Night Arrant

by Gary Gygax

  There were no clues to be had at the Flaming Torch, Ancient King, Jolly Master, or Nymph and Satyr. One barmaid at the Lusty Friar, though, told Gord that she thought she recalled seeing one of Kesterin's general description having been here with a fat young chap about his own age and a hollow-cheeked man she thought was a professor or some such — she was very vague there. A copper richer, she hurried off to serve the thirsty throng of young patrons. Gord left his ale unfinished and went searching again, now fairly certain of his quarry.

  The gaunt man the wench described could be no other than Maust the Scholar. If he had, in fact, ever professed any particular subject, Gord didn't know what it was. He did know that Maust operated a seedy place called the inn of the Seven Quills, a few minutes' walk from the tavern. It was a likely place for Kesterin to hole up in until he felt it was safe to leave Greyhawk, and it was equidistant from Southgate and Longgate too. The only problem was in getting into the inn without alerting Kesterin. Maust knew what Gord looked like, for the two had experienced several unfriendly encounters in the past year.

  The proprietor wasn't in the common room, so Gord walked boldly into the place. "Give me an ale-gill, my good man," he said with a merry voice and simpering manner to the barkeep, "and do tell Kesterin I have come with what he needed," Gord concluded, patting his purse to indicate the need was money. The purse was heavy, and the sound of the chinkers therein evident.

  "Kesterin? I know no Kesterin," the barkeep responded abruptly.

  "Maybe he goes by another name these days. You would know him if you saw him. He's very sexy," Gord winked.

  "I wouldn't know anything about that!" the barkeep said, his forehead wrinkled in an unmistakable frown.

  "Well," Gord leaned closer, "you're not so bad yourself, and I would know about that!" The good-looking young thief removed a lucky from a pocket inside his robe and set it spinning on the bar as he cast an inquiring look in the bartender's direction. "I know you're acquainted with Maust the Scholar and I'll bet you can tell me whether or not he's had any company of late. . . ." Gord gave the barkeep an admiring glance. He was about done with this game. This was a role he would just as soon never have to play again!

  Hie barkeep withdrew the lucky from the counter and said "The person you might be looking for goes by the name Lambert. His chamber is at the back of the inn, on the topmost floor. If you'll pardon me whilst I fetch another to stand my post, I'll tell the man that you've come to see him."

  With a flip, Gord sent another electrum piece to the barkeep. "Save yourself the effort, there's a lucky chap!" Giggling in a shrill voice at his own witticism, Gord drawled over his shoulder, "I shall tell him m'self, thanks."

  Out of sight, the young adventurer made a wry face and spat. This sort of pose was not to his liking, but it was far better than being executed for a murder he hadn't committed. He'd do what he must in order to get to the bottom of the game that had been run, for his whole life had been affected. The hall was narrow and ill-lighted, but Gord had no difficulty finding his way to the room that apparently hid the dead Basil's boyfriend. Voices were coming from the place, muffled by the door, but not so much so that Gord couldn't identify them. Kesterin, Maust, and the others must all be within.

  Not having his sword, Gord decided waiting was the best approach. He pressed his body flat against the recess of the door to the room next to Kesterin's. He expected to have to remain in this uncomfortable position for a while, but he wasn't expecting what happened next. One minute Gord was vertical, his body stiff and rigid by choice, and the next he was toppling into the darkness of the room behind the door.

  "Wha— ?" he cried out in surprise.

  "If you've come to rob me," a soft voice whispered, "the valuables I possess are on the top of the lowboy."

  Gord froze. What was this?

  There was a sharp intake of breath, the speaker having held it listening for some sound or reply until needing air. Then she spoke again. Take the stuff, but I warn you I am armed, and if you touch me I'll kill you!" the soft voice hissed this time. It managed to sound quite menacing.

  "Sssshhh!" Gord closed the door quickly, cutting off the light from the hallway. "I'm here neither to rob nor molest. Be still, and in a few minutes I'll be gone."

  "How do I know you speak the truth? You've been sneaking around outside my door, haven't you? I heard you bumping against the planks and, rather than have you break it down I figured I might as well let you in, give you all I have and be rid of you without having to suffer the violence that usually accompanies this sort of nocturnal visit."

  Gord was exasperated. He would have only a minute or two after Maust left to question the catamite rogue about Basil and the plot that lost Gord a fortune. The owner would certainly check downstairs, and there the barkeep would mention Gord's coming to see Kesterin — alias Lambert — and the ploy would be known.

  "Hush! Use your weapon if I move closer — yell aloud for all I care. I'm staying right here until ... I can go out again. No noise meantime." he whispered forcefully.

  "I think I'll scream now."

  Gods, the woman! "No. no! Please don't make noise!" Gord was nearly frantic now. "Wait. I have an idea. Before you do anything, think about this. I'll leave you a handful of silver nobles if you remain quiet until I'm gone."

  "I don't believe that lie for a moment," the soft voice shot back. "Now I'll scream even louder."

  "Here! I’ve got a handful of coins now — silver, electrum, and whatever else is there. It's too dark to see, but I’ll put them on the floor." He let them clink as he did so.

  "I'll light the lamp to see if you're telling the truth."

  Devils must possess this woman. Gord thought. How he regretted the lack of the dweomered blade that allowed him to see in the dark. Without his enchanted sword, he was as helpless as a blind man. Without light he couldn't see. but he didn't want it nowl "Not the lamp!" he hissed back as sharply as he could. "I'm here to hide from another. The light will betray me."

  "Nonsense! This is my room, and everyone in the inn must know I'm here. You'll not be at risk from a mere light," she replied.

  It did make sense, but Gord remained stubbornly determined. "Don’t touch the lamp!"

  "All right, sir smart-ass. I shall not." The whole room was suddenly washed in bright, clear light. "Is this spell to your taste?"

  Blinking and owlish, Gord tried to regain his vision, but his eyes were filled with dancing spots. He had been peering almost directly into the area the woman had used to cast the magic that created light.

  "Helpless female, my ass! What kind of a game are you playing here?"

  The woman ignored the question. "Well, you look a student, but you act the part of a thief, and you're a bit too old ... so i'd say you're a thief." the female voice laughed softly. "You're not too ugly a thief, though, so I shall allow you to explain everything to me now — and take back your coins, too. You might need them later."

  Slipping down to a sitting position on the floor, Gord leaned back against the door. By now his eyes had adjusted to the light and he was able to see that this was a female of great beauty. "I trust I can speak from here." he whispered. "I must be off at a moment's notice."

  "Of that, we shall see," the woman said as she donned a white robe to cover her nightdress. She carefully rearranged her long, blonde tresses and then turned her full attention to Gord. "Tell me the tale you have, and then I will judge whether or not the authorities should be called."

  "And if I am a licensed thief?"

  "You will be the oddest one I’ve encountered, and perhaps a dead one, too."

  "I am no lackey of the guild, madam," Gord said with resignation. The woman was a strongly built, well-proportioned one only a bit older than Gord. From the things she said and did and the items she wore, Gord thought she was either a magic-user or a caster of illusions. However, she could be a cleric, so he decided that truth was the best means of handling this situation. "I am with the authorities of this city. I a
m charged with the solution of certain crimes and the apprehension of the criminal or criminals involved. In the course of this duty I used your doorway, knowing not that you or any other person was herein, to keep an eye on one of these suspects. I must be ready to leave in an instant, for a person with possible knowledge of the crimes is in the adjoining room. As soon as the company in there with him leaves, I must break in and question him. Is this satisfactory?"

  "Absolutely not!"

  "But-"

  "Oh I believe you, so far as you went," the woman said. She looked rather attractive in her seriousness as she spoke. Gord smiled at her, and she smiledback. "My name is Summer. What are you called?"

  As golden-haired and blue-eyed as she was, he thought it a good name. "I am Gord, but all of this is a waste of time."

  "No it isn't, Gord. I have to make a decision as to whether or not I am going to help or hinder you. This is part of that decision."

  The young thief was growing exasperated. He nearly clenched his teeth as he whispered, "My life is at stake in all this. Why don't you just go back to bed and leave me be? Let me get on with my affairs, and I’ll leave you to yours."

  Summer was obviously amused at Gord's seriousness. It wasn't that she didn't believe him, but his inability to handle this unexpected situation was beginning to become funny. Just as she laughed softly and started to speak, a commotion in the hall silenced her.

  "On the morrow, my friends," a voice called.

  Two other voices responded with farewells, and footsteps sounded as the pair headed for the ground floor. Gord knew it was Maust and the fat fellow. He arose, but Summer pushed him aside and opened the door of her room before the young thief could stop her.

  "I'll see about delaying the proprietor and those who may be with him while you question the man you suspect," she whispered hurriedly and then slipped out the door.

  Gord couldn't believe his ears, but he didn't hesitate. "Luck!" he whispered to her. Summer turned and smiled, and her lips formed a little kiss as she headed after the departing visitors. Not bothering to watch her leave, the young adventurer turned to the door to Kesterin's chamber. It was locked, but the mechanism was the same as that which was on the other door. After silently manipulating the lock, Gord tried pushing open the portal softly. The occupant must have trusted his ability to hide successfully more than barriers, for no other bar stood between him and Gord. With a feeling of satisfaction, Gord swung the door open and stepped into Kesterin's quarters.

  "How dare you—"

  The startled expostulation was cut short by the fellow himself as he darted to reach his hanger. The small sword was slung over the bedpost, but he was so fast that he almost succeeded in drawing it before Gord reached him, knocking the grasping hand away and putting dagger point to chest. "I dare much, Kesterin. I am Gord, the man your dead lover Basil helped to cozen and swindle."

  "What have I to do with that? Stop threatening me, or allow me to arm myself and I'll gladly oblige you in a contest of honor."

  Gord grudgingly accorded the fellow courage in addition to the respect he had already mentally given to Kesterin's quickness. Neither, however, mattered a jot now. "Not a chance. You will speak all you know about the matter of Xestrazy, Ageelia, Basil, and myself now. If you don't, there will be no need for you to flee Greyhawk to avoid the killer who seeks you, for I'll do the job before he can!"

  Kesterin grew very pale at that. "You know I am a marked man, then ... as are you, Gord," the fellow added. With urgent sincerity, Kesterin said, "Come, Gord the hunted thief, set aside whatever course you follow now and leave the city with me tomorrow. I have means and a sure way to pass undetected. Once well away I will give you half of the money I have, if you wish, and you can go your own way. I care nothing for killers and dead men. I mean to live!"

  "Then stop babbling of other things, and tell me all you know of the plot, or I vow I’ll send you on a journey to the other planes here and now."

  "You are a fool," Kesterin said with a shrug, "but if you choose to ignore my offer and die, that is your affair. A waste, but what the hell?" The man made a wry face and began telling what he knew.

  "Basil was approached by a man calling himself Raynald. Basil didn't tell me much, you know. From what I overheard, though, and from Basil's comments, I think that the Thieves Guild and the Assassins Guild were both bent on defrauding someone — you, I suppose — and there was more to the plan, too. Basil wasn't sure about the latter, but he suspected that the whole hoodwinking operation was only a part of something bigger. He said they needed lots of cash in a hurry."

  "Lots of cash," Gord mused. "What would they need lots of cash for?"

  "Basil said they needed to buy the services of some very influential people — that much he did pick up from snatches of conversation he overheard," Kesterin offered.

  "Anything else?"

  "That's truly all I know."

  "You never saw anyone other than this Raynald?"

  "No. He and Basil were the only ones."

  Gord was stymied. Then he demanded, "What did Raynald took like?"

  A distant look came into Kesterin's eyes. "I only saw him once, and let me tell you I was jealous! Raynald is as beautiful as a demigod, I'll tell you. His hair is bright yellow, and his body is wonderful! He's taller than I even, and his smile is enough to set your heart pitter-patting. I warned Basil—"

  "Were his eyes greenish?" Gord demanded.

  "Well. . . yes, sort of. I'd call them hazel."

  Gord was silent for a moment. Then he asked.

  "What were the professor and the other fat man doing in here a while ago? Are they part of this?"

  "No — at least I hope not!" Kesterin said.

  "Then what was their business here?"

  "They're just personal friends — you know, a man cant have too many— "

  "Never mind! I'm sorry I asked!" Gord snapped, and then he suddenly remembered something. "His left arm — did Raynald have a curved scar on his left forearm?"

  Just then there were shouts and cries from below. The bedlam caused Gord to turn involuntarily to see if someone would come through the door. Kesterin took the opportunity to act. In the moment that Gord's distraction allowed, the fellow grabbed his sword and had it drawn before the young adventurer could prevent it. Backing away from Gord's dagger, sword before him, Kesterin grinned and said, "Enough of this cross-examination now, Gord dearest. You have all I know. I'm going to leave this place now. Will you come with?"

  Gord shook his head, grim-faced. "The scar?"

  Kesterin slung his cloak over his shoulders one-handed. "Perhaps. ... I don't really recall," he replied as he grabbed a pair of saddlebags with his left hand and headed for the shuttered window. "I'm glad you don't want to fight, Gord. It would be a pity to damage your good looks. Perhaps we'll meet again under more friendly conditions. Until then, try to stay alive." As he fumbled the shutters open and went through the opening, he added, "And do blow a kiss to that dirty old Maust from me!" Then Kesterin was gone, laughing, into the night.

  It would have been easy for Gord to pursue him, but the young thief didn't bother. He'd learned everything the fellow knew, probably, and Summer might be in desperate straits downstairs. Why he should worry about someone who had given him so much difficulty, a woman he had only met minutes ago, Gord didn't know. She had gone to help him, and she had done something helpful indeed. He had never thought to have time for such extensive questioning of Kesterin. Now he'd repay her.

  A short dash brought Gord into the common room. The place was a shambles. Maust and several of his henchmen were threatening Summer with drawn swords. Summer was backed into a corner, a short wand of bone pointed threateningly at the men, so that they were reluctant to attack. The standoff would end as soon as one gathered sufficient courage to rush in. When that happened, the woman would certainty be slain. The rest of the room, meanwhile, was in a wild turmoil. A half-dozen patrons brawled in the wreckage, while an hysterically laughing
mercenary watched two of his comrades fending off dogs that winked in and put of existence. The barkeep stood rigidly watching this whole confused scene, as a berobed scholar sat playing with his fingers before the statue-like barman, asking if the immobile fellow would like to see some "tricks." The assessment took but moments, then Gord leaped into action. Literally.

  "Ungh!"

  The man Gord landed on fell from the force of the heels driven into his shoulders. The fellow was large, but he collapsed, and the fall knocked his breath from him with a whooshing sound. The sword he was trying to swing spun from his grasp, and Gord grabbed the blade in mid-air. In a single, smooth motion, the young adventurer threw himself upward in a back-flip, sword in one hand, dagger in the other, and landed behind the four men threatening Summer. He was just in time, for one was yelling and stepping toward the woman.

  There was no time to think, Gord acted instinctively. With a quick toss, he sent the long sword between the fellow's legs, kicked the nearest man in the ankle, and jabbed his dagger into the rump of Maust As one man tripped, another hopped in pain, and Maust howled in indignity at the outrage just perpetrated upon his posterior, Gord shot through the gap his furious activity had just created, grabbed the blonde spell-caster by one arm, and headed pell-mell for the exit.

  "Wait! Let me nail them with my wa—"

  "Run, blast it! Gord shouted at her. Jerking Summer along despite her protests, Gord managed to get them both out the front door of the inn of the Seven Quills. Dragging her still, Gord and Summer bulled through a gathering throng of students and other folk attracted by the noise. "Come on. hurry!" he urged as he towed her into a dark, narrow passage between two buildings. "I can't see!"