by Gary Gygax
"Indeed so, noble merchant," the hunchback offered with a revealing wink. "Not a single customer has voiced a word of complaint in the time I have served—"
"Not so fast, churl! I am not to be duped by vague assertions," the cautious Medegian warned. "How many customers requesting a — shall we say, specific purchase — have you brought to your mistress?"
"Can you believe only a dozen or so, most sagacious one?" The hunchback displayed a leering grin before continuing, slowly and with emphasis. "And that despite most reasonable prices — and Grand Wizardess Noperda's guarantee of absolute satisfaction to tenfold the purchase price!"
"If you lie, deformed lout, my man Bolgar here will make straight that which is crooked!" the oily Medegian snarled as he slapped the fellow's back, while the burly Urnstman patted his sword hilt in agreement.
After asking for details of exactly what magicks were available from the so-called Grand Wizardess, the merchant directed the hunchback to lead him to the place where such marvelous wares could be purchased. Bolgar stumped along right behind his master.
In the deeper darkness of a nearby alley mouth, a shadow emerged, cautiously at first. Then, with a practiced air of nonchalance, the figure fell into step some distance behind the trio.
The silent form that flitted after the unlikely threesome was unnoticed, for the clever thief kept an even pace with his potential targets, staying far enough behind to avoid drawing attention to the fact that he was on their trail, yet following at a pace even with that set by the hunchback and his customers. To witness this young adventurer ply his profession was to observe a master at his art — and by virtue of his skill, no one was ever likely to know the whole truth about just how good he really was.
Sometimes he used a variety of disguises to avoid detection; at other times in the past the daring fellow was little more than a wraith, going where no one thought a man could go in order to burgle some precious store. At such times the victims could speak of the unknown perpetrator only as Blackcat, the name he had used for himself when he left his calling-card after one of these "impossible" jobs. Rarely did he appear as himself when plying his trade — but tonight Gord, the consummate rogue thief of Greyhawk, was doing just that.
The southern sector of the city featured an abundance of various types of stores, small shops, rambling market buildings and indoor bazaars filled with stalls and booths. This clustered warren eventually gave way to the great warehouses and factories of the River Quarter's edge where the thick walls of Greyhawk described its southern and western boundaries. After dark most of the quarter was black and silent. Roisterers there were aplenty in the dives near the Rivergate, but most persons who sought activity after sunset went up to the lawless area between the River Quarter and the Low Quarter — the long, narrow place called simply The Strip.
The hunchback led the Medegian, his bodyguard and their undiscovered guest southward through the dark byways of the upper River Quarter, scuttling toward the huge warehouses of the Depositor District. "Ageelia, if only you knew what I must do for the sake of your love," Gord murmured to himself as he continued to follow the strange group. "Why does that fat Medegian have to be seeking something as esoteric as an amulet? The whores along The Strip seemed so likely . . ."he muttered as he continued to creep ahead. He was committed now to following this unseemly group, for trying for another victim at this hour was probably a fruitless pursuit, and he had no choice but to score a large hit tonight. Unless he was able to buy her freedom this very night, the beautiful Ageelia would be handed over to her new owner come dawn.
As he passed over one of the bridges spanning Newduct, the east-west canal of the newer portion of Greyhawk, Gord thought back to when he had first seen the incredibly lovely dancer. ...
The Foreign Quarter of the sprawling city was a favorite haunt of Gord's, for the young thief found its mixture of strange cultures and cosmopolitan attitudes far more interesting than even the elite gathering places of the fashionable High and Garden Quarters. He seldom worked in the Foreign Quarter, preferring it as his rest and recuperation spot. It was an evening just a week ago when he had sauntered into the Lotus House, just off the Street of Songs. The place was frequented by Bakluni and other westerners, and Gord went there often for the exotic foods and strange music of those distant lands represented by the clientele.
"Your pleasure, gracious master?" a robed servitor had inquired as Gord entered the central salon through the swaying curtain of ralnbow-hued beads.
That girl — who is she?" Gord demanded, not taking his eyes from the dancer whose midnight tresses trailed all the way down to her tiny waist.
The pockmarked Tusmite leered and winked. "The eye of the gracious master is as quick and sharp as a hawk's! That is Ageelia, the most beautiful dancer ever to come from Ket." He paused to spit before adding, "May the demons of the Abyss void their bowels and bladders on that place!"
"Never mind your politics, jackal! Tell me more, about this vision. You say her name is Ageelia?"
"True, master, Ageelia she is, but not even so noble a person as yourself may know more of that fair houri."
At that, the irate thief grasped the startled servant by his long tunic and, using as much leverage strength, lifted the bulky fellow off the ground with a seemingly effortless motion of his right arm. A nearby customer gasped at the sight of the hefty Tusmite being held aloft by the much shorter, dark haired man. "You refuse to introduce me to her?" Gord snarled.
The Tusmite's visage contorted and became pale with fear. It took some time for him to finally manage to stammer. "No, no, magnificence. I do not refuse anything the great master commands, but— " Gord set the stupid lout down hard, making his heels rap loudly on the stone flags of the floor of the Lotus House and causing his teeth to clack together from the force of the impact. "Tell me then, dog, what did you mean?"
"That one is the bound slave of Malik Xestrazy, a relative of the Marcher Lord of Ket, and a most wealthy trader in ... precious items."
"So? Get to your point, or I shall feed you this one!" the impatient thief demanded, tapping the hilt of his dagger.
"The fame of Ageelia's marvelous beauty and dancing skill has stretched all the way to the Great Kingdom, master. Malik brags everywhere that soon the Overking himself will be sending an escort for Ageelia. He claims that they will bring him, a thousand orbs and take back the flower of Ket to concubinage to the Malachite Throne," the frightened man finished weakly.
Patrons were beginning to stare at the irritated young thief and the quavering servitor, so Gord abruptly changed his tack. He pressed a silver noble into the fat, sweaty palm of the Tusmite and said, "My sincere pardon, brother, for such rude and rough handling. The creature carried my senses away as has never before happened to me!"
It is uncertain whether the apology was believed, or if the coin was of sufficient worth to redress any insult, but whatever the reason, the pock-faced man nodded and even smiled as he replied to Gord, "This sort of thing has happened rather frequently. Many have sought to know that one, but always Malik Xestrazy sends them away like whipped curs. Ah, but no wonder. Not even the lords of this great city have a thousand gold orbs to spend on a female!"
Gord doubted that. He knew he'd gladly have laid down a sackful of platinum plates for one like her. "I would speak with this Malik," he said. "Perhaps there is value in such conversation for both of us. I shall take that table there. Bring your best wine — and Xestrazy — immediately, and the coin you hold will have five brothers with it."
Without a word the Tusmite hurried off. Unfortunately, Ageelia's dance ended just then, too, so Gord sat staring at the vacant space she left until the cloying odor of poppy-scented kif brought him to his senses. A tall, thin, flamboyantly dressed man was followed to Gord's table by the fawning Tusmite. The leader of the duo was obviously Malik Xestrazy, and he reeked of the perfumed and fortified drug.
"Thank you for joining me," Gord said as he rose and gestured to a soft cushion next to
him.
"I am impressed that you recognize the honor I am bestowing — so unlike most of your kind." the effeminate Kettite drawled as he allowed the servitor to ease him down upon the proffered pillow. "Where is that Keolsh amber wine you spoke of. Ovzool?" he demanded of the Tusmite.
Crystal goblets filled to the brim with the desired wine were immediately delivered to Gord's table. Gord took a long, satisfying sip of the drink and then voiced his appreciation. "Ah, this is truly one of the most superior nectars I’ve ever experienced. My thanks for introducing me to it!"
"Your hearty approval is thanks enough," Xestrazy said softly. He raised his own goblet to his mouth and took a sip before continuing to speak. "Now, suppose you tell me why you requested this meeting. ..."
Gord was so lost in reverie at this point that he almost gave himself away when the trio ahead of him abruptly slowed up. For a few seconds he failed to do the same, which dangerously closed the gap between thief and prey.
"Please!" Gord heard the hunchback say. "I am not able to keep up with the two of you at the speed we were going." the deformed man pleaded.
"Are you trying to stall us, cripple? If you have something up that ragged sleeve of yours, we can stop right here and now." the Medegian said as he grabbed the poor man by the throat.
"No, I swear to you! I'm just tired. Please, my intentions are nothing but honorable!"
"Hmmph! They'd better be, you lame lackey, or you won't need to worry about trying to keep up with anyone after today!" The Medegian let go of the poor fellow's neck and gave him a rough shove forward.
Gord sighed in relief when the three walkers resumed their former pace without so much as a glance back in his direction. His thoughts returned to his recent meeting with Malik Xestrazy. This time, however, he concentrated more on the present while rehashing the recent past in his mind. . . .
The amused thief chuckled when he recalled how the Marcher Lord's distant cousin had snapped to avaricious attention when Gord made some thinly veiled references to royal blood ties as he displayed the gold and platinum coins he carried. Whether or not the Malik believed that Gord was the scion of an unnamed royal family, the possibility of receiving a king's ransom in exchange for Ageelia had been sufficient to cause him to summon the girl.
One look into the emerald pools of Ageella's eyes had sealed Gord's fate. And to his delight, the beautiful dancer seemed to return this instant fascination. For the next several days, Gord frequented the Lotus House and spent time socializing with Malik Xestrazy, who claimed he might be willing to consider releasing the dancer for "a just sum." The problem was, Xestrazy's idea of a fair price was equivalent to a sum that the most prosperous men in the city of Greyhawk would have trouble parting with!
While Gord spent time negotiating with Xestrazy, the dancer continued to perform for Gord and the other patrons of the Lotus House. Occasionally, although far too seldom for Gord's satisfaction, Ageelia was allowed to join her prospective savior and her present master at what had come to be Gord's personal table at the establishment. Thus had flown the time, as well as practically all of Gord's considerable store of treasure. Thus too, after he finally reached an agreement with Xestrazy, had come this very night when Gord was bent on gaining sufficient gold to free his love from her forced enslavement.
His resolve to purchase her freedom had grown even stronger since Gord first saw Ageelia, because he had stolen a few minutes alone with her during the previous all-too-brief week. Much to Gord's surprise, Ageelia had managed to slip away from Xestrazy's sight a few times. Although how she had done so was a mystery to him, it was a mystery he had not cared to ponder. He was too infatuated to care how his love managed to get away from her master, only that she did.
They met at a nearby apartment, one of the several small dwellings Gord had access to in various sectors of Greyhawk. During those brief, blessed moments they conversed between stolen kisses. She told him of her terrible humiliation and the misery of being a slave and dancing girl. She said she yearned to be free to determine her own destiny — but soon, she said with downcast eyes, she would be bound forever to the mad Overking, Gord nearly wept at this thought, vowing silently to pay the Malik a higher price than even the King of Aerdy would, and thus forever loose her from bondage and allow her to be at liberty in all her actions.
"You see, dear Gord," the lovely girl said sadly, "I had to consent to this because of my father and family. Had I not, Xestrazy would have imprisoned my father and brothers for what they owed to him. What then of my poor mother and little sisters?" And at that, she finally broke into tears. Even a stone would have been moved to pity — and Gord's heart was no stone.
"I am, er, temporarily short of funds," he told her hesitantly, feeling it was a lame excuse, "but I expect a large amount of cash soon!" At that Ageelia brightened, and when they were through kissing, Gord offered her a handful of coins to tide her over until he could purchase her freedom.
"No, sweet love," Ageelia said, returning the gold and electrum pieces to him. "I have no wants that money can buy — save my own destiny, and that cannot be bought so cheaply!"
His heart burning with resolve, Gord had vowed to make things right. Thus, although Gord hated the thought of being separated for more than a few moments from the sight of the gorgeous young Kettite, he had set out this very night to find a source of wealth sufficient to purchase the freedom of a dancing girl whose value was greater than one thousand gold pieces!
Such a sum could be found in certain clerical repositories, the city treasury, and perhaps in the strongrooms of a handful of the wealthiest men in Greyhawk. Why then did he elect to follow a greasy merchant from far-off Medegia? Simple. Gord had discovered that the seeming merchant was actually the most trusted of the henchmen of Medegia's leader. Exalted Holiness Arachna.
When he had earlier passed near the Hillgate, the entry place to the Foreign Quarter, Gord had been desperately seeking some means of getting so vast a sum as to exceed a thousand gold orbs. Merchants entering Greyhawk with such worth were as scarce as frog fur, but it was at least a hope, albeit faint. The bejeweled Medeglan, who entered the city followed by a train of retainers and as many guards, had immediately drawn the young man's attention. Perhaps . . .
Gord had watched as the men-at-arms at the entry gate read the Medegian's papers and bowed. One, evidently a member of the Thieves Guild, passed information by secret signs to a nondescript chap loitering not far from Gord's own place of observation. The young eavesdropper easily read the message: "Emissary of Overking." the fellow had signaled. "Not a safe mark — protected by Medegia, too." It had taken little additional effort to discover just who the so-called merchant was, and picking up his trail had been easier still.
This false merchant was the emissary of Arachna of Medegia — coincidentally, the very agent who was to purchase Ageelia and carry her off to an ineffable fete at the hands of the insane emperor of the Great Kingdom. Soon the Medegian would buy the girl — unless Gord could intervene. It was Gord's good luck that this fellow, who called himself by the title of Fastaal Trevan, had apparently placed some personal whim above his duty to his lord and master.
Exalted Holiness Arachna. Even if Gord was unable to steal the necessary amount needed to purchase Ageelia's freedom, he could at least make certain that the Fastaal failed to show up with the sum sufficient to buy Ageelia for his master. Then, in a few days' time, the young thief was sure that he could raise that sort of money. After all, who in the whole vast city of Greyhawk could match his skills?
A glimmer of light shone ahead.
"Careful, master." The voice of the hunchback floated back to where Gord trailed after the three. "See the steps here? just beyond is the domicile of my mistress, the Grand Wizardess."
"High time, too, lout!" the grating voice of the Medegian snarled. "I have other business 'besides this, you know!"
The three dark shapes went up the steps and soon disappeared through the black opening of a tall, square build
ing that might once have been an armory or some similar place for keeping valuable items. Gord noted that the tower had no doors except the one where they had entered, and the only windows visible were at least forty feet above the surrounding street. He went into action swiftly and decisively.
The nearest building was easily scaled by so practiced a climber as he. Even in the dim light of the single lantern near the tower. Gord could see that the fortresslike structure was smooth-faced. After ascending to the roof of the adjoining building, the young thief quickly uncoiled a rope from his waist and twirled it around his head. The line spun out and its small grapnel caught fast in a dark opening of the tower. All of this took no more time than it would take a normal person to walk up the stairs at a casual pace. The more difficult part came now. Gord could go across on the line hand over hand, but time pressed. So instead, he twisted the cord expertly to make it fast on a projection and stepped out onto the thin, taut rope almost as if it were a broad walkway.
Driven onward by a growing sense of urgency, he slid one foot along, followed by the other, -then began to walk almost normally. Hie cord slanted upward, but Gord had little difficulty as he stepped from the line onto the narrow ledge of the lightless window. Footsteps and voices approached the area. Gord crouched quickly and grasped the ledge, lowering himself until he was hanging by his fingertips, just in time to get out of the range of a spreading light that shone through the window bordering the landing.
"So many steps." puffed the voice of the Medegian noble posing as a merchant. "If there are many more, I will go no further, oaf!"
"Nay, nay, honored master," the voice of the bent servant called out within a few feet of Gord's ear. "There are but two flights more in the tower. We go up only one more, but rest here for a moment and catch your breath while I go on and tell my mistress you have come."
