Night Arrant

by Gary Gygax

  Outside, the streets and alleyways of the Craftsmen's Ward were either but dimly illuminated by sputtering flambeaux or small lanthorns or else in total darkness. It was near midnight, and even here near the wall of Old City, which separated the ward from the Foreign Quarter, most of the residents of the district were asleep. Revelry and nlghtlife were for other, rougher places. That was, in fact, the very reason Gord frequently spent his time hereabouts.

  Who would look for the notorious thief Blackcat in so straight and plain a place as the Craftsmen's Ward? Gord hadn't been plying his rogue thievery long before he became aware that he had to be very careful — even more careful than he had been in past years before he had left Greyhawk to go adventuring in the lands around. Now the city seemed especially attuned to breaches in its own codes. Unlicensed thievery was a serious crime, punishable by death.

  Gord had no intention of meeting an untimely end. But he had no intention of joining the hated Thieves Guild, either. Therefore, he had to ply his art. but cautiously, if he was to maintain the high level of spending he enjoyed. The fact was, he did occasionally lose at the tables, and his preferences in women and drink cost plenty. Every now and then he found it necessary to reconnoiter a place and call back late at night swathed in black, hooded with a cat's-ear hood, and armed with sword and dagger. Then he would take some store of gold orbs or coffer of jewelry as his own. The few who happened to see him could not tell who or what he was. Those who didn't try to interfere with Gord's work described him only as a black, catlike figure. After a brief time, the name of Blackcat grew. Now it was almost legendary.

  In his current guise, Gord maintained a small apartment in the upper story of an old building nearby. The young thief walked swiftly from the tavern and went directly to his own place. Had anyone been watching, he would have observed a lamp's warm glow showing high above the narrow lane. In a few minutes it was extinguished. No one saw the sablelike form that subsequently emerged on the rooftop, using the aerial route as a highway to rapidly move away from the dark district toward the rich area of shops opposite the city's High Quarter. Later. Gord slipped down and used the maze of sewers, conduits, and passages under Greyhawk to traverse still more distance without being seen.

  "A hundred orbs, that's what they're now offering for his head!" Old Farley Fastfingers had exclaimed just the other evening during a lull in the conversation.

  "Who's offering what?" This came from Morgos, a sometimes sell-sword, now respectably employed as a household guardian. That sum of gold would enable him to retire comfortably for life.

  Gord pretended complete disinterest as Farley replied, "For the head of Blackcat, the rogue thief, of course. The Thieves Guild will pay a round hundred orbs!"

  "Might as well look for the pot of gold at the rainbow's end," Gord drawled.

  There was agreement at that, with Morgos adding, "Oh, they'll get the bastard all right, devil take 'em all. It won't be little chaps like us, though. Some high-powered spell-binder will snare the outlaw, or else he'll be trapped by the assassins. Mark my words. Forget the gold, lads. What our sort gets has to be earned."

  As he recalled that conversation, Gord had to smile. Those comrades would, indeed, have turned him in for such a reward, had any of them the least inkling that he was Blackcat. Gord wouldn't blame them, either. There was a lesson in all that, and a warning to be heeded in the words spoken. He was safe from no one — not even his friends. Each potential target had to be viewed as a possible set-up, a trap cleverly laid to catch him. Gord thought he had better redouble his caution henceforth. Perhaps it was time to retire Blackcat after today's foray.

  "Left here," the young thief murmured to himself. He used no light to discern his path through the pitchy darkness of the labyrinth, yet he saw clearly. Thanks to his dweomered shortsword, Gord could move easily in total gloom. "That iron ladder takes me to where I must go," he added, and then he scrambled up the rungs. Starlight was visible now, and soon he had slipped through an opening in the drainage grate and was abroad on the streets of Greyhawk once again, a deeper bit of blackness in the shadows.

  Gord had been making expeditions of this nature for some time now. There had been rich hauls and close calls. The bet he'd lost with the Lord of Cats had been one of the latter, as had been the slip when Blackcat had foolishly attempted to loot the city's treasury. Earlier, it had seemed to Gord that it was mainly his friend Chert's profligacy that had kept him chronically short of coin. Now that the great barbarian was gone, however, Gord had to admit to himself that his own bad habits were primarily responsible for his needing to frequently replenish his dwindling purse.

  "Two hours o' the clock, and all's well!" The cry sounded from the street nearby. The sound of the tramping feet of the soldiers of the watch as they marched through their rounds faded to the north. Gord clambered swiftly upward to the tall, narrow building's sharply peaked roof of slate. The place was the headquarters of a syndicate that gathered up rarities from everywhere, gaining them by means fair or foul. This secret group then disbursed its stock here and there in Greyhawk — exotic poisons to the Assassins Guild, rare scrolls to mages or collectors, jewelry to the rich, and so on.

  Not many minutes later, the black-garbed young thief was again below, this time returning the way he had come. Skill, intelligence, and not a few magical devices assured Blackcat that neither deadly trap nor enchantment would detect his presence or protect the valuables he intended to pilfer.

  This time Gord had taken only a small portion of the treasure that was stored in the building. Ancient funerary pieces, gold and gems worn by a Sulolse king ages dead, were stored safely within his felt-lined pouch. Gord chuckled, thinking how Lord Mayor Gasgol would rage when he was informed of the loss, for these very trinkets had been his share of the profits from the secret operations of the syndicate. News of this theft, at least, would not be broadcast throughout the streets of the city, for Gasgol himself had been criminally involved in the matter. Not that this fact would lessen the hunt for Blackcat. . . .

  "Three hundred for the lot," Basil said. "Stones and ingots and amber."

  Gord eyed the ratty little fence. The offer was a good one, and this made the young thief uneasy. Without thinking, Gord plucked out one piece of amber, a golden drop that had a spider trapped within its depths. "A deal, Basil!" Gord said. "But I shall retain this one trantle for myself."

  Basil scowled and bit his lip. The bit of amber would fetch eight or more orbs in the right place. "You are a vile mountebank, Gord! I'll be lucky to garner a handful of silver from this lot without that amber you offered," he said with a whine.

  "Batcrap," Gord said with a grin. "That red gold there is nearly pure and will fetch a premium from goldsmiths, as you and I both know well. Those stones — rare lavender diamonds and pearls, too — will easily cover your offer to me. The way I make it, you'll pocket about fifty orbs on the transaction."

  "The risk! The uncertainty! The . . ."

  "The deal's off unless you shut your mouth and pay me!" Gord said with finality.

  Basil looked daggers at the young thief but kept silent. The fence disappeared into his establishment and returned a short time later with a leather bag. "Here's a hundred and fifty," he said as he plopped the sack down on the table. "And don't you say anything now, Gord. or there will be no deal from me. That's all the coin I have right now. but in a couple of days you'll get the balance. Do you want me to bring it round to someplace? Or do you prefer that I hold it for your next visit?"

  "Sure thing. Basil." Gord said with a glare. "I'll accept the half now and be back in two days for the balance. For your health, I suggest you have it handy when I drop by." He eyed the fence as he spoke, but Basil merely shrugged and nodded.

  "Done. I will expect you two days hence."

  Back in his apartment in the Craftsmen's Ward, Gord flopped on his bed and decided to spend the rest of the day sleeping. He'd had an easy time of it after all. Separating gems from settings was mere child's pl
ay. The gold had been a little harder to get out. and he bad hated to destroy such old and beautiful craftsmanship - no, artistry. But he had done it nevertheless. Pounding made the stuff shapeless and generally unrecognizable. For a few nobles, a not-altogether-honest coppersmith had smelted the lumps into little bars of gold, undoubtedly nicking a little for himself for good measure in the process. Basil had actually offered a bit more for the whole take than Gord had expected. It would be no real trouble to make the three hundred he got from this job go for a year's time — but maybe only half that long if Gord chose to live it up occasionally. Just to be on the safe side, he decided, wenches and gambling were to be shunned as of today. . . .

  Thunk.

  The soft sound of something falling to the floor made Gord sit up and peer over the edge of the bed. There was the piece of amber with the entombed spider. The stuff seemed to glow, and the spider within its head stood out starkly. "Beautiful and doubly deadly," Gord said aloud as he leaned over and picked the thing up. "I'll place you in my pouch for safekeeping now," he said, peering into the amber and speaking to the long-dead arachnid. "Some doddering mage or muddlepated priest will surety pay dearly for such a trophy as you, but have no fears for now, spider. You are safe until my funds run low." With that, the thief snuffed out his candle and put his head on his pillow. Sleep came instantly.

  "What do you see, spell-binder?" The demand was sharp, and the dweomercraefter addressed in such a tone disliked it. It was an affront. The man answered anyway.

  "Something clouds my vision. A power prevents location. Master Viper."

  "Devils rot your brain! What use are your incantations and paraphernalia if you can't so much as locate a simple object but a few miles distant?"

  The mage showed no expression on his gray visage as he replied. "I did tell you that the spider was within the city."

  "Such prowess! What fool does not know that Blackcat lurks within Greyhawk? Fagh! I must know exactly where the skulking little cat hides!" Viper, the assassin, glared at the spell-user for a moment as if expecting the fellow to suddenly confess he knew the information.

  "Magic has its limits," was all the man said.

  Viper turned on his heel. "Keep on, Yormodrin. Do not stop your casting until you can supply me at least some clue, or the guild shall soon be in need of a new worker of spells." How could this fool not be able to discover the location of so simple a thing as a spider locked fast in amber? The stone-eyed assassin wondered this as he left the place and headed for the streets of the Low Quarter to see if he could uncover any information himself. Lord Gasgol was furious at the loss of his own personal treasure, and that fury threatened everyone, even Viper himself. Fortunately, the assassin had been with the lord mayor when the loss was reported by a trembling lackey sent by the syndicate's frightened leader. Viper had immediately gone to the individual responsible for safekeeping of the loot and questioned him thoroughly. Of all he learned, only one bit was of any use.

  The jewelry could easily be broken up and sold; of that there was no doubt. Viper held no hope of ever discovering the whereabouts of the stuff, for it would be scattered far and wide as loose stones, remounted in different settings, the original settings melted down for the value of the metal. One piece of it was unique and describable, however. That was the key to finding and eliminating Blackcat once and for all. There was a piece of cabochon-cut amber containing a spider — a spider of purple hue with a flamelike pattern upon its underbelly. That description was sufficient to trace the amber gem anywhere. In time it would turn up, he hoped. At least if it should come up in Greyhawk, Viper would know about it within an hour. But he didn't want to sit around and wait for that to happen. Time was something he didn't have!

  Viper had immediately sought out the chief mage of the Assassins Guild. The first result was dismal, but perhaps something would come up soon. Viper had a good feeling inside, the same sort of tingling he felt just before he plunged home a long, envenomed needle or slowly tightened a knotted cord around a victim's soft throat.

  He spent the next several hours searching for any clues or information leading to the whereabouts of the elusive thief. But the malevolent Viper discovered absolutely nothing. No help from beggars, no word from whores, not a hint from swindlers and gamblers . . . and not even Viper dared to question the mysterious gypsy folk of the city too closely. Momentarily defeated and in the foulest of moods, the dreaded assassin sat down to brood for a while before heading back to his quarters. A couple of minutes later a big, black rat suddenly ran up to him, skittered up his leg. and sat on his shoulder. The chittering squeak of its voice went directly into the tall assassin's ear.

  "Mastrrr sezz come fasst."

  The rodent was gone in a flash even as the assassin moved. Viper wasn't at a loss, however. He recognized the creature as Yormodrin's familiar. So the dweomercraefter had managed to get something with his enchantments after all! Viper quickened his pace.

  "Well?" Viper stood before the mage. It was now hours since he had begun his search for Blackcat, and deep twilight was sinking over the city.

  "You will pay me amply for my services?" Yormodrin decided it was time he was given the respect due to one of his important station.

  Viper's flat eyes showed nothing. "You will be paid in full if you can tell me what I want to know."

  "I would have the spider encased in the amber. It is an ancient tails— er, token, which suits my humors, let us say."

  "Say anything you wish, fool, but tell me where the thing is now!"

  "You agree that the amber is mine, then?" the spell-worker demanded.

  The tall, reptilian assassin moved closer to Tor-modrin. "I will personally place it into your grasping palm, that I swear. Now, where is it?"

  The spell-user smiled slightly. "It lies just to the east. It is within an old building near the wall that divides the Foreign Quarter from the Craftsmen's Ward." The mage didn't bother to explain to his questioner that the effort involved in locating the amber-encased spider had been monumental. Lesser spell-casters, scrying, and much more had been required to locate the object, even though it had been but a few miles distant and within the city.

  "Can you show me exactly where it lies? What guards the thing? Tell me!"

  Yormodrin had a haughty expression as he stood and beckoned the tall assassin to follow. The mage entered a small, darkened alcove and gestured over a basin of porphyry filled with sepia-stained oil. At his hand's pass, the liquid rippled and opalescent hues played over the surface. Then the colors coalesced and formed a picture. It was a hawk's-eye view of the city. The scene wheeled and changed, as if the viewer were actually flying over Greyhawk. From the green of the Park, over the massive buildings of the Halls District, past the trade establishments, and to the Craftsmen's Ward, the picture upon the liquid's dark surface flowed. Then the view changed, sweeping downward to scarcely a few feet above the rooftops. There was the south wall of the Old City, there the tall, narrow structures of the artisans' sector. One particular building came into focus, then only its uppermost portion from a side view. A window ledge, a narrow, dirty window, and a plain room dimly discernible beyond the dusty pane. The center of the room's scene was a small table upon which a pouch of black leather rested. At this instant the oily liquid bubbled and its roiling surface showed no more.

  "Satisfied, Viper?" Yormodrin's tone was smug.

  "Very," the assassin said as he suddenly thrust a pair of specially prepared hedgehog quills into the unbelieving eyes of the mage. "The poison will take a few minutes to work. I am so sorry, Yormodrin, that I am unable to stay and watch the exquisiteness of your agony. Work before pleasure has always been the curse of the ambitious," Viper called over his shoulder as he left the mage's sanctum. If Yormodrin heard it wasn't apparent. He was moaning and screaming, writhing as death overcame him upon the smudged sigils of his floor.

  A thin, rasping giggle brought the murderer to an abrupt halt. A wickedly curved blade glinting suddenly in his hand.
Viper spun around to locate the witness to what had just occurred.

  "Don't worry, man." an evil, high-pitched voice shrilled. "You have just done me a great service, and none shall be the wiser as to what happened here."

  A small thing, a demonling of some sort, was perched on the lintel of the alcove, in a place where Viper thought he had seen a rat out of the corner of his eye just a second or two earlier. "What are you saying, imp?"

  The creature's face contorted in rage. "Don't call me imp, turdheaded human!" the thing screeched. "With Yormodrin's soul safely abyssed, I shall be a full-fledged demon soon."

  Viper spat and turned away. This was nothing.

  "Wait, man!"

  "I need no familiar, demonling. Why do you babble so?"

  The thing leaped down and stood before the tall assassin proudly. "I have information, man-called-Viper. You give me the amber talisman, and I will tell you what it is I know."

  "There is no need for me to know anything further, runtling," Viper countered. "And if there was. I could force the information from you."

  "Ass!" the horrible thing rasped back. "Don't-fool yourself. Go away without what I know, and you will fail."

  Viper gave the creature a threatening look. The demonling didn't flinch. "All right, it's a deal," he said coldly. "But I don't have the amber — yet."

  "Sign this, man," the demon-to-be said, producing a scrap of sooty vellum. "With your own blood, of course. It is an agreement to hand over the amber spider when you gain it."

  "If I do so?"

  "My knowledge will be your gain. Besides, I will send you help, too."

  That statement piqued Viper's curiosity, but he did not reveal his eagerness to learn about the help. "You make too much of the affair. It is a simple matter for one such as I to kill a thief, even so clever a burglar as this Blackcat has been."

  The little monster shook its vile-looking head. "Not so," he piped back with a nasty leer that displayed the dozens of needlelike teeth in its mouth. "The one you seek is more powerful than you know, and my soon-to-be-dead master withheld something from you,"