“Liar!” Despite the compliment and the overpayment. Black Meggin was having none of Gord’s overtures. “You swill it because of the stuff they put in it. You’re an addict!”
“Keep the change, love,” Gord said as the girl spun around and went to answer the call of another patron. She had a point. At two hundred a bottle, the inky stuff was costly. Its bitter aftertaste did grow on one, and its effects were at least habituating.
“Do I drink to dispel the dark mood? Or is it the drink which cloaks me in such a state?” He asked these questions softly aloud. No one was near enough to his little table to hear. “What does it matter? I like it, and I can easily afford it. Drink it I shall.”
A trio of men sat and conversed among themselves several tables away from Gord. They were strangers to this tavern known as the Man in the Moon, and from their garb it was evident that they came from another place-Urnstmen, possibly, and surely merchants or traders. Without being obvious about it, the three had been keeping a close watch on Gord’s every move. Black Pomarj wine was rare, especially costly since so little was made now due to the humanoid occupation of the territory.
“He gave the wench the value of a full silver piece,” a hawk-nosed man murmured to his two associates.
“That’s nothing,” a man with small eyes next to him said. “I saw the gleam of yellow when he reached in and fetched his payment forth.”
The third fellow, a bull-necked man with a closely trimmed beard that only partially hid a sickle-shaped scar on his cheek, merely nodded and called, “Come, girl, more ale here!”
Sunk as he was in his own mood, Gord gave no indication that he was noticing the men’s attention. Since he had abandoned his studies in favor of a more active life, the young man had changed considerably. Even after his friend and companion, San, had gone off to pursue membership in the Thieves’ Guild, and also to pursue the daughter of a member of that association, Gord had remained pretty much unchanged. For a time he had remained a carefree student, a seemingly normal member of the large group attending one or another of the various colleges of Greyhawk’s university.
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.