Night Arrant (11 page)

The Pagoda of Pools was the department for extraplanar travel, as well as the means to access the upper, lower, and similarly removed planes. Eventually the pair discovered that the Explorer's inn also provided a service that allowed its customers to chronogate time and the more unusual probability lines as well. All the other establishments along Weird Way were as they seemed, more or less. Chert looked grim, but Gord was still jaunty.

"Loath as I am to reveal our inexperience and ignorance, I believe it is time to find a knowledgeable and willing denizen of the way to enlighten us," he said to his friend. "What say. Chert?'

The barbarian eyed the sinking sun and nodded. "I agree, and we'd better do so within the hour. I like not the prospect of another night here with a v vengeful vampire seeking usl"

Back in Faire Market, the two strode amidst the riot of vendors shouting the virtues of their wares until they saw a maroon-and-citrine-draped booth that offered vintages of unusual sort. A banner above the booth read "Rare Wine at Bargain Prices." And judging from the throng of customers surrounding the booth, this claim was justified.

A few copper commons bought each of the adventurers a sample, and as they drank the ruby-hued stuff — port, so it was called — they casually surveyed their fellow patrons. Chert spied a gaudily attired Suloise in a double-peaked hat of fuchsia.

"Isn't that the sort of foppish headgear currently vogue in Rel Mord?" he asked, nudging Gord and nodding toward the dandy.

"So I hear. Let's see if we can strike up a conversation."

The fellow was making strange faces as they moved nearer, and he spat a mouthful of wine upon the ground just as they sidled near.

"Well, sir?" asked the purple-fingered merchant.

"Grids! That is a fine vintage! Yes, it opens suddenly, a saucy wine with full body and a blush of arrogance. Is that quolberries I detect a hint of?"

"Possible, although some experts have suggested essence of flowering ogshayallsbay. . . ."

The fellow took another sip, made a moue with his lips, and nodded. "Perhaps, perhaps. No matter, I should like a cart with two tuns of this ready to go within the hour. It suits my needs perfectly!" He paid over a number of coins to the vintner, and the bargain was struck.

Suppressing a desire to relieve the fop of his dangling purse, the young thief spoke. "Your pardon, sir. but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation just now. I am struck by your seemingly astute knowledge of fine wine!" Gord said with a deferential air. "You are from fair Nyrond, are you not?"

"Yes, Rel Mord, more exactly," the man said, looking down his nose as Gord spoke. "And you are a citizen of Greyhawk, unless I miss my mark." His tone of voice left no doubt that Greyhawk was a less than desirable place to be a native of, and that he could not conceive of missing his mark.

"Indeed, sir! Your perceptlveness continues to astound me. Small wonder, I suppose, Nyrond being the center of culture, and its capital being the very heart and spirit of world affairs," the young thief said with admiration ringing in his voice.

The daintily clad fellow smiled condescendingly at that. "True, quite so. It surprises me, sir. that such knowledge is common in the provinces!"

"Such knowledge is not common, sir!" Gord said with an air of combined haughtiness and courtesy. "Know that I have traveled as far as Urnst, and there I gained much intelligence about the true state of affairs in our world. But that is no matter, for I wished to inquire if you would be so kind as to assist me in selecting an extraordinarily fine wine."

"Well, I suppose I could provide some coun—"

"Wonderful! You are most kind, sir." Gord smiled, bowed slightly, and went on "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Master Drogo, and this is my man, Furd," he finished, waving toward Chert. "A lout, to be sure, but most useful as a bodyguard."

Chert scowled at that, stepping toward Gord. "There is a certain bullishness about him that is effective, I'll grant." the fellow said as he put the slender thief more directly between himself and the glowering barbarian. He eyed Gord once again, appraising his dress and bearing carefully. "I am Lord Maheal, Szek of Dohou-Yohpe. Please feel free to call me Your Lordship, Master Drogo."

"An honor indeed. Lord Maheal," Gord said dryly. "Do you come to Weird Way often?"

"To be blunt, no. This is hardly the place for persons of quality, if you catch my drift," the Nyrondel aristocrat replied. "Frankly, my dear uncle, Lord Fizziak, sent me here to acquire certain items for a banquet and revel he is hosting — the king himself will attend, you know!"

Gord nodded, a look of sympathy playing across his features. "Indeed, the place is trying, but one must do one's duty for king and uncle!"

"Quite correct," Lord Maheal agreed curtly, resolution evident in his entire being.

"As a nobleman of such quality, your time is most precious, so I will not presume upon you more than is necessary for me to be enlightened. Let me assay the vintages." With that, Gord perused the shelves until he noted a bottle of most unusual nature resting on a shelf at the back of the booth. He signaled the wine merchant to bring him a bottle. "Are you familiar with the harvest that yielded this liquid?" he asked the foppish Maheal.

The dolt seemed highly impressed. "Most dear!" the Szek of Dohou-Yohpe exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Superb selection, sir," the merchant confirmed with emotion as he caressed the dusty green bottle. "This is a 1947 Margeaux Margeaux — are you familiar, then, with the Bordeaux wines of Earth?"

"Ahhmmm," Gord replied noncommittally, peering at the undecipherable inscriptions that covered the parchment glued to portions of the container. "So rare a vintage as this cannot, of course, be sampled. I presume?"

"Impossible." the merchant agreed sadly.

"Ah, but the chateau, the vintage, the bottling are all too well-known to require further exploration of what is already known as gospel, Master Drogo!" Lord Maheal assured the devious would-be connoisseur.

"How many bottles have you?" asked Gord matter-of-factly.

"Just six, noble sir."

"What price for the half dozen, then?"

The plump merchant stammered. "A single bottle sells for" — he paused here to assess Gord's origin — "ten gold orbs. I ... I cannot reduce the price even though you take the lot, for each is a jewel, a treasure!"

"Certainly, my good man, I concur." Gord nodded in agreement. "That comes to sixty orbs, then."

Lord Maheal stared in astonishment as Gord brought forth his purse and counted out twenty plates and thirty-eight orbs. "Do pack them carefully, but leave one separate, for I wish to bestow it as a gift"

The merchant made haste to comply. Chert, meanwhile, was in shock at his companion's extravagant, impulsive purchase. Knowing Gord's devious mind, however, the brawny barbarian managed to remain silent the whole time, playing his role of bodyguard to the hilt He glared at several curious onlookers, and they went away hastily. Then he moved to a position where he could protect Gord's back. Just then a grubby laborer appeared with a cart, and a pair of the wine merchant's assistants placed two wooden casks upon the vehicle.

"Your bottles of Margeaux are crated in straw and awaiting, sir," the fellow said somewhat sadly to Gord, obviously torn between parting with the nectar and making a hefty profit. "And one is wrapped separately as you instructed." Then, turning to Lord Maheal, he said perfunctorily, "And your twin tuns of Yugharian Purple are on that cart there — three luckies, six nobles, and a common for wine and hand truck."

Gord smiled and bent his knee slightly to Lord Maheal. "It is farewell then, Lord Maheal. You must be off, and my purchase is ready. Please accept this small gift as a token of my esteem," he concluded with a flourish and held forth the single bottle of Margeaux.

The nobleman stared fixedly at the proffered bottle for a moment, a mixture of emotions playing across his face. Suddenly Lord Maheal's face lit up, and he spoke warmly to Gord. "So pleasant an acquaintance must not be stifled in its infancy! I can not accept so generous a gift from a gentleman I scarcely yet know. Let us rectify this sorry pass by sharing a draught and viands at the Helix!" And before Gord could reply, Lord Maheal took the young thief smoothly by the arm and began steering him out of the emptying plaza. Your man Furd can handle both of our purchases, I'm sure."

"Just so!" Gord said in hearty comradeship as he strolled haughtily along with the Nyrondel nobleman. Cursing under his breath. Chert hastily placed the crate of wine atop the load on the two-wheeled cart and trundled after the receding pair.

The Helix was an exclusive club, evidently, and, as he feared when he learned the status of the establishment, Chert was relegated to the servant's, dining hall while Gord and Lord Maheal supped in the Grand Salon of the place. They had entered a garden through a plain doorway off the Way. The little space was quite lovely and shielded from view by a two-storey wall separating it from the street it formed the patio for the club building, which was a throne-shaped edifice with low wings and a tower in the middle. After passing through a guarded antechamber and climbing a wide, spiral stair to the second storey, Gord and his new friend marched off to their splendid repast.

Chert had been seated on a bench, given a small beer, and then fed a bowl of turnips and hog jowls swimming in a greasy broth, plus a lump of black bread with which to sop up the mess. He was disgruntled at first but the conversation in the drab chamber was open and lively. The huge hillman ended up making several acquaintances there, and when the meal was finished he and a group of five or six others moved to a corner where they could gamble undisturbed.

"Chert!" The insistence in the call was unmistakable and immediately broke through the barbarian's concentration on the game. He looked around and saw Gord just inside the door of the hall. Gord beckoned urgently, and Chert stood up and strode to where his slight comrade waited.

"Tired of fine fare and noble talk already?"

"Spare me your sarcasm. I have not learned as much as I had hoped, but I am invited to the festivities in Rel Mord. That gets us out of here, for you are coming as well of course."

"Strong backs are always needed for transportation of quantities of potables," Chert mused with thoughtful agreement "So how else could it be? Still, I have not exactly wasted my time either and have gleaned some valuable knowledge."

Gord interrupted impatiently, not allowing his brawny friend to say more. "No time for that now. Maheal excused himself to attend to privy needs but will return momentarily and—"

"Not so fast, Gord. Listen to me for once," Chert said forcefully. "I know now how to enter and exit this place without need of some vain twit from Nyrond to carry us as supercargo in order to gain the wine you squandered a fortune on."

"Squandered? How you talk!" Gord nearly shouted, ignoring the rest of what his towering companion had told him. "With thousands in our purses, no count of ones and tens need be taken!" he exclaimed with derision for such copper-clawing accountancy as the barbarian had suggested. Chert merely stared back at him, his eyes unwavering. After a moment Gord's face registered shock. "You've what?" he asked, grabbing the forearm of the silent hillman. "Did you say you know the ins and outs of Weird Way?"

"Yes, Gord," his friend said smugly. "But tell me, did someone come along in the last few seconds and clean out your ears without me noticing?"

"No need to be a smartass, even though I deserve it. Fill me in."

"What about Lord Maheal? Won't he miss you?" Chert asked innocently.

"Futter that fop. Holding the key to entering and leaving this place at will is of utmost importance to us." Gord replied earnestly.

Moments later, nobleman and game both forgotten, the pair were deep in conversation, hunched over the long board where Chert had recently eaten his unappetizing turnip supper. Chert was doing most of the talking, with Gord occasionally asking a question or interjecting a rueful exclamation. A quarter of an hour, perhaps more, passed before they concluded.

"I should have guessed it all along!" Gord said with anger directed at his lack of discernment.

Chert shook his great head. "Not so, my friend. The answer is not so easily gained without the bits and pieces of the puzzle to put together. You did well enough as it is, for had I not managed to find the key you, at least, had our leaving assured."

With an expression of wry disbelief, Gord arose from the bench and clasped the huge barbarian in an embrace. "Thanks, good friend, for your solid thinking and ever-toiling efforts. It is you who have saved the day, not I. Come on. Let's do what we must and be out of Weird Way for a time. This confined place makes me abridged in mind and spirit, it seems!"

The two were leaving, arm in arm, when Lord Maheal called out "Say, I say there! Master Drogo!"

"Time to give this perfumed popinjay something to bite on," Chert said with a grin as both men turned in his direction.

Gord assented and they walked up to the linen-covered table at which the lily-skinned aristocrat was seated, awaiting the return of the fellow he thought to be Master Drogo of the bottomless purse.

"What droll humor causes you to clasp your manservant's arm?" the noble Szek of Dohou-Yohpe asked crossly. "Furthermore, where have you been, Master Drogo? it is improper to leave a lord waiting alone while a common gentleman twaddles about with servants."

Chert was fairly beaming in anticipation, and Gord was readying his retort when a burning, itching feeling at the base of his skull distracted him. The young adventurer instinctively turned, and out of the corner of his eye saw two familiar figures. The more noticeable of the two was the ogrish creature they had encountered yesterday. With him, though, was the vampire, Plincourt. The latter figure flashed Gord a white-fanged smile when the slender thiefs eyes met his red-rimmed ones. Gord turned away hurriedly. Chert had failed to notice anything unusual.

"I say there, this appears to be the start of a very fine evening!" Plincourt said loudly to no one in particular and then added, "I do so love the night life!"