Night Arrant

by Gary Gygax

  "Here you are." the fellow said, ushering Gord and the glum-faced barbarian into a large parlour. There is only one bed," he continued as he led the pair into the adjoining room. "But notice how large it is."

  "I care not for a bedstead of heavy iron," Chert said, eyeing the thing distrustfully and shaking his head.

  "Ah, but notice the fine feather mattress and down pillows. Do you know that this device — bed, that is, was created by the renowned Procrustes himself?"

  "No. We don't like this suite at all," Chert replied over the protests of their tall, thin host. "Be so good as to show us another, or we will take our custom elsewhere."

  "Well, I have a very fine set of chambers, what we call the Burke and Hare Suite, but it is quite expensive."

  "Bugger the cost!" Chert said forcefully. "Show us that place now."

  Gord disliked the thick, padded canopies of the beds in the Burke and Hare Suite, and neither adventurer cared much for the cramped suite the proprietor identified as the Bates complex. Finally, after much muttering and exasperation, the lanky fellow settled them in a large, ordinary room. The bed was smallish, but each took his turn sleeping while the other kept vigil. Neither Gord nor Chert felt at ease in the hostel despite the claims and services offered. An hour before dawn. Gord detected a faint draft. Grasping the pommel of his enchanted blade, he peered around the room, using the dweomer of the sword to see in the pitch blackness as if it were a normally lit place. The room remained pitch dark to any who did not hold the enchanted blade.

  Yagbo stood in a newly revealed opening in the wall near the head of the bed. With him was another man who, if anything, was less savory than the rascally porter. Each had a cloth tied over his face and a wad of lint clasped in hand. Yagbo was unstopper-ing a flask, bent on pouring its contents into the wad of lint each held. Gord could see fumes rising as the stuff issued from the bottle. Yagbo worked with swiftness, and as soon as both balls of stuff were soaked, he and his villainous associate pitched them onto the bed where Chert's head was, and where Gord's should have been. Chert groaned softly, tossed, and then began to breathe most heavily and unnaturally.

  That does for ‘em!" whispered the porter with an evil chuckle. "Light the candle and we'll tie 'em up nice and tight for Plincourt's supper!"

  Holding his breath, Gord stepped to the bed and skewered the nearest ball of lint on the point of his shortsword. He flicked it through the air with unerring aim. The wet, fuming clump of fiber took Yagbo full in the face and hung for a heartbeat before dropping. As the soggy mass slid down to gravity's will, Yagbo's eyes bulged, his hands clutched at his throat, and he wheezed forth a croaking cry of agonized defeat.

  "Wazzamatter?" the other would-be killer whispered as he looked up from the sputtering stub of candle he held. "Youse trussin' ‘em already, Yagbo?"

  The needle-sharp point at his throat, pressed just hard enough to cause a bead of crimson to drip forth, answered his query. "If you move so much as an eyelid, I’ll put this point through your neck!" Gord said. "Now, kneel — slowly!"

  The trembling scoundrel complied without a sound, crumbling to the floor, and Gord soon had him flat upon his stomach, hands folded behind his neck, chin set so that the fellow's eyes were upon him, allowing Gord to move to the bed to ascertain his friend's condition. Chert was evidently in a comatose slumber, for he made no response to a sharp pinch upon the earlobe.

  "What is the effect of the drug you and Yagbo administered?" Gord demanded.

  The prone man started to move as he replied, then felt the tip of Gord's blade at the base of his spine. "It causes drugged sleep for at least an hour, maybe two," he said in a strained whisper.

  "What were you going to do after tying us?"

  "Tie youse guys? Naw, we was just gonna— "

  The pressure of the weapon caused him to gasp in pain, but Gord ignored that. "If you lie to me once more, I'll sever your spine, then work on the upper part of you for good measure — but slowly! What was your plan?"

  "Hang ya up fer da vampire. He'd have us dump youse down da old cistern when he'd finished wid ya. Da trunk goes to Plincourt, too."

  "Plincourt? Who is that?"

  "Plincourt's da guy who runs dis place at night. He hires us to get greenies and pays us a nifty thirty nobles each to do dat."

  "Who are the friends of this Plincourt?" Gord asked, leaning a little on his sword as he said it.

  "Ow! Easy. easy. I'm tellin youse the truth! Plincourt hangs 'round wid joe and a se'edy trollop called Fritzie - dat's about it."

  "Joe? is that the merchant?" Gord saw the man nod vigorously, so he went on. "What about the owner of this place? is he in on the scam?"

  "Shaz, no! if Huskons knew what was goin’ on, he'd have all of our arses!"

  "So it shall be," Gord murmured softly as he jammed the still damp wad of lint under the prone man's nose. A surprised gasp, a cough, and the fellow was out. Gord proceeded to tear the linen from the bed into long strips with which he bound both criminals, making the ties as tight and uncomfortable as possible. Taking water from the ewer on the stand, the young thief then splashed it generously on Chert's face. But the cold liquid had no effect on the slumbering barbarian. Nor did pinching, poking, slapping or punching. "Guess I'm just going to have to tend to matters myself," Gord grumbled.

  It took some doing, but the slender rogue finally managed to drag the sleeping killers into the secret passage. The candle showed the space to be about three feet wide and several yards long. At its end was a narrow stone stair that descended into a tight spiral. Being quiet but none too gentle, the adventurer managed to get his burdens to the bottom of the flight without undue noise. Gord found that he and his sleeping nuisances were in the cellar of the hostel. After very little exploration he entered an ordinary storeroom through the hinged back of an old cupboard.

  There is where they dispose of the corpses," Gord said to himself upon spotting a large, open shaft in the center of the chamber. The cover had been moved aside in anticipation of the duo's demise. Gord shuddered. He dragged the bodies of his would-be assassins through the deceptive cupboard door and over to the edge of the cistern. "Now isn't this convenient?" he asked his sleeping prisoners. "Youse guys were considerate enough to leave me some rope with which to hang you." And with that the two unconscious thugs were trussed and suspended over the gaping cistern. "Have a nice sleep, guys, because you're going to wake up to a hell of a nightmare!" Gord chuckled and gave the hanging bodies a shove.

  By the time the young thief returned to the room he shared with his friend, the groggy hillman was just beginning to come around. "One more time," Gord said as he tossed more water on the surprised fellow's head.

  "What the hell?" Chert jumped to his feet but quickly fell back on the bed. "Who's been messing with my brain?" he asked, holding his head in both hands. His friend resisted the urge to reply sarcastically and, instead, briefly related the past hour's events. Although he was still somewhat lightheaded from the drug, the hillman readily agreed with Gord's suggestion that the two immediately pay Plincourt a visit.

  They crept up the main stairs and cautiously entered a room that was obviously the kitchen. It was quiet and deserted, although a lantern burned, indicating that someone was probably nearby. Taking the closest exit, Gord led the way to a refectory with two passages leading from it. This time the adventurers opted for the narrower way. In a minute they had stolen up to a small room that was the hostel's office. Plincourt was there, hunched over a small table reading a scroll by candlelight. He spoke without looking up. "Come in, Yagbo, and bring the trunk, but be forewarned. If you and Lou have rifled it I will be very angry."

  Without hesitation. Gord sprang into the room, swinging his shortsword so as to strike the long head of the rail-like Plincourt with its flat side, stunning him. As fast as he was, Gord missed the blow, for somehow Plincourt had sensed the attack. He ducked, turned, and leaped erect in one smooth motion.

  "Thunderation!" Chert exclaimed, now
fully conscious and wishing he wasn't. Following his friend's lead, the brawny barbarian had also entered the office ready to use dagger, pommel and fist to finish the work that Gord initiated. What he saw made him tear free his axe with haste, giving the sign to ward off the evil eye as he did so.

  Plincourt was facing his attackers. "Welcome! I am feeling hungry and regretting the spilling of blood . . . uselessly." he sneered, glaring at the two young adventurers with his burning red eyes and licking his fangs all the while.

  "Vampire!" Gord hissed.

  "No shit." Chert, said, hefting his axe and swinging it a little so that it emitted a reassuring hum.

  Plincourt chuckled softly at the reaction he had evoked in the pair. "Let us chat a while, friends, rather than use ugly aggression. I am willing to forgive and forget, so let us be comrades," he said softly, gazing at first Gord, then Chert.

  "Beware his eyes!" Chert called to his friend.

  Gord had already acted, however, even as the barbarian spoke. He took out the symbol of Fharlanghn given to him by his druid friend, Curley Greenleaf, and held it before his eyes.

  "Put that filthy thing away!" Plincourt demanded as his gaze swept from the bigger man back to Gord once again.

  "This?" Gord asked ingenuoiisly, thrusting the symbol toward the vampire as he spoke.

  Plincourt recoiled, clawing at the holy disc that Gord held in both hands. Thus distracted, the vampire failed to notice the steely blur of Chert's great axe as it sang toward him. Brool bit deep into the undead monster's chest, causing the vampire to stagger and throwing him back against the wall.

  "And this!" Gord shouted as he thrust his own weapon full into Pllncourt's skinny body.

  Plincourt shrieked, a piercing scream much resembling the cry of a monstrous bat. He tore the axe from the hands of the dumbfounded barbarian, reversed it, and hurled it toward Chert's face. "Now you, small man!" the vampire said with a growl, darting forward to grapple with Gord.

  The long, thin frame rushed at him, but Gord had already withdrawn his blade and was dancing back, point before him on guard. The sign of Fharlanghn hung free around his throat, and the supple thief’s free hand now held his long poinard as main gauche. He spat at the horrible visage of the vampire as it rushed toward him. "No easy foe here!" and then struck again twice at the exposed form, thrusting sword into Plincourt's abdomen, dagger into throat. "These fangs drink blood too!"

  The force of his own furious lunge carried the vampire into the darting blades. Plincourt groaned and jerked back from the pain which the dweomered steel conveyed to his unnatural body. Eyes blazing, mouth set in a horrific snarl, he screamed. "For that I will make your death slow and painful, your afterlife one of degrading service to me!"

  Gord laughed and taunted him, buying time for his friend. Chert had moved so as to avoid the full force of his own weapon, but the heavy axe had torn a gash in his forehead and stunned him. Gord saw the barbarian out of the corner of his eye, risen to one knee now, and holding Brool once again. At that moment, Plincourt launched himself at Gord in another furious assault.

  "Penwolf!" Chert boomed, shouting his clan war-cry as he stood erect and swung his axe from his hip in one, smooth motion. Brool sang like an angry hornet as it arced from the floor to strike the lunging vampire in the upper torso. The edge nearly severed Pllncourt's extended arm. and the force of the blow skewed the vampire's lanky form toward the left where Gord's shortsword waited.

  "Die. undead thing!" Gord said from between clenched teeth as he thrust the blade forward to pierce the vampire's body in a blow that sank past collarbone through chest and protruded from Plincourt's back.

  Plincourt jerked backward, alive somehow despite the terrible wounds inflicted upon his unnatural form. Right arm hanging limp and useless, the vampire held up his left hand, saying, "Wait! Before you slay me consider the wealth I could bestow upon you!"

  Chert hesitated, his great axe poised at shoulder height. Still recovering from the vampire's last lunge. Gord, too, slowed his attack at the creature's words. As Gord watched, however, the vampire's form seemed to grow translucent and hazy. What was happening?

  "Quickly. Strike!" The young thief shouted to his friend, for he suspected some trick on Plincourt's part.

  Too late. Brool flashed through the air and swept through the insubstantial form of the vampire — uselessly. The smoky shape wavered, coalesced upon its core, and swirled, shrinking and pouring downward through a space beneath the floorboards.

  "He escaped!" Chert cried.

  Gord sheathed his dagger and loosed the holy disc from around his neck, placing it over the crack through which Plincourt had vaporized. "The monster is somewhere below — let him stay there!" He looked around the disheveled room. "So, what have we got here?"

  Both adventurers rapidly searched the small office, but found nothing there save a small box filled with coins of little value, notes, some bills, and the scroll that Plincourt had been studying when they had attempted to take him by surprise. Chert scooped the coins into his purse while Gord rolled up the scroll, tied it fast, and thrust it into his pouch for perusal at a more convenient time. Then they departed the small room hurriedly, Gord grabbing his necklace from the floor as he went.

  "It is nearly dawn," the barbarian muttered as they came to the foyer. "Let's hasten upstairs, get our gold, and leave this place forever!"

  "Wait a moment," Gord said, and proceeded to search behind the rosewood counter. A few minutes later he had found what he sought. The thick book that they had registered in laid open on the counter's polished wooden top. "There!" he said, with satisfaction as he ripped out the page that contained his signature and Chert's mark. "That will make things more difficult for any who seek our identity."

  Both men bounded upstairs then, and upon entering their chambers went to work. The gold and platinum coins were bagged in lots of one hundred, each group housed within a small, leather sack. Using the blankets off the bed they made two bundles. Gord carried one. Chert the other, as they departed the Hostel of Ineffable Comfort.

  "What of Yagbo and his crony?" Chert asked.

  "I have a feeling they're going to turn up missing — tsk, tsk." Gord clucked his tongue and shrugged, then burst into laughter. The huge hillman grinned and with a jaunty step followed his friend.

  The pale light of the milky dawn revealed a number of establishments surrounding the plaza. The lights of the previous night had been insufficient to show these places when the two had peered into Falre Market from the street below.

  "No ways leading out," Chert nodded grimly.

  "A teahouse there, the Fragrant Blossom, should serve to get us out of sight," Gord replied. "See, a scullion is removing the shutters, and the house will be open for business in a minute. We'll be safe enough there until Sogll the Gemner is ready to show his wares!"

  "Safe? What of Pllncourt and the rest? Surely there will be a hue and cry raised soon!"

  "Bah! Plincourt won't be out and about Weird Way until night falls — he's a vampire, remember — and who else is to accuse us of misdoing? Yagbo? His scabrous associate Lou? Whoever comes in to run that hostel when Plincourt must retire is probably as guilty as the others."

  "But you told me that thug said only Plincourt was in the murderous scheme along with Yagbo and Lou," Chert contended.

  "Nonsense. I knew it for a lie the moment I heard it but considered it immaterial to our needs. Let's continue our discussion over a mug of alder-root tea — and some breakfast too, perhaps. This running about and fighting has given me a superb appetite!"

  Chert nodded and pulled his hood up so as to conceal the wound on his forehead. Although Gord had wiped it clean, and the smears and splatters as well, the gash was obviously a recent one. It might draw unwanted attention if not concealed. A bit of hair and the hood's shadow did the trick.

  Several other patrons entered the tea house and took seats at the small tables filling the room. None were suspicious-looking or near enough to overhear
the conversation, so the two adventurers discussed their options over their breakfast.

  "Try the whortleberry muffins 'n butter!" Chert exclaimed through a mouth stuffed with the very food he recommended. "So, what's next?" he mumbled, spewing crumbs over the tabletop.

  Brushing bits of muffin from before him, Gord detailed the plan. "It is certain that we must reduce the bulk of our gain to some portable commodity. At Sogil's we'll buy two essentially equal pieces of jewelry, agreed?" The barbarian nodded his agreement, so Gord continued. "We must then locate a means of egress. Mind, I am not in a hurry to leave this safe haven, but I like not the feeling of being trapped. We must find an egress prior to really exploring the whole of Weird Way."

  "Sound reasoning." said the giant hillman as he spooned honey atop a bowl filled with semolina gruel topped with green figs and swimming in thick, yellow cream, "Some porridge?"

  Gord demurred, breaking off a bit of rusk and flavoring it with a thin layer of black current jelly before nibbling it. After sipping the astringent infusion he had ordered, the young thief finished his exposition. "It seems certain that we have discovered a place where we are free from the filth who hounds us. With luck, we can find quarters here in Weird Way and use them as a base of operations. There is also much of interest here. Despite our unpropitlous start, and I mean Yagbo, the hostel, and that blood-sucker Plincourt, this might prove our most favorable occurrence."

  "I'll say!" Chert said happily, sinking his teeth into a leg of fowl. "And despite the number of odd-looking folk about the place, most of the girls are absolute smashers!"

  "Brother!"

  "Yes, we are brothers indeed!" The barbarian nodded, not looking up from his trencher. "But, ah, we have at least another hour before the gem shop is open, so what say we order more food, brother? I'm famished!"

  Eventually the third hour arrived, and with it came old Sogil. Gord and Chert were loitering outside his shop, and the gemner eyed them suspiciously. "Do you have any business with me?" he demanded, fingering an oddly shaped brooch he wore at his neck.