Free Saga of the Old City by Gary Gygax

Gord spat back. He found himself actually incensed at this fellow’s questioning. “I go where I choose and need no permission from you, sir!”
    At that the sentry laughed. Before him was a youngster of tender years and scant size, armed with a knife no bigger than that with which the thief used to eat his joint of beef, daring him to contest his passage!
    “Well, you’re no beggar, anyway. If you want to get your throat slit, it’s your affair, bandy-boy. Have at it.” With that, the fellow retreated into his doorway, and Gord passed by without giving him another glance.
    Although the area immediately beyond looked deserted, Gord felt a prickling sensation at scalp and spine when he passed gaping doorways and empty windows. There were eyes watching him, he knew. Then, a couple of blocks farther north, the streets began to show some signs of life again. Not much, but here and there a figure was out walking, a handcart being pushed, some tiny shops still open and doing business. All told, however, this portion of the quarter was virtually closed. If this dearth of economic activity was any indication, Theobald and his associates were in deep trouble.
    As he thought about the impressions that this scene was creating in his mind, Gord realized that he no longer considered himself one of Theobald’s servants. True, he was still officially bound to the fat creature who commanded the army of beggars, and in fact he was now on his way to report to Theobald. Still, Gord knew that he was now something more than a tool of the Beggarmaster….
    Abruptly, six young toughs appeared before Gord, breaking his thoughts. Now, as he had expected, he would have to contend with sentries in the employ of the Beggars’ Union. The leader of the group swaggered up to him, hands on hips, and surveyed him. Gord knew that had he been a full-grown man with a longsword at his hip, the six never would have shown themselves-unless they could have ambushed with rocks from above. Now they felt confident that they had an easy prize.
    “Take me to Theobald, and be quick about it!” Gord ordered before the chief bully had spoken. The fellow’s mouth dropped open at that, then clamped shut.
    “Screw you, ya li’l pimp! Who in hell ya givin’ orders to?”
    “You, fool!” Gord replied. “I am Master Gord of the Beggars’ Union, and my orders are taken direct from the Beggar-master. Now either accompany me to the headquarters of Theobald, or get out of my path. I don’t care which you do, but unless you act quickly, you’ll regret it.”
    Gord had all he could do to suppress a smile as he watched the spectrum of expressions that passed across the young tough’s countenance. Astonishment, fury, fear, and uncertainty paraded openly before Gord’s gaze, as plainly as if the words themselves had been written on the oafs forehead.
    “How in hell do I know that you ain’t a spy for them thieves?” the leader finally asked, groping for some way to gain the verbal advantage. Although his five associates had crowded closer behind him during the exchange, their proximity did not reassure him, and his tone of voice now contained a tinge of whining.
    Gord felt like calling him an asshole, threatening him further, and making all six of them sweat some more. How often had he had to suffer the humiliation of fear and cowardice? But instead, he simply said, “Take me to Theobald, and if I am a spy, he’ll deal with me.”
    When the leader heard those words and saw the hard-eyed stare that accompanied them, he broke. “Naw… you’re okay. I just hadda check, see? Them’s
my
orders….”
    By the time these last words were out of the sentry’s mouth, Gord had already marched around the group and continued on his way. His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he heard the leader’s final, plaintive cry: “Tell Master Theobald that Bugbear and his boys is doin’ a good job… okay?”
    In stark contrast to the rest of the neighborhood Gord had seen,