The end of this idyllic period came in a fortnight. Beggars not ensconced within the safety of Theobald’s walls were beginning to disappear, and some had been found dead-murdered in various ways. It was time to strike back, and Gord was to be part of the special force the Beggarmaster was sending forth to counter what the thieves were doing. The fat lord of the lowly understood that he must somehow settle this matter quickly. A protracted conflict could have only one end.

Theobald opened the deepest recesses of his headquarters. There was a hidden sub-basement beneath the place, and from it passages led in all directions. There was egress to the sewers also, which meant that there was a low road to nearly everywhere. Mercenaries and beggars would form teams for the retributive strike. The specially trained forces of the Beggarmaster would disguise themselves as various ordinary citizens. Nearby would be the hired swords. When a thief was spotted, the beggar-scouts would finger the victim, and then follow so as to keep track of him or her. At first opportunity, the thief would then be taken hostage or slain. Hostages, Theobald stressed, were most important. Any skilled thief must be captured and brought back to the Beggarmaster’s mansion if at all possible.

Each scout group consisted of a master and an apprentice. As a least master, Gord was a master nonetheless. He and San, a boy of no more than ten but nearly as large as Gord, were given the mission of going all the way to the River Quarter. The Strip, an area running from Dockside to Low Street, was notoriously wide-open and roisterous. Rivermen and bargers, riffraff and ruffians, soldiers and sailors all congregated there for fun and entertainment. Bawdy houses and taverns abounded. Gambling dens were nearly as common as saloons, and saloons were everywhere. In such surroundings, it was only natural that swindlers, cheats, and thieves would abound. In fact, while the headquarters of the Thieves’ Guild was in the Old City, the group’s main base of operations was centered on The Strip. Gord and San would simply be two more boys in the crowd, there for entertainment or whatever else they could manage.

San was one of the few of his fellow beggar-thieves whom Gord associated with and liked. The boy was clever and looked upon him as a mentor, especially since Gord had attained the status of least master.

“What are we going to do, Gord?”

“Easy, San. We just cruise The Strip and look for likely prospects. The Beggarmaster wants hostages to trade for his fat hide’s safety. We’ll line ’em up, and the muscle will knock them over,” Gord said casually, even though he was filled with terrible tension at the assignment. After all, he was small and no match for an experienced thief. What if he somehow bungled the mission?

“Swell!” San said with a grin. “Just show me what to do, and it’ll be easy-you’re the best, Gord!”

Now Gord was even more nervous, for he had hoped that his comrade would have some idea of how to actually set up some tough and accomplished thief for capture. Obviously, his rank placed the burden solely upon his small shoulders.

San was looking at him expectantly, so Gord shrugged and replied, “Right. Just watch me, kid, and follow my lead.”

Getting to their destination had been easy, if somewhat smelly. After passing down through the deep cellar, Gord, San, and three mercenaries garbed in plain cloaks went through the sewers for nearly a mile. Their way was illuminated by a lantern that glowed with an oddly bright and steady light, which Gord concluded must have been cleric-cast light. The use of flame down here could be dangerous, for sewer gas was explosive as well as poisonous. But they had been told that this section was quite safe, and it did seem relatively unused, all in all.

When they reached the place marked with the symbol meaning “good action” in the Beggars’ Sign, they clambered up a long ladder of rusty iron after hooding the lantern and leaving it to swing on a lower rung. One of the burly mercenaries had to lift the heavy grate barring the sewer’s alley drain. Then all five emerged, the drain was closed with its grate again, and the two boys led the expedition through the dark streets of the quiet trade district toward Grand Square. The sword-wielders were well to the rear, and it was not obvious that the two groups had any connection.

Gord and San talked to each other, acted frolicksome, and laughed as normal boys out for fun would do. They walked the long way from near Waghalter Gate, the place in the wall of Old City where they entered the Thieves Quarter, past the Grand Square and Citadel, and through the Halls and Clerkburg rapidly. Their skill at seeming playfulness and dalliance, while they were actually moving quickly toward their destination, would have impressed the Grandmaster of Thieves. Pushing, shoving, and laughter led to one chasing the other, and then the roles were reversed-this was easy!

Once opposite the entrance to The Strip, the pair crossed The Processional and were soon deep among the roiling celebrants of the place. The Thieves’ Guild represented more than robbers, burglars, cutpurses, and the ilk. The organization also controlled gambling, prostitution, swindles, extortion, loan-sharking, fencing of loot, smuggling, forgery, and counterfeiting, to list the more obvious. Most of these activities were going on here, visibly or invisibly.

Against such power, the beggars had few and weak means. Allied with the beggars were the lowly street gangs, quacks, gypsies, tinkers, pedlars, jongleurs, and actors. But none such were in view as the two lads strolled westward along the Street of Delights. There were more than the usual number of ruffians-not the street variety, but out-of-work laborers. Their presence in such large numbers indicated to Gord that they had been paid to roam the area in search of enemies of the Thieves’ Guild. The dull eyes of these toughs passed over both boys without really seeing them. Although it was not really worth the trouble, Gord actually went out of his way to steal the purse of one of these ruffians. They did need a few coins to spend anyway, or they would arouse suspicion when they began a serious search for a target.

A crowded gambling house called the Wheel of Gold drew Gord’s attention. He and San went in casually, and both moved here and there. As a bouncer began eyeing them, Gord produced four bits and tossed the brass coins on a table where wagers were being made on which color hole a rat would appear from. His bet was on white. Nobody else seemed to have any faith in that color, for their bets were stacked in piles of bronze and copper, even a few silver nobles, on the eight other colors. San looked worried, but Gord smiled. Sure enough, the trained rodent eventually came through the hole before the white space. They now had eight brass bits, and Gord took them and left for another game.

“You’re sure lucky!” San remarked to his companion.

Gord was surprised at this. “Lucky? You’re kidding! White was the color that had to win.”

Now it was San’s turn to be surprised. “Don’t try to tell me you can read rats’ minds, Gord!”

“Shit, no!” Gord exclaimed. “Just use your head, dummy. Every other color had a stack of heavy coin on it, and I got my bits down just before the wheel was spun, so the rat had to come out on white.”

“What? I don’t follow you,” San said, abashed.

“The game’s rigged, of course,” Gord explained with the patient voice of a teacher talking to an eager but somewhat slow pupil. “The shills win big, the suckers small, and the rat always comes up on the color the operator selects. There was big sucker money with all of the shills’ coins, so when she scanned the table, the operator went for a big hit, cleaned out the chumps, and we doubled our cash!”

“Why’d she let us win instead of someone else?”