“Come here, my dear, and I shall whisper it in your ear.” Chinkers envisioned the woman approaching Theobald. She was youngish and rather plain, but she fancied herself a favorite of the beggarmaster. Suddenly a shriek sounded, but it was cut off almost immediately. He could hear a hammering sound accompanied by the high-pitched giggle of Theobald. After a minute or two all of the noise stopped, and then there was a thud.
The beggar made haste to leave the cellar then, for Chinkers had no wish to be discovered spying on Theobald-especially not now!
What happened to Jane’s body he could not guess. Theobald had taken care of that himself. Chinkers never said a word about it to anyone in the place, and the beggarmaster never spoke of the cook again except to say, “Find me a new chef, Furgo. Our old one is no longer with us.” Furgo asked no questions, either. Next day Bald Jim was made official cook. Soon his nickname was changed to Batcrap in honor of his cuisine, but despite the man’s seeming ineptness at preparing meals for the inmates of the place, Theobald seemed satisfied with the decision. Chinkers, and others, supposed that this was because the beggarmaster ate different fare from what they were forced to settle for.
Because Chinkers believed strongly in certain things, the beggar-thief served as an agent for the Balance. Everything that went on in the Beggars’ Guild, and the Beggars’ Union thereafter, was noted and duly reported to Markham. When the hews of the boy arriving as an apprentice was transmitted to him, Chinkers was pleased that he had been selected the safest bet for the child’s survival.
“I won’t actually work with him myself,” he assured the trader. “I’ll see to it that those who do are the best, though, and that young Gord is treated fairly. That’ll be hard, with that monstrous bastard to contend with, but I’ll manage.”
Markham was confident he would, and Chinkers did.
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.