Free D& D - Greyhawk - Night Watch by Robin Wayne Bailey Page B

clutched a stout club. Three more figures landed noisily in the street behind them, blocking that way. Garett turned only enough to ascertain they carried similar weapons.
    “You might have told me they were there,” Burge whispered as he moved to Garett’s side and turned to face the three. His sword was already in his hand.
    “I didn’t want to upset you,” Garett answered with quiet sarcasm. “There’s only four of them.”
    Actually, Burge’s hearing and eyesight were considerably superior to Garett’s, thanks to his father’s elven blood. “Afraid not, Cap’n,” Burge muttered.
    “Four, did you say?” the leader interrupted, proving the quality of his own hearing. He snapped his fingers. Just up the street, another pair of figures stepped out of the shadows. As far as Garett could tell, they still only carried clubs, though it was possible they had daggers tucked into their belts.
    “You’re on our turf,” the leader commented, clearly thinking himself in command of the situation. He was a wiry little fellow, perhaps a third of Garett’s age, though most of his teeth were already missing. A gleam of desperation burned in his eye, despite his mocking tone. He tapped his club against the palm of one hand in an intimidating manner. “You want to use the Serpent’s Back, you got to pay a toll. You haven’t paid the toll yet, General.” Garett frowned. “It’s captain,” he responded dryly as he studied the figure before him.
    He’d encountered such gangs in Old Town before, rover packs of desperate youths who usually preyed on the weaker, poorer members of the neighborhood. Lacking talent to win a place in the Thieves’ Guild, too proud to join the Beggars’ Union, and too stupid to learn a fair trade, they ran wild, depending on their numbers for survival. It was unusual for a gang to come this far north, though. They usually stayed to the southern part of the Slum Quarter.
    This group, then, probably counted itself as one of the more important and daring of the Slum Quarter gangs. The possessions of a couple of city watchmen would make nice trophies they could show off. No doubt they would win a lot of respect from rival gangs.
    Too bad for them it wasn’t going to be that way.
    “We can do this politely,” Garett suggested reasonably, addressing the leader. “Let’s just go our separate ways and pretend we never saw each other. No embarrassment for either of us. My men at headquarters won’t laugh at me for walking into your very clever trap . . .” Garett shrugged and turned his palms outward in a gesture of offering. “And you don’t get your guts handed to you by my nasty-tempered friend here.” He put an arm around Burge’s shoulder, and the half-elf gave a low growl.
    The gang leader put on a smirk. “He don’t look so nasty to the six of us,” he proclaimed, emphasizing their greater numbers. “Now the toll on the Serpent’s Back is kind of expensive this time of night. First, it’ll cost you your swords. Then, we’ll see what else you got.”
    “Don’t he know, Cap’n,” Burge said in a mocking voice as he waved the sword he’d already drawn easily before him, “that it’s illegal for a citizen to carry a sword on the streets without a proper license?”
    The leader watched Burge’s sword warily. The blade gleamed with a mesmeric quality in the amber light that seeped through the lantern’s narrowed aperture.
    “That’s true,” Garett replied. “ you don’t have a license, do you?” he said to the leader.
    An impatient voice from behind them hissed sharply. “Enough of this, Burko! Let’s just bash ’em and take their stuff before somebody else comes!”
    “Now that would be really stupid, Burko,” Garett warned quickly before the gang leader could think it over. “There are six of you, yes, but you’ve only got clubs.” At least, he hoped they only had clubs. At most, some might have daggers or knives, but if they did, surely they’d have them