Night Arrant

by Gary Gygax

  "Let us use our feet now, and if we hie with vigor, we'll be home in an hour or two."

  "With a burden to carry, once we arrive, too," Chert grumbled as he strode along. "One quest after another - I like not this city life!"

  "Burden? Quest? Ha, my burly barbarian complainer, no problem at all! We have the exciting prospect of a mission, that's all!"

  "I'd prefer the prospect of revelry and sloth," the hillman intoned glumly.

  Gord laughed. "You have had enough of revels for some time. Chert! Let's plan for some action as we walk — it's more funds we need, not funning with bawds! Let me see that ruby. ..."

  At that the barbarian had to shake his head sadly. Their purses were indeed nearly as flat as the mud-banks of the Selintan River. He dug out the gem and handed it to his comrade. The stone was flawed, of course.

  Gord saw the barbarian ruefully feeling his broad girdle. "It is always a matter of quickly gained, speedily lost when it comes to riches, hillman. Now this new undertaking that Archbold has proposed for us might prove to bring us sums so vast that we can . .."

  Chert had his head cocked attentively as he and the young thief trudged along the Hillway Road toward the city. Who, watching and overhearing the pair, could doubt that the hope bound in the breast of youth was unquenchable and bright? Fortunately, no such eavesdroppers existed, for the discussion involved most nefarious activities.

  The Five Dragon Bowl

  "DIGGWELL BIFFSON IS THE NAME. Do call me Biff, though. If you please. Your Faithfulness."

  "Diggwell? Yes, I recall. That is a fine, upstanding name amongst halflings of the Welkwood region, unless I am mistaken. ..."

  "No. no. You are quite correct," the gray-clad halfling assured him. "I hail from that very place."

  "Why go by so odd a name as Biff then, my good halfling?" the cleric asked earnestly. "You should proudly bear the name of your famous ancestors."-

  The small fellow squirmed at that, trying to think of how he could get this man off the subject. "To be blunt sir, there were so many Diggwells, Dugwalls, Diggerlys, Diggdeeps. Diggsons, and so forth in my family — and I had so many aunts and uncles, not to mention cousins, that I couldn't keep track of them — that my own mother named me Biff, and so it has been since I was but a tiny tot of twelve!"

  Satisfied at that, the clergyman went on to the subject that Biff feared he would. "Coming from a fine area and upstanding folk, why is it you follow such a low calling? Consider carefully the end it would surely lead to, my boy!"

  The halfling was older than Poztif, who was a cleric of some repute and a staunch supporter of weal and order. But Biff didnt feel any older. Years were one matter, wisdom and maturity another. He looked down, shuffled his feet, and then looked up brightly. "You see, Good Poztif, it was the desire of my friend and mentor, the lordly Melf, that I take up the profession of thievery so as to assist him in ways his prowess with sword and spell were unable to accomplish!"

  Shaking his head in amazement and sadness at the elven condition that would encourage dishonest behavior in a halfling, Poztif grasped the small fellow's hand, saying, "Dig — Biff. I mean — I hope that our association will be a useful and pious experience from which I will gain humility and understanding and you a change of heart. Let us off!"

  Biff nodded, withdrew his hand quickly to make a sign to ward off ill-omened occurrences, and trotted after the long-legged cleric. "I too wish to make our enterprise all it should be — just as our liege lords, Tenser the Arch-Mage and Melf of the Green Arrow, have instructed us."

  Poztif grunted at that, for it seemed the halfling was rebutting his piety and efforts. Well, it would be a challenge to accomplish both the task required of him by the mage and his own hopes of salvation for the strayed Biff. Poztif relished the prospect.

  Elsewhere, an ill-matched duo walked slowly along Hundred Step Street toward a rendezvous neither desired. A hulking, six-foot, eight-inch tall hillman from the distant East paced beside a dark-haired young thief from Old City's slums who was just five and a half feet tall — in boots.

  Chert and Gord had recently returned from an altogether unpleasant adventure. They were arguing heatedly as they went neither actually coming right out and accusing, but each blaming the other fellow for their predicament.

  "You led us into that damn little alley," the barbarian said, spitting his words in vehement disgust.

  "And you were all in favor of it at the time," Gord retorted.

  Chert shrugged and then scowled down at the small thief. "But I agreed to follow your superb plan to get us out of Rel Mord, didnt i?"

  "And we got out, too, didn't we?" Gord shot back with heavy sarcasm and a look that bespoke volumes about the stupidity of a certain giant who walked beside him.

  Chert balled a meaty fist but restrained his impulse. "And look where it got us, you little dolt!" he said between clenched teeth while waving the fist he did not really intend to use in front of Gord's face.

  "Oh stop bitching." the young thief said in disgust "So we have to do a little favor to repay the chap who bailed us out. What's the difference? It's just another job. The halfling seems clever, and the cleric has laid a sound plan."

  "I'll tell you the difference — your idea stunk and would have landed us in prison for the rest of our lives, unless our enemies managed to have us assassinated or Quodilde got you first! When the king got wind of what was actually going on we were meat on the table, that's what! if he hadn't owed a favor, and we hadn't agreed to repay it for him through our cooperation, where would we be? I'll tell you where — in Archbold's deepest dungeon, that's where!" Chert's nostrils flared as he spoke with intense fury.

  "Well, we're not in any dungeon. And what we agreed to is in accord with our usual activities. The mission is beneficial."

  "To those whom we must serve." Chert noted as he stomped down one of the long tiers that gave the street its name.

  Gord was hard pressed to reply to that in normal circumstances he and the huge hillman would reap all the rewards from an undertaking of this nature. Now they were to serve and assist others, and the payment they received would be dictated by another. "At least we'll have the assistance of others, so our risk will be much less than usual," said the thief. "In this undertaking we do need help."

  "Such cattle crap!" growled Chert. "You know damned well that you and I will end up doing everything, the others will take the treasure, and we'll get a handful of coppers and a pat on the head for risking our lives. After this, I'll never allow myself to be cozened into another of your hoddy-peaked schemes, Gord. Hereafter you are on your own!"

  That was sufficient to have started the young thief off on a tirade of his own, but just then they clumped down the last of the steps and turned onto the Avenue of the Bells. The place they were to meet their associates was but a short distance away. There was no time for an angry brawl now.

  "Ill be very happy to have my fists discuss this matter with yours at a little later date, if you like, but right now we have some business to discuss with two others." Gord cautioned his friend.

  "Hey, pal. Just name the time and the place and my fists will be happy to be there!" Chert agreed wholeheartedly.

  The Silver Castle inn was one of the better such establishments in Greyhawk. Because it was located near the city's Administrative Center, the Artisans' District, and the large religious community as well, the inn housed a varied clientele who, diverse as they were in beliefs and backgrounds, had one thing in common — they were all well-to-do.

  "And this is a terrible place to meet, too!"

  "Get a hold on your tongue now, Chert," Gord said with a conciliatory tone and a sense of urgency. "We can't allow others to see we are at odds in this situation. While the two who are aiding us are supposedly of benign sort, we must be careful nonetheless. I know nothing of those who are behind this thing save what the Nyrondel told us. And I put no trust in royalty!"

  "For once, little man, I agree." the barbarian said sourly but
thereafter clamped his mouth shut in a determined line and ducked his head to enter the inn.

  Both young adventurers were dressed in their best garments. If the giant was surprising in his size and ruggedness, his clothing was such that the major domo of the inn bowed greetings and muttered vague compliments at the honor of their gracing his inn with their custom. Gord and Chert displayed finery and wealth more typical of aristocratic establishments of the High and Garden Quarters of Greyhawk, and the fellow was determined to take no chances with such a pair.

  "What might I do for your noble selves?" the man inquired unctuously.

  Gord quickly stepped before his big companion. "We are here to stay — this night and perhaps longer if accommodations are to our satisfaction. Your finest suite, and quickly!"

  "Of course, sirs. Shall I have a lackey fetch your equippage?"

  "There is none to be fetched," Gord sneered as he eyed the major domo with disdain. "What we require we purchase, discarding soiled apparel for the use of those who cannot afford fresh clothing daily — and on the morrow we will need clothiers immediately after we break our fast. Do see to it"

  "We have the Grand Tower, your worships." the major domo ventured hesitantly, not sure if these extravagant-sounding young men were really what they seemed, or swindlers of some sort attempting to dupe the Silver Castle. Such was not unknown or unusual at a place such as this.

  Without an obvious show of coins, Gord managed to display a handful of platinum plates before discovering a gold orb in his purse. Chert had refused to pitch in the money to pull off this ruse, so Gord had been forced to dip into his private funds. He handed the golden coin to the apprehensive manager with a small sigh of resignation.

  "Such a bother, this! Here is an advance against our stay. Have a cold supper, Keolsh amber wine, and the usual amenities ready immediately. You do have hot tubs, I presume — and be sure the wine is chilled."

  The proprietor's head had been bobbing furiously in all directions as it attempted to provide quick answers to Gord's onslaught of questions. He now hastened to add verbal assurance as well. "Oh, of course, your nobility. The Silver Castle is at your disposal. Rest assured that all will be ready for you and your companion in as brief a time as possible!"

  Gord yawned and tapped his foot against a well-polished floorboard in a display of boredom and impatience.

  Chert looked down at the anxious fellow, a puzzled frown expertly fixed in place. "Just how long must we wait for your varlets to prepare our suite?"

  "We are most efficient, but I fear it will take a small amount of time nonetheless. Please utilize our salon to relax and refresh yourselves. I will personally inform you when all is in readiness."

  "Very well, then, my good man. If we have no choice in the matter, then at least show us to the salon." Gord said with an air of resignation.

  Seated comfortably in padded armchairs, Gord and Chert sipped wine and pretended indifference to their surroundings.

  "What a stupid trick that was," Chert accused in a low voice. "Why not simply ask for the common room or salon? You’ve— "

  "Managed to get us both into the place without arousing suspicion as to why we're here!" Gord inserted in an arrogant but hushed tone. "Your way would have alerted everyone that we were come to meet with—"

  "The two we'll soon be meeting within minutes anyway! Now we're the focus of attention! All eyes will be on the two flamboyant fools who throw money around and— "

  "Happen to meet other travelers," Gord finished. "They are here now, in fact. Let us quit this crap and discourse on matters metaphysical and theological, shall we?"

  Chert glared at the small thief and managed a low growl before beginning to converse in a normal tone of voice regarding certain precepts held by worshipers of an unnamed deity.

  Gord took an opposite position, countering with acid tongue the assertions that the huge hillman continued to make. They argued back and forth in this manner for several minutes, then Chert turned and seemed to suddenly notice that there were others in the room.

  "Now, my not-so-learned friend," he said loudly to Gord," we shall see just who has the better position in this dispute!" With a warm smile and confident beating, the great fellow arose and went to a nearby table where a sober cleric in a dark cloak sat and conversed with a halfling. "My apologies for interrupting you, pious sir and worthy halfling, but my companion and I have been at odds regarding certain tenets of theology and metaphysical constructs that a man of your calling can surely resolve for us. May I impose upon your kindness to mediate and judge our differences? We offer our hospitality in return, of course."

  The slender cleric stood and nodded a greeting. "The calling I follow requires my acceptance of such a request and happily so. But do I have your leave to bring my associate along? I would not wish to simply leave him sitting here," the robed man said. Indicating the demi-human.

  "But of course! You and he are both welcome. Is this halffing a priestly sort as well?"

  Biff sprang from the too-large chair with alacrity. "Allow me to introduce myself and my associate. You are addressing His Faithfulness Poztif, Gleam of Pholtus. I. noble sir, am Biff, a humble gem merchant and pilgrim now, accompanying His Faithfulness to a distant shrine according to a holy vow I made."

  Poztif dismissed the importance inferred by the halfling's introduction. "I am a lowly cleric seeking greater understanding and piety. This good fellow has been so kind as to agree to accompany me and assist me in giving instruction and learning patience. Let us join the two of you now. Perhaps the matter can be resolved without undue discourse."

  The three debated the question at length in an attempt to create an illusion for anyone who might suspect their purpose, and for the benefit of one patron in particular. As a pilgrim Biff had no part in the talk, so he merely sat there, sipped his stout, and considered the circumstances that had brought him to the inn.

  Melf had been elsewhere on business when a message from his cousin, Silverthom, arrived in the city of Fax while the halfling was there awaiting his master's return. Silverthom had written that Melf must come home to Greyhawk at once if he wished to protect some property he had left in her charge. That posed a real dilemma for Biff. Frankly, his master seldom explained his activities to the halfling. Biff was dissatisfied with having to remain inactive and virtually penniless in Fax, cooling his heels as he considered it, while Melf had exciting adventures elsewhere that for reasons the halfling could not fathom, failed to include a halfling with warrior skills and a thief s nimble fingers.

  Biff had decided to respond to Silverthorn's urgent missive at once. There was no property of significance to guard in, Fax, merely the small villa that Melf had leased. No objection could be made, the halfling reasoned, for wasn't the need of his cousin and the threat of loss of things Melf had left in her care a sufficient reason for the halfiing to leave his assigned post and hasten to Greyhawk as a surrogate for his absent master? Certainty! Without wasting any more time. Biff had gone northward to the great free city, happy for the opportunity to travel and do something that held the prospect of both danger and reward.

  Silverthom had been surprised to see him, but under the circumstances she was pleased enough to have someone on hand to help. The situation, as told by her, was complicated, to say the least.

  "You see. Biff, my clever halfling friend, it all started when I went out to seek a little amusement in this dreary city. I met a good-looking fellow — he had elvish blood, of course — who told me that he was also a dweomercraefter, and that he was the trusted henchman of a noble wizard who would happily have me as apprentice until mine own instructor returned." The tale went on and on until Silverthorn finally related how she had been tricked into furnishing a surety to this wizard. It was supposedly proof of her good nature and honesty. Instead, the ring — one that granted invisibility and one of Melf’s favorite possessions — had been stolen by the wily trickster, and she was left without recourse.

  Silerthorn told
Biff how, while searching to locate the one who had so foully duped her, she had eventually met a holy priest who had offered not only to restore the ring or to give her one of like sort, but to provide other payment as well, if she could enlist the services of her master in a small and righteous undertaking the cleric had need to accomplish. She asked Biff if he could somehow manage to fill in for Melf.

  "I am a faithful and obedient vassal," the halfling had assured the frantic young Sitverthorn. "If I can restore Melfs property, uphold his name, and assist you, fair lady, all at the same time, how can I do else but agree to take up the challenge?"

  "How can I ever, ever repay you. Biff?"

  "It is nothing for a bold adventurer such as I, Silverthorn. We will find some way. I'm confident. . . ."

  Convincing the humorless and sober cleric was another matter. How he finally managed it, Biff was still not sure, but he had eventually brought the doubtful chap around to accepting him as the surrogate magic-user Poztif had actually sought Without a lie, without actually making claims that were false, Biff had managed to put across the notion that Melf had assigned him the task of responding to Silverthorn's need. The elf, Biff said truthfully, was on a mission from which he could not be recalled.

  After all, was not Tenser, the liege lord of Poztif, likewise so engaged that he had appointed the cleric as agent in the matter? Agreement was unavoidable, and Biff was accepted. Thus he and the priest of Pholtus had come to the Silver Tower to work their stratagem.

  "Who are these two who will assist us?" Biff had queried.

  "Lord Tenser merely told me that a huge and doughty warrior and a swordsman of great athletic and acrobatic prowess would meet me and give all assistance," Poztif had told the halfling. "The good arch-mage had used a favor owed him by a monarch I shall not reveal, for reasons you surely understand, to assure that I would have all the aid I would need in accomplishing the duty he bestowed upon me."