by Gary Gygax
"She speaks in riddles and half-truths in order to make the customers agree to pay more. We need not worry, though. Recall you the runes and sigils I brought forth? Remember the gateway at the last?"
"So what?"
Gord pointed to the dim end of the alley. "See yonder? There is the gate that shuts fast Odd Alley. Beyond must be our goal!"
"Hmmm," Chert said, doubt creeping across his rugged features.
"Come on! I'll show you," Gord said confidently. A few minutes later, that confidence was gone. The distant end of the alley, a place evidently shunned by all living creatures, had its gate, certainly. The portal was old, iron, and locked. Knocking, banging, and pounding did no good.
"This cannot be," Gord said with exasperation.
"Horseshit!" his huge comrade sighed. "Let's get out of here and plan a journey. Greyhawk is getting too unhealthy of late."
"Will you allow a few assassins, noises in the night, and one locked gate to scare you off?" demanded the smaller man.
"Gord. If you call murder attempts and night daemons nothing, you're either a brave fool or a stupid oaf. And I’m not going to stand around here and ponder which of the two categories best describe your present state. I am going to saddle my horse and ride elsewhere — while I’m still able. You do as you wish," Chert said with an air of finality.
Gord had tried to make light of their peril ever since they had left the temple with the dreaded yet valuable relic. The young thief pretended it was little more than a joke because his comrade had stubbornly resisted his plan to steal the Reliquary of Nerull from the temple right up until they had actually pulled the whole thing off. Since then Chert had said little, but his expression spoke volumes.
Gord had noticed that they were followed after they had approached several fences who normally bought stolen items such as the purloined reliquary. All of these so-called dealers were quite adamant about their lack of interest, and one of the proprietors had them ejected from his premises at first sight of the pair. Then it was evident that something was seriously amiss.
That same night they had been attacked by four assassins. As was customary, Gord and the barbarian had gone on an evening carouse, ending up at the Green Dragon. Because the dauntless duo picked up on the fact that they were being trailed when they left the tavern, both feigned drunkenness, an act that probably saved them their lives. The killers were not as careful as professional assassins should have been. As the assassins sprang from concealment to strike, they found that their "drunken victims" were anything but disoriented.
Gord met them with sword and dagger. Chert with his great axe, Brool. When it was over a minute or two later, three of the four murderers were dead, and the fourth managed to escape only by luck. Both adventurers knew they had been lucky. The next time the assassins would be more experienced and much more clever. And the "next time" was not to be far off.
Congratulating themselves on their skill, Gord and Chert had returned victorious to the old stable they had rented and made into an apartment. The two young men carefully barred the door, set various alarms and traps as was customary, and went to bed. They were awakened not long after by a loud clang and an awful, blubbering shriek.
A high window, left purposely unshuttered as an inviting means of entry to the place, had served its purpose. The window was equipped with a heavy bar of iron that was set to crash into anyone attempting to come into their domicile via this particular route. The trap was set such that a body crossing the sill of the opening would trigger the mechanism releasing the iron bar. The pair didn't have to wait long for an unsuspecting victim to put the device to a test. Something had indeed entered by the window, and the iron weight had swung like a pendulum, crashing into the ignoble intruder.
The impact had broken the cord, and the bar had rung like a bell against the stone wall as it fell loose. Both Chert and Gord had rushed over to investigate, hearts in their throats and weapons in hands. One look at their "catch" was enough to make both men shudder. A horrible daemon, a thing with slimy scales and suckered appendages, awaited their arrival. Whatever it was, the heavy lump of iron had damaged it, and the daemon was still reeling when Gord and Chert entered the chamber. Sword and axe bit into the horror, and the adventurers managed to deal it mortal wounds before it could recover. Again, they knew that luck had been with them. Future visitors of this ilk would not be dealt with so easily.
With all this fresh in his mind, Gord couldn't blame his friend for wanting to plot a new course. He stared at the bulky barbarian for a long moment. Chert, arms crossed, jaw set and eyes narrowed in a "don't mess with me" glare, was the perfect picture of resolved determination. But Gord was not about to let him go without a fight. "You lose all claim to the prize if you desert!" He tried to goad the hillman into reconsidering, but Chert wouldn't budge.
"Well rid of it! And this is far from desertion, my friend. It is definite self-preservation. You seem to have a death wish, and that is one adventure i'd just as soon steer clear of. And you're supposedly the, brains behind this partnership. Hah!"
The pair stood glaring at each other for a full minute. But despite the harsh look on his face, Gord could not help but smile inwardly. The concern and determination written across the face of his comrade was touching indeed. It was obvious that Chert really meant exactly what he said and that he had no intention of allowing himself to be swayed. But Chert had said it himself — Gord was the smarter of the two, and he didn't earn that reputation by letting his hillbilly friend best him. As he saw it. Only one course, however devious, remained.
"Then prosper and farewell. Chert, old friend, until our paths cross again," Gord said, his eyes beginning to moisten as he reached up and slapped the big barbarian fondly on his shoulder. Chert clapped Gord on the back so hard that the young thief was nearly bowled over by the blow. The barbarian then spun on his heel and stomped off. Gord stayed where he was, mentally whistling a lively tune while counting the minutes.
It took five minutes, give or take 'a few seconds — about what Gord had expected — before his overgrown friend appeared in sight. The husky barbarian's brisk stride, accompanied by a chain of loudly sputtered yet unintelligible curses, told Gord all he needed to know. The angry hillman stamped back to where Gord stood stock still. "How can I leave a small and crazy man to the mercies of the followers of that dung-deflled Nerull?" he cried overdramatically, arms waving madly about, frustration evident in every syllable. "If I am forced to follow death's road, at least I'll take many with me when I die! What now, my death-defying friend?"
Grinning boyishly. Gord slapped his comrade's hand and said just as dramatically, "Ever a stout friend!" Then he added soothingly. "Listen, Chert, there must be an answer! Old Annya said our goal was neither here nor there, but if we went from her place to there, we'd gain our fortune, right?"
"Yes," Chert agreed, nodding reluctantly, "that much I recall. But what good do her words do us when we don't know what they mean?"
"Well, if we couple what she said wilh the significance of the gate way ..." Gord stopped and added emphatically. "I'm sure it's the key!"
"So, what lies on the other side of the gate?" Chert asked, absentmindedly scratching his head with the leather-covered tip of his dagger.
"How should I know?" Gord snapped, irritated at having his thoughts interrupted. Then after a few seconds of silence, he said, "There are only a few places here that I can recall. There is the junk store run by that miserly old half-elf Scriggin, the used clothing shop, Freedle's Librarium, the potter's booth, the Sunken Grotto Tavern, the money changer's stall. Green Wulfurt's apothecary, the crazy limner's place, Zreed's Antiquary — that's where we tried to unload the, ah, stuff — and the old warehouse and stable across from it at the mouth of the alley."
"But what's at the head?" Chert asked.
"The gate, stupid!" Gord shot back as he pondered the wisdom of having conned the barbarian into sticking around.
Now Chert was grinning. "My point exactly!
The gateway — and beyond it. The gate leads to someplace. Every place has walls, windows, and doors: Let's find the other side of the doorway and go in that way!"
"I was just about to suggest that myself," Gord said lamely.
"At the end of that passage! See the dull gleam?"
"That must be it. Chert. Let's see," Gord agreed as he hurried into the opening.
It had taken them hours of searching, walking through the twists and turns of the mazelike lanes and alleys of Old City. A false turn, backtracking, a street angling in the wrong direction. They had even entered a few of the establishments bordering their destination with the intention of finding an excuse to slip out the back doors and. thus, reach their destination. But to their astonishment, none of the places had back windows, let alone back doors! And they had been not-so-nicety ejected from the Sunken Grotto Tavern when they were caught painstakingly searching a back room of the establishment in hopes of finding some sort of exit.
They probably would never have located the area save for the fact that they happened to end up in just the right location as the last rays of the setting sun illuminated the close and the passage leading from it. The light gave a glimmer of metal for an instant, and the sharp-eyed barbarian was quick to notice. "It appears to be nothing more than the other side of the iron portal!" Gord exclaimed in disappointment after the two had conducted a close inspection of the premises.
Before anything further could be said or done, both men heard soft footfalls approaching. Gord and Chert moved quickly, without sound, into the far comer of the tunnel. Was this yet another hired murderer? A cloaked figure was silhouetted in the opening of the passage. No features of its face could be discerned, but the body was broad and short. The person went directly to the metal door, evidently not noticing that the passageway was occupied. The iron turned phosphorescent when the figure touched it with something, and then the door was gone, revealing a dim space beyond. Before either of the young men could react, the stocky figure stepped through the arch and was gone. The iron gate reappeared.
"What the hells?" Chert asked in a hushed voice.
Gord squeezed his friend's massive forearm.. "That is a most ensorceled portal, but it leads to where we must be! Come on, let's see if we can discover the mechanism by which that fellow operated it. Neither struck a light, not wishing to attract attention. There was just enough illumination from the deepening twilight to serve their purpose. Using fingers, palms, and dagger points Gord and Chert carefully went over every inch of the portal, but the rusted metal revealed not the slightest hint as to how it operated. No amount of inspection of the posts and walls to either side yielded anything useful, either. Even Gord's metal-penetrating dagger would not pierce the door. Both were ready to give up when yet another sound of footsteps came faintly to their ears.
"Let's take this one!" Gord whispered.
"High and low," the barbarian affirmed in a hiss.
The footfalls faltered and stopped. Could their intended victim be that keen of hearing? if so. he quickly satisfied himself that the passage was free of danger because the sound of walking came again. Whoever it was had most likely merely stopped to look around before entering the passageway, just as the first entrant had approached furtively.
"Now!" cried Gord as he flew through the air to tackle the barely discernible target. Chert sprang at nearly the same moment, taking the figure high in a crushing bearhug.
"Yaagh!" Gord shouted as the form he tried to hold seemed to writhe and squirm from his grasp. Whatever his arms were encircling, the sensation was like live eels!
"Bite me, will you?" his friend bellowed after emitting a surprised grunt. And this was followed by a muffled thud and another exclamation from Chert.
Suddenly Gord was holding onto nothing at all, and something big and heavy fell upon his prone body, driving the breath from his lungs in a pain-filled whoosh. "What's going on?" he managed to gasp weakly.
The weight eased off, and Chert spoke. "I don't have the faintest, fluttering idea. I hit that slimy son of a bitch after he bit me. It was as if I broke a pig bladder filled with air. One minute I had him by the neck — I think. The next there was nothing there, and I toppled over onto you!"
"Deviled dung beetles!" Gord spat, clambering to his feet shakily. "This is some strange stuff we've gotten into."
In a flash of pale radiance from Chert's phosphorescent pocket stone, Gord saw only a pair of boots and a huge cape where . . . something . . . had been only moments before. He peered at the boots, held one up, and then dropped it "That is padded inside for no human foot!" he said with disgust as he quickly gathered up the cape and searched it. "Nothing," Gord informed Chert as he tossed the garment down, "but a faint and repugnant odor."
"I still have a part of. . . it." Chert said flatly as he held forth his left hand for Gord's inspection.
"That's a tentacle," Gord said with a faint quaver in his otherwise smooth voice.
"A tentacle whose suckers still grasp a coin!" Chert retorted as he jerked the metal disc from the member and flung the extremity to the stone paves. "But it is like no other in Greyhawk," he continued as he inspected the shining bit of stuff.
Gord moved closer to get a better look at the coin. "It has to be the trigger! it has a hand on one side and a rectangle on the other."
"It is no metal i've ever seen before," the big barbarian agreed. "It is no real coin. How do we proceed?"
Thus," the young thief said as he picked the disc from the huge palm with his long, slender fingers. "I hold the thing so that the hand faces my hand and the rectangle matches the gate. Then I simply touch the gate with the coin!" So saying, Gord matched action to word, but nothing happened. "Well, it seemed logical," he muttered.
"Reverse the coin and try again." Chert suggested, seeming rather proud of this insight.
"Right," Gord replied sourly as he turned the coin so that the hand lay upward. "There is an equal chance that my first guess would be correct, and now I have a smirking lout telling me how to do my work. Here goes. . . ."
Both adventurers jerked back in surprise as the iron portal glowed, shimmered, and vanished, all in an instant. Although there was dim light beyond the archway, some mist or haze prevented either of the two from seeing more than a few feet into the area revealed.
"This must be some anteroom, perhaps a small courtyard. So there is a building between here and Odd Alley!" Gord said triumphantly. "In we go on the count of three. One, two, three!"
Gord sprang forward while Chert simply used his long legs to stride into the newly revealed space that the metal gate had hidden. As the pair entered; the mist swirled, darkened, and then disappeared.
"Back on Odd Alley?" Chert asked in a puzzled voice. The sudden dispersal of the obscuring haze showed a torchlit street before them. But the place they had just come from was no longer visible.
"Hey! I don't think we can leave the same way we came!" Chert said rather frantically, pulling on his friend's sleeve as he spoke. But the barbarian's lean friend was concentrating on what lay ahead, not behind.
"Never was Odd Alley so wide or so well-lit!" Gord said, seemingly awestruck. "See there, glass lanterns and glowing globes, too! Is there then a whole section of street — a mews, rather, hidden between those twin gates?"
Chert was hardly paying attention to what Gord had said, for, as his eyes had frantically scanned the street for some sign of an exit, they had spotted a beehive-like structure with a sign that depicted an incredibly well-endowed young lady. "Do me of de lights?" he said aloud, trying to decipher the words on the display. "Hey Gord. What does 'do me of de lights' mean?" the baffled barbarian asked as he pointed a huge finger at the object of his contusion.
"It reads 'Dome of Delights'," you lecher," Gord said distractedly, for his gaze was roving up and down the curving way ahead. "Beyond is a place called Achmutt's Cut-Rate Carpets, and across the road are the Tower Tavern and Count joseph's Emporium of the Unusual."
"Never heard
of any of them. Let's check out the Dome," Chert suggested a little too eagerly.
"In time, perhaps," Gord said firmly as he directed his hulking companion up the lane. Looking around the gentle curve, Gord knew it was all wrong. There was not this much space for all these establishments between Odd Alley and the gate through which they had just passed. Then his eye caught a bronze plaque affixed to the wall of a nearby building. He read it aloud in wonder. "Weird Way?"
"It does appear a bit peculiar," Chert agreed. "What is that exotic edifice over there?"
"Pagoda of Pools. I’ve never heard of a Weird Way in Greyhawk!"
The ways of this city are all strange, my small friend." the barbarian mumbled as he stared at a woman in gauzy garments who had just exited a place called the Pavilion of Portals and was heading directly toward them. She smiled invitingly at Chert's ogling gaze.
"Hey, beautiful, the streets at night aren't safe for someone as luscious as you!" the giant fellow fairly crowed. "How about I serve as your guard?"
"With you as guard, who'd need attackers?" the woman retorted in a laughing, husky voice. "But if you're interested, I'm heading for the Dome — want to come with?"
"We'll be in later," Gord interjected firmly.
"Ask for Zenobia of Aerth." She flung the words over her shoulder as she went past.
Chert watched the swaying hips and long, shapely legs until Zenobia was out of sight within the beehive-shaped edifice. "Like a peach!" he said with admiration.
"Like a melon!" Gord countered.
"What? What are you talking about?"
Gord strolled on up the street. "Your head," he called, and ignored the big barbarian thereafter.
"Okay, okay!" Chert said, as he hurried to walk beside his companion. "What other interesting stuff do you see?"
"Learning to read should be a requirement for all barbarians," Gord told his friend.
"But I can read — better than I used to, anyway."
"Which isn't saying a whole hell of a lot!" Gord mumbled. But Chert's curiosity overrode his pride, and he was insistent upon knowing the name of every establishment they passed. The young thief, knowing how persistent his sometimes troublesome friend could be, shrugged in resignation and called out as they slowly walked along the nearly deserted street. "Juxort's Charts and Maps is to the left. Next to it is the shop that styles itself Wonders of the World. Across the street are Abner Crobny the Outfitter, the Arms Exchange, and Elixirs from Everywhere. Interesting."
