City of Hawks

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.

The eastern curve of the metropolis followed the slope of the hill and the bank of the Grey Run. When Old City was the extent of Greyhawk, an island that stood opposite the stretch from Hillgate to Midgate was fortified as a first line of defense against attack. As the city expanded, the works of the island were strengthened. Eventually it became the Bastion, a fortress so strong that a major siege would have to be mounted to take it before the city could be assaulted. The Bastion was connected to Greyhawk by a pair of causeways, with appropriate bridges, and was both a garrison and a village in itself.

New Town was built to link the military fortress that overlooked the Selintan River to Old City, while in the process sufficient additional land was enclosed to provide for a larger population. There were villages there already, and eventually the engineers made the rambling walls follow the entire complex of ridges and hills that rolled from the northern tip of Old City to where the Grey Run and the Selintan flowed together. The walls that hemmed in the original city were left standing. They were not, of course, nearly so vast as the new outer wall that was built around both Old City and New Town, but they would serve to divide the place and help protect it too, just as the walls encompassing the Foreign Quarter were kept in place when it was the lower third of the entire city. The military fortress was strengthened and became the governmental heart of Greyhawk, the Citadel, while the old moat became a canal, with new ones added, for barge traffic up, down, and across the city.

As Hutsham and The Shacks huddled at the base of the outer wall along the broad Selintan, so too did buildings abut the inner works. The inner structures, however, were tall and substantial places of brick or masonry. The hovels outside Greyhawk were quite the opposite. Thus the whole place was defined and segregated. Old City from New Town, outside from in.

Each portion of Greyhawk was clearly defined and relatively ordered. This was especially true of the original part of the metropolis. There, because that part was made of older buildings crowded closely together, the less desirable elements of Greyhawk’s population were confined.

Old City’s southern third was, as it had long been, the Foreign Quarter of Greyhawk. This area was connected to the rest of the world by four gates, one going to the outside, two leading into New Town, one northward into the northern portion of Old City.

Two great gates led from the northern two-thirds of Old City to the outside, and two others gave access westward into New Town. Because Old City was quartered into sections for thieves, beggars, laborers, and brewers, and one portion known as the Slums, the whole place was shut up fast after dark. Walls can be used to keep enemies out, or undesirables in… at least in theory. Passages under the wall were numerous, from aqueducts and sewers that were part of common knowledge to those built for escape or more nefarious purposes. So too were there forgotten postern gates now masked by one building or another, and carefully made ways to allow a route between New Town and Old City after the gates were closed and barred. Yet if a thief or an adventurer could move about with relative freedom, not so the ordinary residents of Old City-especially not denizens of the Slum Quarter, and certainly not small urchins dwelling therein.

“What are all those horses doing here?” Gord’s eyes were big at the sight of a herd of about two score of the animals.

Bru explained. “Those are the mounts of a troop of the Greyhawk Guards, lad. There aren’t many cavalrymen in the city, of course, because mounted men aren’t very useful inside a crowded place.”

That made sense to Gord. He’d seen the carts and wagons typical of the place, vehicles drawn by massive draught horses or broken-down old nags. Mules and donkeys there were aplenty, as well as the occasional riding horse of some well-to-do visitor to the quarter. Someone on foot could easily elude a mounted man, thanks to narrow gangways, walls to scramble over, steep steps and narrow catwalks, and more. “Why have any… cavvary-men… at all?”

“Well, here on the Green they can be useful-no buildings. If an enemy got over the outer wall and up here, the cavalry would be used to drive them back. Every section of the Green has a troop or two of mounted men. If enemy troops ever actually got inside the city, all the cavalry would be withdrawn to defend the threatened part. See?”

They approached the big horses, and as the two did so Gord was pondering what he’d just been told. “Uncle Bru, if horses are not good inside the city, then why take them inside? That doesn’t make any sense to me.”

The big man laughed as he often did when Gord questioned him. The boy was used to it by now, and knew It was not meant as an insult. After all, he and the man he now called Uncle Bru had been good pals for a long time-about a year, he reckoned, although his childish mind didn’t keep track of time very closely. Bru helped to make sense of a lot of things for Gord. “There are places where the cavalry can be used. Along with men on foot, they can be a big help in defeating an invader.”

“When will we be attacked?”

“Never, I hope. Everyone should hope the same, because in wars there is a lot of suffering and people get killed.”

“But lots of people are pretty miserable now, Uncle Bru, and I’ve seen big fights where people get killed-like when the gangs fight each other,” the small boy explained.

“Those fights are like wars, Gord, but very little wars. Put ’em all together, every one you’ve ever seen, and that’s just a bit of what a real war is like.” Bru went on to explain why wars were fought, doing so in simple terms.

“Then we are free here in Greyhawk?”

“Pretty much so, Gord.”

“Then how come I can’t go anyplace?” That was phrased as an accusation and objection, not really a question. “Every time I try to go somewhere I get chased by someone, or the soldiers at the gate tell me to go away back home.”

“There are things about freedom, Gord m’boy, which you will understand only when you’re older. Let’s see if we can’t talk the soldiers into letting us climb up to the top of the big tower there now. Won’t it be fun to be able to see all over the city?”

“You bet!”

The big man led him over to the little gate they had passed through to get to the strip of grassland between the walls. There was a guard slouched there, and after the exchange of a few words and a coin, the two were permitted to climb to the top of the tall structure that loomed over the gate. Gord had never seen anything like that view. Bru pointed out where they lived, the inside wall that bounded Old City, and the distant places beyond. Wind tousling his dark hair, the little lad gazed off into the distance for a long time.

“When I’m as old as you are, Uncle Bru, I’ll live way over there,” he finally said, pointing to a place where big trees and a park could be seen.

“You just might at that, Gord. You just might.”

Leena hardly ever bothered him anymore, thanks to his friend. All the old woman ever wanted from him was food or some similar commodity. Scavenging for sustenance was the fate of the poor of Old City, especially in the decaying slums. Garbage and refuse were the mainstays of life for such folk. Occasionally something of worth would be found, and then it could be sold and the money gained used to purchase the stuff of dreams-beer, wine, and the like usually, but sometimes real food, a warm coat, or something else worthwhile.

The smallest coin used in the city, the iron drab, was a treasure to Gord. It would buy a stale bun, a turnip, or something of similar worth. Four drabs together equaled a brass bit. Uncle Bru had taught him that. A bit would buy a sweet, a juicy red apple of monstrous size, even a thick tallow candle. Next came a coin called a zee. Gord had found one once, and with It he had hoped to buy a pair of old shoes at the ragman’s shop. Leena had found the bronze disc, taken it, and beaten Gord soundly for trying to conceal it from her and keep it all for himself. Of course, she then used the whole thing for her own benefit.

He still had to scavenge, but not as much as before. If his friend was around, then Gord didn’t have to crawl around in garbage piles or put himself in danger to get loot, and Leena never cared where the stuff came from anyway. If he brought home fuel, food, or some old shirt, all she expected was to have most or all of the booty. Uncle Bru made him do work for him, or else Gord had to learn things-that was sometimes a lot harder than the chores his friend gave him.

In return for his efforts, Gord would get to eat wonderful stuff and sometimes have something else bestowed upon him too. The old clothing didn’t fit well, but it helped keep the skinny lad warm and dry.

Uncle Bru even taught Gord to wash himself and his garments occasionally. “Why bother?” the boy had asked his friend.

“Because if you ever want to get out of this place,” Bru had told Gord, “you’ll have to look like something other than a guttersnipe.” Thereafter, Bru had given him a lesson on language, including what the word “guttersnipe” meant and what one of that sort of boy was like. Gord knew from Bru’s description that the boys in the Slum Quarter were all guttersnipes, or worse. He feared them and hated the way they were, so he then and there determined that he would never grow up to be one.

Without his knowing it, the young boy’s reckoning of time was very accurate. The big man who called himself Bru had been Gord’s friend for almost exactly a year before they went out on the Green and up to the tower top to view the city from a bird’s perspective. After that, the two saw each other pretty frequently as well. Sometimes his friend would be there every day for a week, then again Uncle Bru might be gone for twice that long before coming back and searching out the urchin within the twisting streets and narrow alleys of the slums. Once Gord wondered aloud why, if Bru knew he was going to be gone a long time, his friend didn’t give him extra food and maybe a few small coins so that Gord wouldn’t have to search and scavenge to stay alive.

“That wouldn’t be fair to either of us, Gord,” the big man had said. “Don’t you have to earn what I hand over to you?” Gord admitted that was the way of things. “Then how would you be earning it if I just gave you things because I was going to be away?”

“Weil, who says you have to earn stuff?” Gord was cross and quarrelsome. “You’ve got lots and lots of food and money and everything else too. If you can’t be my father and let me live with you, then you could at least give me enough so that old bag Leena doesn’t hit me and be mean to me. You could give me stuff to eat so I wasn’t hungry all the time until you came back.” After the last accusation, Gord could restrain himself no longer, and he burst out in tears.

Bru turned away so that the boy couldn’t see the tears in his own eyes. “Maybe I could, boy, maybe I couldn’t. That’s not really the meat of the matter. I’m your friend, and I’m your teacher too. I say that everything anyone gets he earns, or he pays for. Sometimes earning means working the way you work for me, doing little tasks I give you. Other times it means giving up something to have to learn a trade, working at it, and then collecting earnings. And sometimes people earn what they don’t want to get.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve seen the gangs of prisoners from the workhouse, haven’t you? Bet you’ve seen the gallows there by the prison, too.” Little Gord murmured his assent, but he seemed uncertain what that had to do with earning. “Well, lad, we don’t always get the right wage for what we do, and sometimes folks collect a lot for doing wrong things. Then again, there are those bad folk who finally earn what was coming to them.”

“Oh…”

Bru’s eyes were sparkling again, and he smiled at his small friend. “So, you see, you have to be able to earn a living here, no two ways about that. What’s more, Gord, you can’t count on me either. Not because I don’t want to be a friend and help you,” Bru went on with a rush, “but because you and I don’t know for sure that I’ll be here tomorrow and all the days after that.”

There was still doubt in Gord’s eyes. “You can do whatever you like.”

“I would that were true, little friend, but it isn’t so. Think of it this way. What if a runaway wagon ran over me? I’d be dead and gone. Suppose bandits attacked and killed me? That is hard for a lad to think on, I know, but you have to be hard inside and deal with the world as it is.” At this last part, Bru took the small boy by his hand and grinned. “We’ve had more than enough of that sort of talk for a long time! Let’s you and I take a prowl around the neighborhood, and we can see if there are any interesting prospects for you to go back and investigate later.”

More months slipped by, and Gord and his friend were often seen about the district. The gangs hated both of them, for the big man was not to be threatened and in fact ran them off if they attempted extortion. Perhaps the members of these bands of young toughs secretly wished they had such a friend and protector, but whether from envy or for some other reason they vowed to get Gord whenever he was without the hairy-faced fellow. The little lad had to be very cautious indeed when he ventured forth on his daily rounds, for the older and bigger boys did watch for him and stole whatever he had.

When Gord complained to Uncle Bru about this, the big man nodded sympathetically and told Gord that he could teach some things to him, but some things Gord would have to learn on his own. That way the lad would be fit to survive in the harsh environment of Old City.

“Do you remember how to count?”

Gord proudly counted to twenty, and he was ready to go on all the way to one hundred, but Uncle Bru raised his hand. He asked Gord to show him how to make the numbers he’d just said. “Easy,” the boy replied, and using his finger he began drawing lines in the dirt. “That’s a one… and that’s a two… and here’s a-”

The boot struck him with fair force and sent him sprawling in the dust. The carefully made numbers were obliterated by Gord’s skid as he fell from the kick.

“Get away from me, you filthy little beggar!” Uncle Bru spat in Gord’s general direction and then turned away and walked off. “If I ever catch you trying to steal from me again, I’ll break your scrawny neck!” he called back threateningly over his shoulder.

This couldn’t be happening! Gord’s mind was racing. Leena would do something like that, but not his friend, not Uncle Bru. He could trust nobody but the big man, and his friend would never betray his trust! Bru was walking away with long strides, not even looking back to see if Gord was injured. Perhaps it was a new game or a lesson…

Thinking that, Gord scrambled up and started to call after Uncle Bru. Then he saw two mean-looking men come out of a nearby alley. They had a huge mastiff with them, and their appearance was sufficient to still Gord’s words in his throat. The little boy swallowed hard and shrank back. He knew the trick of becoming invisible. It is a skill all children have, and it worked only with adults, of course. In the slums, it was a vital part of survival.

Neither man looked at him at all. The huge dog glanced at the boy, then stared at the figure of the man walking away, for that was the object of his master’s attention. “Dat’s ’im,” one of the two said. “Round the corner, then, and we’ll take ’im,” the other agreed as Uncle Bru disappeared down a lane. With that the two men ran off, the mastiff on its rope pulling the one on the right. They too rounded the corner and disappeared in seconds.

Gord’s skinny legs pumped. His heart racing almost in time with his running feet, the boy dashed after Bru, the two bad men, and the fierce dog. He managed to get to the lane in time to see the pair chasing his friend turn into a side passage, a gangway too narrow for them to walk abreast. The one with the mastiffs rope went first, with the dog straining ahead. Gord slowed and crept closer, because the second of the two pursuers had stopped and was standing just inside the narrow passage.

Then a horrid growling echoed from the gangway. The mastiff was attacking Uncle Bru! The ferocious sound suddenly changed to a rising howl, however, and it ended with a high-pitched whine that was cut off suddenly.

“Shit!” The man still waiting near the entrance said that loudly. Then he produced a small sword from beneath his jerkin and rushed into the passageway. As soon as he did that, Gord was able to run up to the place to see what was going on.

He heard sounds of the struggle as soon as he got to the opening between the buildings. Gord peered around the corner cautiously, wanting to run right in and help his only friend, but knowing that he was far too small and weak to do anything except get in the way.

The passage was short, no more than a dozen paces long. After that the space between the two structures widened and was open to the sky. Gord could see the shapes of three men beyond the gangway’s end. One was surely Uncle Bru, judging from his size and his beard. He was locked in a hand-to-hand struggle with one of the smaller men. The other assailant was dancing around the pair, sword in hand, trying to find an opening to strike with his weapon.

It was evident to him that nobody would notice him now, so Gord scurried up to where the passage opened, staying back just far enough to be hidden by the shadows. Just beyond the end of the tunnel lay the mastiff. From the way its head was positioned, Gord knew that its neck had been broken. The boy noted that fact in a quick glance; then his attention was redirected toward the trio of fighters.

Although Bru’s clothes were torn, and his cheek was bleeding from a couple of long gashes, the hairy-faced man seemed to be unhurt otherwise. Perhaps his bushy beard had saved him from the jaws of the dog, for there seemed to be parts of the thick mat missing now from around his throat. The smaller man was holding a dagger, but Bru had the fellow’s wrist and arm locked in his viselike left hand, while he clasped the killer in a bear-hug with his strong right arm, using the man’s own body as a shield. The dagger was moving back, away from Bru, because his friend was slowly bending the attacker’s arm upward and back. Gord thought that it would have been an easy tiling for Bru, except for the other bad man with the narrow sword.

“Stab the sonuvabitch!” the man with the dagger cried. There was pain in his voice, and as he spoke the last word, the wind rushed from his mouth with a gasp, for Bru had used the opportunity to tighten his grip around the man.

“Hold ’im still,” the other one panted, trying to circle so that he could get at an exposed portion of the big man. Bru kept shifting and circling at the same rate, however, seemingly able to anticipate every move the swordsman made. The sword-wielder made a tentative stab, then shouted, “Hol’ ’im still, godsdamnit, else I’ll never get to stickin’ ’im!”

“The bastid’s tryin’ ta break me arm, ya shithead,” the one caught in Bru’s grasp managed to choke out. “Do sumpin’!”

Just then the arm holding the dagger moved farther back, and the man’s mouth opened In a grimace of pain. There was a funny, snapping sound too, and the knife flew from his open hand. That seemed to make the other killer act with more quickness and less sense. The man with the sword fairly flew as he circled, and the sword shot out with terrible speed and force.

“There!” the evil-faced man cried as his blade sank into flesh. Then the man’s face went very pale as he saw that he had driven the weapon through his comrade’s back. Bru and the stabbed killer were between him and the gangway. The man simply let go of his small sword, turned on his heels, and fled through the courtyard and into another passageway at its end. He was gone in a matter of seconds.

“Uncle Bru! Are you all right?” Gord called from his hiding place. His friend was just standing there, still holding onto the man with the sword sticking out of his back.

“What are you doing here?” Bru’s voice sounded strange to Gord’s ears. The man turned slowly, still clasping the dead attacker. His face changed from its hard expression to a smile, however, as the thin boy advanced hesitantly out of the shadows. “Never mind me, Gord,” he said softly. “You’re a friend indeed, and I thank you. Take hold of that sword there and pull it out-real careful like.”

It was a terrible thing to ask. Gord didn’t want to do it. He stood still, looking uncertainly at Uncle Bru. “I don’t want to touch it…,” Gord managed to say.

“Do as I tell you, you little fool!” Bru’s eyes were narrowed, and his tone was hard. “Do it now, and do it carefully. If you don’t, I won’t be your friend anymore!”

After the kick and the strange behavior, Gord wasn’t so sure that Bru was really his friend anyway, but he had to do what Bru said because the little boy still wanted the man’s friendship, even if the feeling was no longer mutual. His hands reached out and touched the sword’s hilt.

“Grab hold, boy, that’s right,” the big man said with soft encouragement.

Gord grabbed hold and his thin arms tugged. The weapon came slowly at first, then all the way out at once. Gord toppled over from the sudden end of its resistance as it pulled free.

“Aaaah,” Bru sighed as he let the dead man topple to the cobblestones. “That’s a good lad! I feel much better now.”

Now the boy suddenly realized what had happened. When the man with the sword had stabbed his friend, the thin blade had gone all the way through the fellow and stuck its point into Uncle Bru too. Gord had pulled the sword out of his friend as well as from the dead attacker’s back. “Are you hurt bad?” He saw his friend pushing a wad of cloth against a place on his side where blood stained his jacket.

“Yes, of course, lad. I’ll be just fine, but I’ll have to have this wound tended to soon. That was a stupid thing you did, Gord, following me,” he added with a mock scowl at the worried little face that peered up at him.

“Those men were after you. I saw them and the bad dog chase after you, and I had to see what was happening. I think you’re my friend even if you were mean to me, and friends got to help each other-you told me that.” Gord’s expression was a mixture of uncertainty and challenge. Would Bru now contradict his own words to him?

“Ah, you are right again, Gord. But come on, we have to get away from this place quick. It won’t do for anyone to see us here-particularly together.” The big man picked up the sword, wiped it clean on the dead man’s clothing, and hid it under his jacket. “Did the one who ran away see you?” he asked as he guided the boy back the way they had come.

“No, neither of them saw me, but the dog did.”

“That’s no matter. Are you sure the men didn’t, though?” Uncle Bru’s tone was urgent.

“Oh, yes, I’m very sure of that. Both of them only wanted to see where you were going, so they were too busy to spot me following them.”

“Good. Very good. This is far enough, though. You go back to your place now, and forget what happened. Forget all about me too! You must never mention what happened here to anyone-not Leena, not a new friend you might find, not anyone. The same goes for me. From now on, you never knew anyone named Bru, never saw anyone who even looks like me. Understood?”

Gord shook his head. “No. I can’t say that. Friends don’t forget each other… even if one is mean and kicks the other.”

“That was necessary-I’m sorry I had to do it, Gord. You are still my good friend. But, you see, those two men who tried to kill me were watching. I saw them, and I knew they had seen us. If they had thought you and I were pals, they would have killed you first, then come after me.”

“That’s why you did it!” Gord was jubilant at the revelation. Now he understood the sudden change from friend to enemy. “You did it so they would think I was just another guttersnipe trying to steal from you.” That made the little boy feel very good. Then something else came to him. “You really and truly saved my life…”

“Perhaps, perhaps. That’s no matter now, for the whole thing is done and over.” Bru sat down and leaned back against the crumbling bricks of the old building. There was pain on his face, and he groaned just a little as he tried to get into a more comfortable position. “That fight sort of tuckered me out, Gord. Your Uncle Bru needs to rest a second. Sit down here by me, and I’ll give you a last lesson.”

That didn’t sound good at all. Gord wanted no last lesson, but he did as Bru said anyway. “What do you mean?”

The big man patted Gord on his tousled head, ruffling the dark hair fondly. “Those men after me were killers. One of them is still a killer, of course. He got away. Soon he will be coming back with more of his kind, and this time there will be enough of them to do the job. I have to be long gone when they come back, and you don’t want them to see you, either-you can never be certain that the one who lived didn’t notice you. If he remembers you being with me, even if he saw me kick you, then he’ll try to get you, and ask you questions.”

“I’d never tell him anything,” Gord said stoutly. “You and I are friends, and friends don’t rat on each other.”

“That’s for sure,” Bru said with a grin, but then his face grew very serious. “But his kind have ways of making you tell. They would use knives, hot coals, anything they could to hurt you so bad that you’d have to tell them to make the pain stop. Those are bad, evil folk. That’s why I have to clear out and never come back again. That’s why you have to lay low for a week, and thereafter be very careful for a long time.”

“Won’t I ever see you again?” Gord couldn’t believe this was happening. “Take me with you when you go away!”

The big man compressed his lips. “I’ve got to move fast and travel far. You couldn’t manage it, and you’d slow me down. Even alone, I’m not so sure they won’t find me. They, or their lot, are determined once they decide to go after someone and kill them.” He looked at the thin face and the sad eyes. “You don’t want me to get killed, and I don’t want that to happen to you, either. The best thing a pair of friends can do in this kind of situation is to part company, so that each of them has a chance to live.”

Gord could understand that. “You’re really a very smart man, Uncle Bru. You have to get away for sure, and I’ll be a mouse here, and nobody will see me at all.”

“Good. It’s all settled, then,” Bru said with a sigh of relief. He managed to get back to his feet, the lad assisting him in the effort. “Now I’m off to get this hole in me patched up. One thing more, old friend. Don’t ever go back to my place-never! I’ll not go there again, and you mustn’t do so, either. Don’t even go near it. They’ll watch it for weeks, maybe months.”

“But all of your things are there, Bru! You can’t just leave so much.”

“Things don’t matter a bit. You know that, don’t you? What good is money, what use finery, if you’re dead? None, of course. Let those devils have what’s there-we need to stay alive!”

Gord couldn’t restrain himself. “You must be a very important man to have those killers after you. Are you a prince in disguise? You have to tell me, please. You’re going away now, and who knows when you’ll come back? I have to know, Uncle Bru.”

That made the big man pause. “You’re right in a lot of ways, Gord. It isn’t likely you and I will be meeting again for a long, long time-if ever, to be honest, and I must be honest with a friend like you, boy. You’re right about those who seek me. Most folks don’t have murderers hounding them. You’re right about them thinking I’m Important. I’m not a prince, though, not anything even near it. I’m just a common man, sort of a soldier in a good cause. I have something those bad ones want to know, though. If they get it, then their side gets stronger and can do terrible things to good people. I must see that they fail, and then we have a chance of defeating their evil in the end.”

Gord hugged his friend around the waist, and Bru gave his narrow little shoulders a squeeze with his free arm. “I’ll think about you when you’re gone, Uncle Bru. You will beat the bad guys, I know it! No one’s as big and strong and tough as you are.”

“Luck be with you, lad,” the big man said. He gave Gord’s shoulders a last embrace, then went off.

Gord watched him walk away through misty eyes. Bru never faltered in his step, never looked back to where the small boy stood watching. In a minute there was no man in sight, but the waif stood as still as a post, staring along the street where his friend had been. The sense of loss was overwhelming. Far beyond his years in understanding, Gord realized that a part of his life, the only good part, had just gone. It was a permanent loss. From now on, it was Gord against the world, and he had no friend to help him, no teacher, no benefactor, no protector.

When he came back that evening, old Leena was furious that the boy bore nothing with him. None of her abuses or threats drew a response from him, so she finally seized him and shook the thin boy until his teeth rattled. At that a small leather bag dropped out of his smock.

“Eh! What’s this?” the crone said as she stooped over and snatched the thing up. It clinked in her hand, and her fingers shook in their haste to undo its tie and open it. “Holdin’ out on old Leena, were ya?!” She clouted Gord on the head with her fist, and the force of the clenched hand with the coin bag inside it knocked him flat.

He managed to lift his head and shake it a little so that the stars before his eyes went away. Gord saw Leena pouring a dozen silver coins back and forth between her hands, crooning “lovely nobles, pretty silver nobles” as she did so. Gord knew then that Bra had slipped the purse of coins into his blouse when they’d parted. Now Leena had them, but that didn’t matter-it was knowing that his friend had cared and given them to him that counted. Leena couldn’t take that away from him.