about, and what’s magical for one might be something different for another. Let’s you and I keep the secret of the apple magic to ourselves, and that way it will stay magic.” Then Bru picked up the sack, hefting it to determine how heavy it was. “I’d say you can just about carry this halfway to your place. I’ll tote the load that far for you, but then I’m heading off for a while.”
“Will you be off a long time?”
“Not a chance, Gord my friend, not a chance. In a day or two or three I’ll be bumping into you again. You keep a sharp eye out meanwhile for stuff you and old Leena need to stay alive-and for the dangers hereabouts too, right?”
“Right!”
Chapter 6
A double wall encircled the city. All of Greyhawk-Old City, the larger area called New Town, and the Citadel too-were within it. The outer curtain was some twenty-five feet high. This wall splayed out at the base where it met a ditch, or moat, or some other watercourse, and was topped with serried merlons and crenels to protect defenders in time of war.
Between the outer and inner walls was a relatively level sward a hundred or more feet broad!, The outside edge of this strip of grass was level with the battlements that topped the outer wall. The crowning stone of the inner wall was much higher. The city had been built on a large hill-not especially high, but large in area. Those on the sward between the walls could look upward forty feet to where machicolated battlements stood topping the massively thick curtains of the inner wall. At intervals there were bastions on the outer wall, and matching them on the inside one were tall towers.
Wherever the walls were pierced by gates, the sward was broken. Every way that led into the city resembled a road at the bottom of a canyon. Travelers from the outside would pass through a gatehouse first, then a long passage, open above, but flanked by walls on either hand; then a tunnel that bored through another, bigger tower. Only then was one actually considered to be within the city of Greyhawk. The place was thus well protected. If a portion of the outer wall fell into enemy hands, the other segments could still be defended, and there was still, of course, the great inner wall as well.