Night Arrant (22 page)

In fact since Gord had been the first to discover that a large replica of a gem appeared in the bottom of the bowl when the correct stone was placed in the claw of a certain color of dragon, he had to admit that the human actually did deserve the odd, fifth gem. Biff giggled softly as he thought about the magic of the bowl. Would it work again to produce another set of fantastic stones? He doubted it, and at the same time wondered why Yeo had been apparently unaware of the treasure he possessed.

"Old Melf won't ever know about any of this," he chortled to himself as he hurried along. "Now let's see just how grateful Silverthorn can be for my services. . . ."

Twistbuck's Game

THE LAST TIME IT HAD HAPPENED Gord had run for his life, laughing all the while. This time the reaction was the same.

"Treacherous little trickster!" the big barbarian bawled. "I'll split that scheming skull of yours in two!"

As Chert charged head first, elbows tight at his sides and fists raised, the supple young thief flipped sideways, avoiding the rush. The barbarian thudded into the wall, rebounded and fell sprawling over the table. No construction of mere wood could withstand such an impact. With a groan, the table's legs spread outward and its top split with a sharp crack. Chert's roar of outrage as he struck the floor drowned out the cracking and splintering noise of the sundered oak, but Gord's laugh pierced the din.

"I think I’ll go out for a while, old comrade!" the young thief called loudly, still laughing uproariously. "After all, I have a few coins to dispose of now, thanks to you!" So saying, Gord danced nimbly over to where two stacks of copper and silver coins were piled, scooped them off the top of the tall chest, and sped out the door of the dwelling. As he went down the lane. Chert's roars could clearly be heard despite the closed door. Exactly what the brawny hillman was threatening Gord wasn't sure, but it undoubtedly concerned the young thiefs limbs — and anything else that could be chopped or torn off.

"Such a poor loser," Gord clucked in mock disgust as he clinked the coins together in his palm. The amount of money was paltry, a mere hundred bronze zees in total. But the wager had been fair, after all, and it wasn't Gord's fault that Chert had been too slow-witted to detect his friend's ruse. "Well, no matter, by the time I finish spending the winnings," the crafty thief assured himself, "he will have cooled off, I hope." At the cost of one zee for a small mug of beer, the money would soon be gone. And since wine was even more expensive, and he fully intended to drink some now that he could afford it, his winnings would dwindle even faster. "If Chert had any sense of humor, I would have allowed him to help drink my winnings," Gord said, shaking his head as he carelessly tossed a coin in the air and quickly retrieved it. "Oh well, more for me!" Whistling a jaunty tune, the young thief strolled off to see what was going on along the Strip.

Meanwhile Chert was grinding his teeth and surveying the wreckage in the small quarters he and Gord shared. They had recently acquired an abandoned shop on a disused lane in the trade sector of the River Quarter. It had been easily converted into lodgings by expending a few silver nobles for labor and materials. The shutters chosen for the front windows made the place seem deserted still, a definite necessity for someone in Gord's and Chert's line of work. After making a few additions to the furniture that had come with the place, the two had themselves a fine apartment. Of course, Gord talked Chert into taking the third floor while the young thief had installed his sleeping quarters on the second. The ground floor was their lounge, with the little back room serving as kitchen and dining room in one. Neither of them cooked nor ate at home often anyway.

"It's the principle of the thing!" Chert exclaimed aloud, talking to the walls. "A friend shouldn't use sharper's methods to win bets from a pal!" Screw it — let Gord clean up the mess, the big hillman told himself as he stomped up the narrow steps leading to his quarters. The wooden planks groaned and creaked in complaint at his weight and the force he angrily put into each step, but Chert ignored the warnings and the worn steps somehow managed to withstand the assault. At the top of the long flight, the still-fuming barbarian slammed and locked the door that made the upper story his private domain. "At least that foxy little thief doesn't steal directly from me," Chert said as he went to the place where he hid his wealth. "But then again, he doesn't exactly know where I keep it."

The incredibly strong hillman extracted a wall beam as easily as if it had been a splintered piece of wood waiting to be peeled. Behind the beam was a space large enough to contain a long, narrow iron box. Therein Chert kept his ready cash and a small fortune in jewels. He peered into the container and breathed a sigh of relief. A sprinkling of gold orbs, a handful of electrum coins called luckies, and a fair quantity of silver nobles, copper commons, and other smaller coins lay scattered around a small sack of soft suede leather. Chert shook the container so that the coins made a pleasant jingling sound. Then he opened the small leather sack and took out the little silk parcels inside it. Each square piece of cloth encased a bright gem, a dozen in total.

These precious stones were his mad money, so to speak. If he ever needed to leave town in a hurry, the gems and gold would not only provide ample means to do so, but would see to his needs for a year of travel as well. Unlike Gord, the barbarian hill-man managed to hold onto his money carefully. He never admitted this to anyone, let alone Gord. Thank heavens the sums he had invested in various places in the city were bringing him handsome returns! At the rate the miserable thief he associated with was skinning him of funds, he was adding barely a silver noble a day to his balance.

Chert chuckled softly as he played with the stash and it occurred to him that Gord would be buying meals for him for the next few days, since the troublesome trickster was working under the assumption that he had won the last of his friend's meager holdings. "This is going to end up costing him much more than he stole from me!" Chert proclaimed loudly, and then he fell back on the bed and erupted in a fit of thunderous mirth.

"Perhaps I need a little sport myself," he mused, running the coins through his huge, thick fingers. "I should only spend the extra money earned from 'activities' with Gord. but what the devils!" With a careless motion, the hillman plucked several of the coins from his hoard and placed them in his purse — a noble, a pair of coppers, and twice as many bronze zees. "That's enough for a fair night on the town!" he exclaimed happily to himself. With that, Chert clumped downstairs, taking the steps three at a time. He'd head for the Toad on a Toadstool. Taverns in the University District were far more reasonable than the ones outside its confines, and their clientele included a goodly number of impressionable young females.

"Top of the evening to you, Chert. What's your pleasure?"

The big barbarian put a zee on the counter. "A jack of that brown ale you serve, Paddy," he said to the fat barkeep. "I'm in a mood to drown my troubles tonight!" Tankard in hand. Chert went to an empty table and sat down to ponder. How was he going to get even with the rascal he lived with? Some time passed. Another brown ale and then another went down easily. Chert was finishing off his fourth when the place began to fill up.

The crowd was a happy, amiable bunch, mostly students from nearby colleges, a few locals, and Chert. The huge hillman stood head and shoulders above everyone else in the Toad, and his thick body was broad enough for two of the smaller men to hide behind had there been a need. Naturally, such a figure attracted considerable attention — especially after things loosened up as the drinks began to flow.

"Where have you been lately, Chert?" it was a young scholar asking the question, a lad of about eighteen years who openly worshiped the barbarian. He eased his own considerable frame into a chair at Chert's table, setting a large pitcher of ale and his jack down as he did so. "Have one on me!"

Chert happily complied, filling his bumper full to its rim and swigging down half of it immediately before replying. "I’ve been busy — taking care of duties in the High Quarter, you know."

It wasn't a lie, but from this and remarks the barbarian had made in previous conversations, the student thought Chert to be some sort of special guard and consultant to those wishing protection against danger — and loss of goods. "How did it go?" he asked admiringly.

"Well enough, Budwin," the barbarian said with a slight frown to indicate things didn't work out as well as hoped for, "save for the loss of a large chunk of my all-too-meager holdings. But what the hells, live and learn, right? Your good health!" With that Chert drained off the remainder of the flagon and refilled it in one continuous motion.

"Don't tell me — you got stiffed!" the student exclaimed, noting the huge barbarian's sour expression. "I can get a few friends together, and we'll help you get things straight, what say?"

Budwin was well over six feet tall and weighed in excess of fifteen stone. Chert knew his college associates were likewise large — for city-bred folk, anyway. It was a sincere offer and the lad was anxiously searching Chert's face for a reaction, to see if he should jump up and begin gathering a gang. "Relax and drink the brew, my friend," Chert said with a negatory tone. "I need brainpower, not muscle and brawn, to set this little matter straight."

Budwin drank and scratched his head. His thinking ability in no way matched his strength of limb, but he was willing to try. Just then another student came to the table with three twittering girls in tow.

"Hey, my men! I'd like you to meet—"

"Shut up, Lloyd!" Budwin ordered. "We're thinking. If you bring another ewer of brown ale here and be helpful, maybe Chert and I will let you join us." The newcomer nodded, left the girls standing in silent confusion, and went off to fetch more drink. Budwin eyed the trio, smiling lecherously at them, and said, "Sit down, cuties. Lloyd will bring us refreshment in a trice." They sat.

One of the girls, a blue-eyed blonde, was very attractive and met Chert's gaze boldly. "Hi there, darlin’," he said to her. "My name's Chert."

"I am Holly," she said with a smile. "Are you— "

"We have a problem to solve," Budwin interjected. "Tell them about your problem, Chert." the young scholar said ingenuously.

The hillman frowned in irritation and resisted the urge to cuff Budwin on the ear for thoughtlessly spoiling his play. Then the barbarian shrugged his massive shoulders, deciding to clear the matter quickly and get on with the pursuit of the tender morsel sitting across the table from him. "I have an . . . associate . . . who continually plots and schemes to dupe me. He throws off outrageous statements, claims so fabulous that no one in his right mind could believe them. When I rightly object to the out-landishness of his assertions, this sly trickster suggests a wager as to right and wrong. Invariably, by the most outrageous of twistings and machinations, this devil wins! I must devise some problem or trick that will best him. Otherwise I will never see an end to his trickery."

"Has he won great sums of money from you thus?" Holly asked with interest.

"It isn't the amount of money lost," Chert lied, "but the very principle of the skulduggery involved which galls me so. I won't rest until I turn the tables on the little devil and stop the bull he throws at me!"

Lloyd arrived with the fresh supply of ale, and for a time they drank and bandied ideas about. There wasn't one really good one brought forth in all that time. Chert decided to make a serious attempt to separate himself and Holly from the crowd. Then Budwin slapped the big barbarian on the back and nearly shouted.

"Say, look! See that tall, kind of paunchy fellow who just came in?"

Chert, who was attempting to empty his ewer of its contents, nearly choked on the stuff when his young friend hit him. The barbarian again stifled a desire to throttle the bumptious chap. "Yeah, I see him! What of it?" Chert asked angrily, wiping some of the spilled drink off his face.

"That's Twistbuck, a Don of Counts College. Everyone says he's the cleverest man around. I'll wager he could solve your problem!"

Chert was about to dismiss the suggestion in the rudest of terms when Holly jumped up. "You're in luck, he likes me!" she exclaimed happily. "He's always flirting and trying to get me to . . ." Her voice trailed off but a wave of crimson spread quickly across her face, telling all. "I'll get him over here."

Before Chert could object, she was heading toward the professor. The scholar seemed more than happy to see her and, after some reciprocal eyeplay, the couple began looking in the barbarian's direction. Holly seemed to be doing all of the talking and, finally, the man issued a hearty laugh that could be heard across the room. Then she had him by the arm, and the don was dragged over to the group.

After introductions and a brief statement from Chert regarding the problem, Twistbuck gave Holly a pinch on her round bottom and smiled at the un-amused hillman. "Must you actually win the wager from this antagonist?" he asked. "Or will a loss to me, for instance, serve your needs?"

This sounded too good to be true. The brawny barbarian could easily ignore the affront of the scholarly fellow molesting the girl he had his eye on in exchange for the promise of beating Gord at his own game! "Your emptying the purse of the cheating jackanapes would serve splendidly!" Chert said with eager enthusiasm. "But it must be a hefty and thorough trouncing!"

"Yes." the college don said contemplatively. "I think I can just about guarantee that. Are you willing to put up a fair sum to back me on this? The stipend paid to even a headmaster is insufficient for this undertaking, if I read you right, barbarian."

Chert looked skeptically at Twistbuck. "How much should I be prepared to furnish?" the hillman asked unenthusiastically.

Twistbuck eyed Chert in return. "A pittance for one of your obvious means," he said after his assessment. Sliding an arm familiarly around Holly's waist, the don added. "Let's say a thousand zees at worst, but it is far more likely that I'll win that and more from the knave!"