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fenced for the burgeoning group of nonguild thieves. Violet’s change was easy; she simply removed her cloak, revealing a fancy dress underneath, then took off her headwrap and shook out her hair. The soft, wavy, golden-brown tresses shone in the candlelight. Then she pulled several small items from the pockets of her cloak. An old, cracked mirror enabled her to apply pigments to darken her eyes and rouge her cheeks. Next came jewelry-fake stuff, naturally, but only an expert looking closely could tell that it was worth only coppers, not silver nobles.
    In the meantime, Gord had shed his dirty garments and donned hose, pantaloons, doublet, and short cape. He was the serving boy of the courtesan Penora, lately of Dyvers, but now considering making her home in the more cosmopolitan City of Greyhawk. In his role, Gord wouldn’t be noticed, for Violet-Penora would certainly command all eyes. His mission was to pick as many pockets and sneak as many purses and other valuables as he could.
    “This will be fun!” thought Gord. Then he remembered that Violet would also be plying her original profession, and the day seemed less appealing than it had. But… no matter. One had to work to survive, and this was work he enjoyed.
    Exiting the basement from a back door and melting into the throng on the street was a simple matter for them; both knew how to avoid attention when they wanted to. Once past Odd Alley, they walked west to The Processional and then turned north. Gord was excited at actually mingling as an equal with the folk who strolled along here. This was the major north-south artery of the city. Southward it led to the Grand Square and the Citadel. They were going the opposite direction toward the Garden Quarter. In a short time they left the broad thoroughfare in favor of the narrower streets where the rich and famous commoners of the city dwelled. Blue Boar Street was renowned for its shops, its drinking and eating establishments, and the quality of the gentlefolk and rakes who frequented its curving length.
    Pausing here and browsing there, they proceeded along as would a well-heeled woman of high station accompanied by her servant. Before they entered the Wizard’s Hat Inn, Gord had managed to pinch a spidersilk kerchief and an ivory comb, lift a small purse from an incautious gentleman fretting while his lady looked at material in a dressmaker’s, and filch two silver pieces from the tunic of a prosperous lesser cleric. He had missed an opportunity or two, surely, but he did so by choice. If the prospect looked too alert or too knowledgeable, the lad simply passed up having a go.
    The Wizard’s Hat was a place of considerable reputation, and it was filled with people. The tavern area was crowded with all sorts of men, while most of the tables in the main room were clustered with ladies and gentlemen eating and drinking, for it was but a bit past noon. A haughty Violet accosted the sweating proprietor and demanded a table near the front of the room. One look at her, and from her, and he hastened to comply. Who knew whose mistress she was or what influence she had? Anyway, a looker like that near the front of his place would encourage custom!
    Once seated, Violet ordered a goblet of cooled green wine from Celene-a place Gord had never heard of. She waved him to a position off to one side, and the ostler brought him a small beer. While she dined on the finest provender of the establishment, Gord was served a sort of slumgullion that the serving maid identified as “raw goo.” Violet struggled to suppress a smile when he asked her what it was.
    “It’s ragout,” she said quietly with a stern expression on her face. “That’s one word-a foreign way of saying it’s a thin stew with more vegetables and the like than real meat. Slumgullion’s better, but don’t say that here, Gord! Now hush, or they’ll cop wise as to where you’re from.”
    Gord wrinkled up his nose and was about to whisper a reply when a