City of Hawks by Gary Gygax

boy was grateful to the man for that, too. He still didn’t trust him completely, but getting food was worth a risk. His large, gray eyes met the man’s merry blue ones, visible above the bushy beard.
    “Yes,” the boy said after a moment’s hesitation.
    The man walked off. The little boy had to hurry to keep up, and this fact was reassuring to him. He reasoned that if he had to work to get where they were going, the hairy-faced man wasn’t setting a trap for him. They went into a small, narrow building through a stout door the man opened with a key. Not many places in this part of the city were so guarded, but there were a few. Leena had told him to watch such places closely, because if he ever found one left unguarded, vast treasures would be found inside. But he had never before been inside such a place, and the little lad was instantly impressed.
    “What’s your name?”
    “Don’t know,” the lad said without thinking too hard about the question. His eyes were busy roaming over the place. It was a treasure trove. There was a real rug on the floor, dishes on a table, all sorts of wondrous things.
    “Sure you do,” the fellow countered. “Everyone is called something. Now, I’m called Bru, see? That’s my name. What are you called?”
    He thought for a moment, then said the first thing that came to mind. “Dirty little bastard.”
    “Nope, that’s not a name. Think some more.”
    It seemed evident that the man would keep at it until he had a name from him, and then perhaps he’d give him more to eat, so the little boy thought carefully. Almost everything that old Leena called him was like “dirty little bastard,” not really names but nasty things. That much the lad had understood down deep for a long time. Then something came to him. “Leena always says she’ll thump me… gourd!” It was an exclamation of near triumph.
    “Gord… Well, then, that must be your name. Glad to make your acquaintance, Gord. Sit down on this stool here, and I’ll ladle up a bowl of soup for you.”
    The lad’s big eyes grew bigger when he saw chunks of meat drop from the ladle into the big wooden bowl. “You got meat?”
    “Sure, lad… I mean, Gord. A hunk of bread to soak in the soup, too. Now eat that up, and we can talk a bit. See, I been looking ’round for someone like you to talk to. There aren’t many folks in these parts who are worth talking to, of course.”
    “Why me?” the newly named boy managed to ask through a food-stuffed mouth. Nobody ever wanted to do anything with him except pick on him or make him work. Maybe this hairy-faced man was a crazy-a dangerous man after all! He wanted to get out quickly-but not so quickly that he would leave any of this wonderful soup behind. Eyes darting from the bowl to the man and back again, he began shoveling the stuff into his mouth as fast as he could.
    Bru noticed the sudden tension in the skinny little body, the suspicion plain in the child’s eyes. The big man let the child eat in silence for a couple of minutes, then got up slowly and went over to his cupboard. “That’s it for the soup, Gord, but I think you’re about filled to the top anyway. I’ll give you a piece of cheese to take with you when you leave,” he said slowly as he pulled a package off a shelf.
    Gord was relaxing more with each passing moment. If the man meant to do him harm, he wouldn’t have let him fill his stomach first. As hard as it was to accept, Gord had to admit to himself that maybe this bearded stranger really did want to talk to him.
    “I guess I like talking to you, lad, because I’ve got a sharp eye-’most as magical as that pippin I let you gobble up.”
    Now that was just too much for Gord to pass up. “That old apple wasn’t magic!”
    “Look at how blue my eyes are,” Bru countered. “Ever seen anything like that?”
    “No,” the boy admitted slowly, “but I don’t see hardly anybody. Does a sharp eye hurt?”
    That made the man laugh. “Hah! Good