Night Arrant (7 page)

"Now!" cried Gord as he flew through the air to tackle the barely discernible target. Chert sprang at nearly the same moment, taking the figure high in a crushing bearhug.

"Yaagh!" Gord shouted as the form he tried to hold seemed to writhe and squirm from his grasp. Whatever his arms were encircling, the sensation was like live eels!

"Bite me, will you?" his friend bellowed after emitting a surprised grunt. And this was followed by a muffled thud and another exclamation from Chert.

Suddenly Gord was holding onto nothing at all, and something big and heavy fell upon his prone body, driving the breath from his lungs in a pain-filled whoosh. "What's going on?" he managed to gasp weakly.

The weight eased off, and Chert spoke. "I don't have the faintest, fluttering idea. I hit that slimy son of a bitch after he bit me. It was as if I broke a pig bladder filled with air. One minute I had him by the neck — I think. The next there was nothing there, and I toppled over onto you!"

"Deviled dung beetles!" Gord spat, clambering to his feet shakily. "This is some strange stuff we've gotten into."

In a flash of pale radiance from Chert's phosphorescent pocket stone, Gord saw only a pair of boots and a huge cape where . . . something . . . had been only moments before. He peered at the boots, held one up, and then dropped it "That is padded inside for no human foot!" he said with disgust as he quickly gathered up the cape and searched it. "Nothing," Gord informed Chert as he tossed the garment down, "but a faint and repugnant odor."

"I still have a part of. . . it." Chert said flatly as he held forth his left hand for Gord's inspection.

"That's a tentacle," Gord said with a faint quaver in his otherwise smooth voice.

"A tentacle whose suckers still grasp a coin!" Chert retorted as he jerked the metal disc from the member and flung the extremity to the stone paves. "But it is like no other in Greyhawk," he continued as he inspected the shining bit of stuff.

Gord moved closer to get a better look at the coin. "It has to be the trigger! it has a hand on one side and a rectangle on the other."

"It is no metal i've ever seen before," the big barbarian agreed. "It is no real coin. How do we proceed?"

Thus," the young thief said as he picked the disc from the huge palm with his long, slender fingers. "I hold the thing so that the hand faces my hand and the rectangle matches the gate. Then I simply touch the gate with the coin!" So saying, Gord matched action to word, but nothing happened. "Well, it seemed logical," he muttered.

"Reverse the coin and try again." Chert suggested, seeming rather proud of this insight.

"Right," Gord replied sourly as he turned the coin so that the hand lay upward. "There is an equal chance that my first guess would be correct, and now I have a smirking lout telling me how to do my work. Here goes. . . ."

Both adventurers jerked back in surprise as the iron portal glowed, shimmered, and vanished, all in an instant. Although there was dim light beyond the archway, some mist or haze prevented either of the two from seeing more than a few feet into the area revealed.

"This must be some anteroom, perhaps a small courtyard. So there is a building between here and Odd Alley!" Gord said triumphantly. "In we go on the count of three. One, two, three!"

Gord sprang forward while Chert simply used his long legs to stride into the newly revealed space that the metal gate had hidden. As the pair entered; the mist swirled, darkened, and then disappeared.

"Back on Odd Alley?" Chert asked in a puzzled voice. The sudden dispersal of the obscuring haze showed a torchlit street before them. But the place they had just come from was no longer visible.

"Hey! I don't think we can leave the same way we came!" Chert said rather frantically, pulling on his friend's sleeve as he spoke. But the barbarian's lean friend was concentrating on what lay ahead, not behind.

"Never was Odd Alley so wide or so well-lit!" Gord said, seemingly awestruck. "See there, glass lanterns and glowing globes, too! Is there then a whole section of street — a mews, rather, hidden between those twin gates?"

Chert was hardly paying attention to what Gord had said, for, as his eyes had frantically scanned the street for some sign of an exit, they had spotted a beehive-like structure with a sign that depicted an incredibly well-endowed young lady. "Do me of de lights?" he said aloud, trying to decipher the words on the display. "Hey Gord. What does 'do me of de lights' mean?" the baffled barbarian asked as he pointed a huge finger at the object of his contusion.

"It reads 'Dome of Delights'," you lecher," Gord said distractedly, for his gaze was roving up and down the curving way ahead. "Beyond is a place called Achmutt's Cut-Rate Carpets, and across the road are the Tower Tavern and Count joseph's Emporium of the Unusual."

"Never heard of any of them. Let's check out the Dome," Chert suggested a little too eagerly.

"In time, perhaps," Gord said firmly as he directed his hulking companion up the lane. Looking around the gentle curve, Gord knew it was all wrong. There was not this much space for all these establishments between Odd Alley and the gate through which they had just passed. Then his eye caught a bronze plaque affixed to the wall of a nearby building. He read it aloud in wonder. "Weird Way?"

"It does appear a bit peculiar," Chert agreed. "What is that exotic edifice over there?"

"Pagoda of Pools. I’ve never heard of a Weird Way in Greyhawk!"

The ways of this city are all strange, my small friend." the barbarian mumbled as he stared at a woman in gauzy garments who had just exited a place called the Pavilion of Portals and was heading directly toward them. She smiled invitingly at Chert's ogling gaze.

"Hey, beautiful, the streets at night aren't safe for someone as luscious as you!" the giant fellow fairly crowed. "How about I serve as your guard?"

"With you as guard, who'd need attackers?" the woman retorted in a laughing, husky voice. "But if you're interested, I'm heading for the Dome — want to come with?"

"We'll be in later," Gord interjected firmly.

"Ask for Zenobia of Aerth." She flung the words over her shoulder as she went past.

Chert watched the swaying hips and long, shapely legs until Zenobia was out of sight within the beehive-shaped edifice. "Like a peach!" he said with admiration.

"Like a melon!" Gord countered.

"What? What are you talking about?"

Gord strolled on up the street. "Your head," he called, and ignored the big barbarian thereafter.

"Okay, okay!" Chert said, as he hurried to walk beside his companion. "What other interesting stuff do you see?"

"Learning to read should be a requirement for all barbarians," Gord told his friend.

"But I can read — better than I used to, anyway."

"Which isn't saying a whole hell of a lot!" Gord mumbled. But Chert's curiosity overrode his pride, and he was insistent upon knowing the name of every establishment they passed. The young thief, knowing how persistent his sometimes troublesome friend could be, shrugged in resignation and called out as they slowly walked along the nearly deserted street. "Juxort's Charts and Maps is to the left. Next to it is the shop that styles itself Wonders of the World. Across the street are Abner Crobny the Outfitter, the Arms Exchange, and Elixirs from Everywhere. Interesting."

As they approached the end of the street they saw a large and brightly lit hostel, the Explorer's inn, and a store identified as Multiversal Armorer. Beyond that was a walled plaza at least a hundred paces deep and twice as broad The booths and stalls that lined its perimeter were empty, closed, and their bright colors and diverse forms were only faintly discernible in the light spilling into the area from the street.

"Too bad the market is empty," Chert said. "Let's have a bite of repast a sip of malt tonic, and explore the most interesting places thereafter."

"Bite? Sip? Stuff and swig is more your style, you bottomless pit! But I’ll agree this once, for we need both refreshment and information," Gord said soberly, "You, unlike me, are not native to Greyhawk, so you do not understand my bafflement. This place is not in the city I know as Greyhawkl"

Chert waved airily. "Then we are elsewhere — what matter? There are places of interest here, and those who pursue us are in Greyhawk. right? Therefore, we are free of the dogs who seek us and have excellent prospects for an entertaining night!"

"Well, yes. Come to think of it, your logic does seem sound. So, shall it be the Tower Tavern or the hostel for explorers?"

"The nearest, my friend, the nearest," Chert said happily, rubbing his huge hands together in anticipation. "A suckling pig and a flagon of amber ale with which to wash it down would serve well as an appetizer, don't you think?"

Walking swiftly now, the two adventurers retraced their path down the now-busy street. Both young men noted that the pedestrians were of all sizes and shapes, male and female, human and who-knew-what.

"Beware, Gord! An ogre!" Chert shouted as an eight-foot-tall creature suddenly loomed out of a nearby doorway.

"I beg your pardon, sir," the creature drawled through tusk and fang. "I am no more an ogre than you are a gorilla!" he huffed defensively as he eyed the barbarian and his lean friend up and down. "But perhaps I employ an inept analogy. Apes are, after all, rather amusing things, and you aren't capering at all."

From modish, floppy cap with plume to paisley hose and soft slippers, this ogrelike creature was the epitome of trendy vogue. Even the casual, drawling manner of speech and haughty, disdainful air fit the current affectations of the courtiers of Greyhawk. The being's hanger was a bastard sword, however, worn as casually as a bodkin, backed by a long sword of main gauche. Gord decided that discretion was in order.

"Your pardon, good sir, but there is no question that in such poor light your form and size do somewhat resemble those of an ogre. The mistake was, therefore, quite natural. Shall we leave it at that?"

A small crowd had gathered to enjoy the exchange, some rooting for the ogre-like creature, others urging Chert and Gord to show some human mettle. "What is this monster called?" Chert quietly asked an almost human-looking creature standing closest to him.

"That, my large but intelligence-lacking lifeform, is an ehjure- a snob with a talent for trivial trouble," the creature said. "But don't let his appearance scare you. He'd rather swallow an insult than muss up his pretty clothing."

The monstrous humanoid had spent the last several seconds sizing up his adversaries — the muscular barbarian fingering the great axe at his leather girdle and the small, lithe man beside him armed with short blade and long dagger. Hard, unwinking eyes met his own gaze without fear, evidencing alertness and experience in combat. With a lazy motion the creature identified by the onlookers as an ehjure waved its fingers toward the two. "As you apologized, I choose to allow the offense to pass unregarded." and so saying, the ogre turned and strutted through the crowd, which parted to let him pass, disappearing down the ruddy cobblestone thoroughfare. The group of gawkers dispersed in twos and threes, chatting and laughing about the close encounter between the snooty ehjure and the newcomers. Gord and Chert, meanwhile, were left standing alone, wondering exactly what it was that had just transpired — or failed to.

"I’ve never seen such an odd lot in my entire life!" Chert expostulated.

"Strange indeed" Gord mused. "But what should be Odd Alley is now Weird Way — what can we expect?"

"Anything, it seems," the barbarian remarked, loosening the clasp that secured his enchanted axe, Brool, in its thronged carrier on the wide aurochs-hide belt.

"Well, in any case the brute was an easy mark," Gord said, displaying a clinking wallet that had only minutes before rested comfortably within the ogre's leather girdle.

"Guess we won that round, eh, pal? Nice move!" The burly barbarian gave his slender pal a congratulatory slap on the back that almost sent the young thief flying. Before Gord had a chance to protest this rough treatment. Chert exclaimed, "Hey! Look there!" He motioned toward a trio of furry-faced humanoids with huge, purplish eyes. "Nonesuches!"

The denizens of the place were a mixed lot indeed, Gord decided. They were garbed in all styles of apparel, some of which resembled the dress of the Flanaess — whether the region of Greyhawk or others of the nations surrounding the deep waters of the lake called Nyr Dyv — but other garb was totally strange and alien. He decided they both needed a stiff tot of spirits and a chance to consider their circumstances.

There is the Explorer's inn. Let's go there immediately and refresh ourselves."

Chert noted the stress in his comrade's voice. "Aye, Gord, a bumper or two will help clear my reeling brain, too!"

Unlike other such establishments familiar to the pair of young adventurers, the Explorer's inn was filled with a wild variety of potted plants and trophies. The latter were displayed on walls. In cases, and atop every surface not otherwise utilized for the business of the place. The homely familiarity of the worn floor made of narrow-sawn oak. wainscoted walls, and smoke-blackened beams above were in sharp contrast to the miscellany of curios and hunting souvenirs arrayed among the flowers and shrubs — often themselves resting in unusual pots and containers, Before Gord and Chert could take in the whole, a mufti-clad fellow greeted them unctuously.

"A good evening to you, gentlebeings. The membership salon? Or shall I seat you in the general parlour?"

"The parlour. If you please," Gord said with hauteur. The fellow gave a stiff little bow and led them away through a press of patrons.

After a fine dinner highlighted by skewered hedgefowl, saddle of mutton roasted to a turn, and raspberry tort with spoon-thick cream. Chert suggested that they repair to the common room. As this boasted of a bar stocked beyond belief with a selection of bottles, jugs, and casks of unique nature, and because it was filled with an assortment of what appeared to be knowledgeable and adventurous customers, Gord readily agreed to go along. A few rounds and several enlightening conversations later, they had the information they sought. A chap with a pale blue complexion and hair and eyes of jade green directed them to the shop of the merchant calling himself Count joseph.