Night Arrant

by Gary Gygax

  "There is twice a thousand gold orbs here, Gord!" Ageelia exclaimed. "You are wonderful!"

  Gord kissed her full, red mouth passionately, then held her at arm's length and laughed. "You are a treasure worth more than all the gold and gems in the world, Ageelia."

  "How much is really here, my love?"

  "The worth of all this, reduced to coin, will be slightly more than one and one-quarter thousand gold orbs — it depends on the mood of my fence, Basil, and his available cash, too. The Malik is taking a chance to renege on his bargain with the Overking, so I thought I would offer him some incentive — virtually all of this, say one and one-quarter thousand gold, for your liberty." At this. Ageelia shook her head in wonder, her raven tresses glimmering in the golden lamplight.

  Not sure what her gesture indicated, Gord hastened to explain. "Even if it takes the whole of this stuff, dearest one, you have the brooch, and I will hold onto a few coins to see us through. I will not be so bold with the practice of my . . . arts . . . when we are together, but with care we will be able to live comfortably—"

  Ageelia cut him off with a kiss and an embrace. Laughing happily, she told him, "Quiet now. Gord. You are already beginning to sound like a husband!" She turned her back to him briefly, poured wine from an alabaster ewer, then turned back again and handed one of the goblets to the young thief while keeping one for herself. "Now, let us drink to our future. Soon enough it will be daylight. Then you must take this all to Xestrazy . . . and what will we do if he refuses?"

  At that, Gord laughed. "He won't pass up so fat a sum as I will bring to him. Never!" So stating, the happy swain quaffed his wine and carelessly tossed the goblet aside. "Now let's enjoy the last hours of darkness in celebration of what is to come."

  Ageelia smiled a seductive, cryptic smile, drank her wine to the dregs, and refilled both vessels. "Let it be so!"

  Her ready affirmation was the last thing Gord remembered of that evening of supposed love. . ..

  Somehow he managed to swim through the oily water. It was black as pitch and thick as molasses, but he could breathe and see. Far above was a redness, and he knew this was the burning floor of hell. Why must he leave the comfort of this liquid, its cool and weightless peace, to tread the cruel, iron floor above that glowed with molten heat? Even as that thought went sluggishly through his mind, soft tentacles wrapped themselves around his body. He felt powerless to resist, and slowly, slowly, Gord began to sink into the depths from which he had just come...

  No! Searing, white flashes shot through his brain. New strength flowed along his nerves, and he began to kick his feet and strain his arms. The enwrapping members came free as if they were tendrils of smoke. With powerful, lunging motions Gord- shot through the cloying fog that sought to smother and drown him. With a shout, his whole torso broke through the surface. Gord gasped for air. Now, if he must, he would face the fiends of hell.

  In the next couple of seconds his vision came into focus. He was not in the netherworld after all — he was sitting up in his bed, the red rays of the rising sun reflecting so strongly off the open lid of the iron strongbox that they nearly blinded him. His head ached and throbbed so much he thought he would vomit from the pain. Each of his arms seemed encased in lead, each leg as heavy as a tree trunk. His brain reeled and begged him to close his eyes and sleep once more. Mustering every physical and mental resource he could command, Gord managed to roll out of bed, pull open a secret drawer, and quaff the contents of a small vial his numb fingers found therein.

  Somehow his drugged mind had recalled and sought out the stuff he now guzzled. This elixir, this magical potion he drained, had cost him dearly, but it was proving to be worth every bit of the price. It was for those who had need of countering the effects of privation — lack of food, drink, even sleep. The stuff also countered infection and poison. Alcohol being a poison, and most drugs likewise, Gord tried to keep some of the elixir on hand at all times to enable him to carouse and then later nullify the effects of the dissipation in order to ply his trade.

  And it was with that purpose in mind that Gord had downed a small amount of the substance the previous evening, just before the treasure-counting, wanting to remain awake all night in order to be able to drink in Ageella's beauty and consume the wine he had purchased for their celebration without being forced to waste this precious time in slumber. Now he was using the liquid for another purpose altogether — to offset the devilish drug he had ingested through no fault of his own.

  "Perhaps an hour's head start, but no more than two," he muttered to himself as he noted the time of day and examined his room. Ageelia had certainly drugged his wine, picked the lock of the chest, and left with its contents. As he turned over in his mind the events of his last encounter with Ageelia, Gord cursed himself as he realized that he had let slip one vital piece of information — the name of the one who could turn the gems and trinkets into ready coin. Then he regained his composure and patted his shortsword and dagger fondly, glad that these, at least, had not attracted the treacherous bitch's avaricious attention. He stalked out of the apartment, his purposeful stride eating up distance at a brisk rate. Gord was heading for a small shop but a stone's throw from the Hillgate. There, one could exchange stolen goods of high value for gold coins of almost any nation.

  "Gord, my friend." the sleazy proprietor of the establishment said with forced cheerfulness after he had been roused. "Are you out late or up early?"

  "Save the dung for fertilizing your flower garden, ratface!" Gord snarled in reply. With a move too quick for the nervous little man to follow, Gord grabbed him by his hair and pressed his dagger's edge to the fence's throat. "How long ago was she here? And how much did you give her?"

  "Who are you talking about? I don’t know— "

  A little blood trickled from a small cut on the man's neck. "One more tying word, Basil, and you won't need to worry about that little catamite you keep housed in the Gardens! You know I mean the girl Ageelia — the long-haired dancer from the Lotus House. She must have come with a man calling himself Malik Xestrazy."

  Basil was nearly breaking his neck trying to keep his throat away from the magically sharp blade of the dagger. He tried to smile and beg at the same time. "Oh, yes, that girl. I didn't understand at first. Please, Gord." he whimpered, "for the sake of our long and mutually profitable business together, let loose, and I'll gladly tell you anything you wish to know."

  "You'll tell me all, now, held fast with the edge at your jugular, or else I'll spill your life all over this miserable shop," Gord said. Basil knew he meant it, so the man began chattering.

  "Not an hour ago the woman of whom you speak — you say her name's Ageelia? Well, this Ageelia and her lov— her associate, Xestrazy, were here. They laid out a fortune in stones and jewelry, claiming to need coin in trade for their family heirlooms. I didn't question the validity of the claim, as I should think you'd understand, for who cares what claims are made as to where such stuff comes from?" When Gord refused to react to this observation of one thief to another, the little man averted his eyes from the other's stony lace and hurriedly went on.

  "It was a fine bunch of goods, and I finally agreed to give them a thou' for the lot. Lucky for them I had most of it in plates. The Bakluni chap loaded it all into a case he had brought with him, and the two of them left in a hurry, him near staggering under the weight of the money."

  "Did either say where they were headed?" Basil hesitated for only a second — time enough for the blade to send a burning signal to the nerves of his stretched-taut throat as the enchanted steel drew the red line longer. His face twitching, Basil babbled out. "A barge — she mentioned a waiting barge! He shut her up immediately, but I heard her say it!"

  Gord was satisfied that he had heard the truth. "I will let you live, you miserable little rat," he hissed, "but remember I know you and your ways. If you seek revenge for this little incident, I'll come back and finish what I’ve begun."

  Holding his blouse shut to
cover the place where the dagger had cut him, Basil watched the young thief depart. Hate contorted his ratty visage, but stark fear gleamed in his eyes. He would never forgive Gord, but Basil would never dare to do anything about this incident, either. He knew Gord's words were no idle threat.

  As he ran toward the waterfront, Gord thought about his next move. There were at least a dozen places along the docks to board a barge. Greyhawk sprawled along the bank of the broad Selletan River, and the east wall of the city was bounded by the Gray Run, itself a navigable body of water for several miles above Greyhawk. All sorts of rivercraft moored in these waters. But exactly where would the pair of scoundrels be going to gain their means of escape?

  Time would probably not be all that important to them, for the drug should have kept Gord in a coma for hours and hours. Yet one thing seemed most likely. The weight of the coins Xestrazy carried would not allow a long walk, and passage on horseback or by litter through the city in the early morning would possibly attract unwanted attention. Basil's place was only a little way from Hillgate, where several barges loaded and unloaded cargo at the Bastion isle. Gord gave the guards at Hillgate a jaunty wave as he walked through the great portal, heading down to where boats and barges docked as the Gray Run divided to surround the Bastion.

  Gord didn't worry about the eastern branch of the waterway. The water there was swift and broken by rapids and several little falls. Sawyers loved it, but no riverboats traveled there. The nearer channel, though, had been dammed off in three places to make the stream placid. Gates were placed in such a way as to allow entry by vessels, the water being raised or lowered by means of sluice gates. Thus a barge, for instance, could proceed past the Bastion if desired, or it could stop to unload its cargo either at Hillgate, the island Bastion, or up farther north at Mldgate.

  "Those vultures will not want to travel upstream." Gord muttered to himself, "so their vessel will surely be moored in the lower lock just here by Bow Bridge."

  Rather than going up the arched span. Gord went left to where a set of worn, stone steps allowed passage to the quay some twenty feet below. Eight or ten craft of one sort or another were lined up here, held fast by thick lines, awaiting some reason to float on their way again. The lines of one were just being cast off, and Gord, uncertain as to which barge to begin searching, made a quick decision not to let this departing one out of his sight until he was certain it did not contain his false lover and her partner.

  Gord ran and leaped, clearing ten or twelve feet of water between the quay and the drifting barge. He landed lightly on the foredeck and drew his sword as his feet touched down. This caused a great stir in the vessel, and two cloaked figures seated in the waist of the barge turned in surprise at the sight. Gord quickly saw that he would need to search no farther.

  "Fancy meeting you here!" he shouted at a horrified Ageelia and her equally startled companion.

  "What? What are you doing here?" Xestrazy sputtered. The man was livid as he turned for a moment to eye Ageelia suspiciously.

  "Watch out, you fool!" the girl screamed at him. "Can't you see he has his sword drawn?"

  Gord laughed louder at this. "My dear friends, why the hysterics?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I merely thought to take a bracing little voyage to clear my unusually muddled brain this morn — something I drank, perhaps. How charming to encounter you here, too!"

  Xestrazy drew a long, slender sword from beneath his cloak. Its curious shape told Gord it was some form of yataghan, with a needle point and wickedly sharp inner-edged cutting surface. The dark-faced Malik made no reply to Gord's taunting, nor did he look again at Ageelia. With economy of motion and no hint of fear. Xestrazy sprang up out of the low portion of the barge to confront the challenge. "You should have stayed sleeping, you stupid boy. Now I shall have to slay you."

  As he spoke the man lunged, his foot stamping down to add force to his thrust. Gord managed to jump back, barely avoiding being skewered as the yataghan shot forth a foot farther than Gord thought possible. "You are a long-armed ape, old man!" he said with a laugh he didn't feel. "But you are so slow and predictable, too. Try this!"

  Suddenly Gord was armed with both shortsword and dagger, and he whirled in to press a flurry of cuts and thrusts upon the taller adversary with the longer blade. Had the dagger not been in his left hand to serve as a parrying weapon, Gord would have been killed in the hot action that followed. The dark Bakluni was fast and a superb swordsman. In moments Gord was bleeding from several slight wounds, while Xestrazy had not a scratch upon him. Gord retreated, calming himself, and using all of his concentration now. Clearly, he could expect no help from the captain and the crew of the barge; several seamen had been drawn by the commotion but were remaining a judiciously safe distance away from the combatants. Gord realized this would be a long fencing match, and he would need every ounce of energy, every trick he knew, if he hoped to win.

  "Not bad for a youth," Xestrazy said from between clenched teeth. His face was set with a look of confidence as the Bakluni again advanced. After several passes where neither man scored a hit on the other, Gord finally managed to pink the taller fellow. The wound was slight, but it was in his sword arm. Ageelia stopped calling encouragement to Xestrazy when that happened, but she resumed her urging soon enough after he spoke to Gord.

  Ignoring her comments, Gord concentrated and attacked again. "And this?" he shouted as he moved into a lunge that he believed would catch the dark Malik unprepared. Instead, the tall Bakluni managed to twist aside so that the short, straight brand pierced nothing more than his baggy tunic. Xestrazy smiled broadly and laughed, revealing gleaming white teeth as he did so. His left hand shot out and gripped Gord's right arm with the strength of a vise. The yataghan rose, hesitated, then fell.

  Ageelia cried aloud.

  Xestrazy glared at his foe, looking down at the young thief with hate-filled eyes. They stood this way for several heartbeats. Blood ran from Gord's side where the yataghan had slashed it, but the wound was a minor one. The majority of the rapidly spreading pool of blood that now stained the deck of the barge came from the body of Xestrazy.

  "How . . . ?" Xestrazy asked in a small, choked voice.

  "You thought mail would save you from the long fang of my dagger?" Gord asked with a little laugh of his own. "Ah, but the blade is enchanted and bites through steel as easily as if it were butter. You were as good as dead when you first grabbed me and held me fast."

  The paling Baklunlsh mountebank looked slowly down at his chest Gord's dagger had entered his body below the navel and cut upward to the breastbone, from where its point had pierced the man's heart. Chunks of silvery mail showed through rent tunic and blood. Without further word or gesture, Xestrazy fell dead at Gord's feet.

  "This one would have been a boon companion under different circumstances," Gord mused aloud as he tried to catch his breath. Then a scream split the air.

  Ageelia, witnessing the death of her lover and reacting in panic, grabbed the leather case filled with the ill-gotten coins. What she thought to do, Gord could not imagine. As he stood and watched for what seemed like minutes but was actually only a few seconds, she ran to the side of the barge, which was now in mid-channel. In one steady, swift motion, she flung her burden overboard and then attempted to leap after it. But the case struck the edge of the raised side, teetered, and then fell overboard. In the process, Ageelia's foot was caught in the long strap handle that held the container shut. The strap pulled tight around her ankle and pulled her into the water as the case fell, and the coins within it served as an anchor.

  "No!" Gord screamed in agony, stumbling to where the girl had gone into the water. He thought he could make out the stream of Ageelia's long, black hair disappearing into the depths of the Gray Run just as the valves of the dam swung open and the barge shot forward in the rush of the water.

  Some of the crewmen and the captain of the vessel now approached Gord. "What was that all about? Is your wound mortal?" the captain ask
ed the injured thief.

  "This? Nay, it is but a cutting of the flesh which will heal in a week, leaving naught but a slight scar as a trophy." Gord answered as he pressed a torn piece of the dead man's cloak to his side to stanch the flow of blood. "As to what happened, it was a matter of honor grown out of hand. The woman was the cause, and she has been served accordingly by powers greater than mine."

  The captain shrugged and said nothing in reply. He gestured, and the crew members turned and headed back to their duties.

  "Here," said Gord to the blank-faced master of the barge. Take this silver noble for your trouble, and drop me ashore at Longgate or the great South-gate Quay. I care not which."

  The bargeman nodded and turned away to oversee his charge. Thus, he failed to see Gord staring back at the waters of the Gray Run with tears trickling down his face. It would be long and even longer still before that countenance would know laughter again.

  Cat or Pigeon?

  IN THE SOUTH CENTRAL PART of Greyhawk, at a point where the Halls District abuts the area called Clerksburg, there can be found a number of theaters and halls where plays and musical performances are staged on a regular basis. Surrounding these centers of culture are houses providing food, inns of good quality, saloons, and taverns where one can eat, drink, socialize and be further entertained before and after the staged performances.

  In an out-of-the-way area where the maze of lanes, side streets, and alleys take the bon vivant away from the busy thoroughfare, there are cellars and cabarets where performers, artists, intellectuals, and other sorts of nonconformists gather. Many students can be found in such places, for the colleges are but a little way from this sector. Batwing Lane is one of these byways, and in a small cul-de-sac, just off the narrow passage between the tall buildings that loom over the lane like canyon walls, is a flight of steps, eight to be exact leading to a tunnel.

  An oddly shaped wheel with varying scenes depicted around it hangs above a door in semi-darkness at the bottom of the stairs. Those ascending these steps after having been exposed to bright daylight must have sharp eyes to be able to discern the markings on this strange advertisement. An unusually keen observer, after having viewed it several times, would note that the sign's octagonal sides are periodically rotated in a clockwise fashion. The tunnel beyond the display leads to a cellar bistro named The Turning Wheel. It is at this location that one of Greyhawk's most infamous citizens unwittingly begins an adventure that will find him, before its completion, the principal participant in a dangerous mission on behalf of the city he loves above all others.