Night Arrant (8 page)

"The man is a shark, so protect your purse!" the helpful patron admonished the two. "As most of his trade prefers the dark to the day. It will be the erstwhile count himself who greets you. Trust not his smile, watch for dissembling, and never accept a first or second prize."

"Thanks, friend," Chert said. They hurried from the place, the barbarian leading, for the sky-colored imbiber seemed desirous of continuing his lecture on the subject of Count joseph and his Emporium of the Unusual. Gord noted that he had gained the ear of a squat dwarf sitting on the high stool next to him, and the hapless demi-human was being subjected to a lengthy discourse on the dealings of not only the self-styled count, but merchants and traders in general.

It did not take the anxious pair long to reach their destination.

"Welcome! Have you come to acquire treasures of the multiverse?" The questioner was a tall, pear-shaped man of indeterminate age wearing a powdered wig.

Gord withdrew the reliquary from the pouch concealed beneath his cape. The container was dweomered, having come from one Wenterbritz the Mottled Mage in payment for a service performed by the burglar Blackcat. Although scarcely larger than a loaf-sized box. It could hold an extraordinary amount of material because the space inside was magical. Gord showed the object to the man and asked. "Is this something you might be interested in acquiring?"

"A rather ordinary, gem-encrusted reliquary of one of the greater deities of Oerth? Perhaps, but only at a bargain. Such items are — I make so bold as to tell you — quite undesirable due to the proliferation lately."

Chert scowled, but Gord smiled. "Ah well, I shall not bother you with so trilling a piece then," he said, picking up the relic. "Let us endeavor to find a purveyor elsewhere," he added as he gestured toward the door. Indicating that Chert should precede him.

"Not so fast!" Count joseph cried. Then, speaking quickly to cover his excited exclamation, he went on. "This place is a nest of vipers, and a pair of forthright men such as yourselves might find a cheat who would attempt to gain your object on the cheap, shall we say. You have come to the correct dealer! Even though I am a poor man, one whose mother needs an operation for which I scrimp and save, else she will soon pass on, I will pay you top value for the reliquary!"

"How much?" Chert demanded in a flinty tone.

"A hundred, with this marvelous set of Yeogoiian doorknockers thrown in to boot!"

"Let us get on," Gord said once again.

"Yes." his brawny comrade nodded, giving the count a look of disgust.

"I merely jest!" Count joseph assured them, wringing his hands as he somehow insinuated himself between the adventurers and the door to his emporium.

"The serious price?" Gord demanded.

"One thousand, and I’ll even throw in any of these Staffordshire Toby mugs!"

"Let us say twenty thousand." Gord countered, "forgetting any other items from your stock."

"Twenty thousand? That is exorbitant! I am not an emperor. I am an honest dealer who barely survives his dealings with such mean and hard-hearted customers as yourselves! How am I to survive if I make no profit? For such a price I might start an entire new business. I offer three thousand, or five if you will take domars."

"You must take us for dolts indeed," Chert interjected. "You seek to rob us without a weapon! No domars," the barbarian said with a grim expression that threatened mayhem. "And do not insult us with beggarly sums!"

Count joseph turned paler and swallowed. "Let us bargain in the spirit of friendship, my dear friends. This is, after all, an understood function of merchant and customer alike, is it not?" The fellow's voice actually squeaked at the last, but he managed to clear his throat and went on. "I will offer you my absolute maximum — a price which will leave me with only a percent or two profit. Ruinous, ruinous! What am I to do?" As he spoke the last, the merchant held his head in his hands and swayed back and forth.

"Enough of this showmanship!" Chert roared.

"What is the offer? We haven't all night to spend here," the slender thief added, staring hard at the self-styled count.

"Twelve thousand. You must take it either in scrip, credits, or sequins, however."

"We will accept that sum in gold," Chert said flatly.

"Gold? Gold? I haven't anything like that sum in gold — or platinum, iridium, or jotellium either! I withdraw my offer," the count said, turning-his back. "Good night, gentlemen."

"Good day," Gord countered gruffly, and he and the hillman turned to leave.

There then ensued a lengthy session of argument, punctuated by threats, sobbing, shouts of outrage, and various other expressions of combined grief and anger. Finally, the agreed-upon price was set at eleven thousand — seven in gold, four in platinum. Count joseph clapped his hands and an elephantine creature of some sort dragged forth a huge metal box The erstwhile nobleman fiddled with something on his belt, worked at the container's lock, and then threw back the lid. The inside of the box was filled with gold and platinum coins — although many were strange and unidentifiable even to Gord, who was familiar with many sorts of foreign minting. Eventually, the counting was done and the money was transferred to a bronzewood coffer that Count joseph grandly included at no charge. This made both men nervous.

"What now, my dear fellows?" asked the count. "I must ask you to hasten, for I have business elsewhere." The expression on the count's face betrayed his eagerness, and it was evident that the reliquary was the reason he desired to depart in haste. In fact, although Count joseph had paid more than his usual tithe of an object's value, the golden reliquary was sure to bring immediate return. He felt he could get at least fifty percent over market for it.

"This box is a trifle cumbersome." Gord said to the fidgeting merchant. "Pray tell. Is there a dealer of jewels nearby?"

"Of course, of course," Count joseph said as he shooed the two adventurers toward the door. "Sogil the Gemner at the end of Faire Market You can't miss the place," he said hastily as he shoved Chert and Gord outside. "And he opens promptly at the third hour of the morning!" With that, the door was slammed shut, punctuating and terminating the conversation with finality.

Both young men sat atop the bronzewood chest.

They were out of the stream of traffic, so no passerby paid them the slightest heed. This was much to both men's liking, for they were uncomfortable in the extreme. They were sitting on a fortune in precious metal, and both feared to move it for obvious reasons. Gord wished to get a room at the Explorer's inn. Chert thought that they would be better off if they transported the chest to the jewelry shop and waited outside until it opened. They were debating the merits of both thoughts when a voice interrupted them.

"Free portage to the Hostel of Ineffable Comfort. Come, allow me to transport your luggage upon my cart."

The speaker was a raggedy fellow with tangled, greasy hair. Although he was stooped and bent, there was no mistaking that he was also very big and strong. He stood peering at the pair, one hand resting on the handle of his wheelbarrow-like cart, the other beckoning them toward him.

"Who are you, villain, and what is this hostel you speak of?" Gord asked in his hardest tone, hand going to swordhilt as he spoke.

"I be Yagbo, your worships. It is my duty to convey weary travelers and their gear to my Master's place, the Hostel of Ineffable Comfort."

"Why the service?" Chert demanded curtly.

"That's easy, m'lords. The hostel is at the far end of the market square, so to maintain business it is necessary to provide services which neither the Tower Tavern nor the Explorer's Inn offer, they being nearer. Some undiscerning folk — unlike men of your station — find convenience preferable to comfort, quality and quietude!"

"Perfect!" Chert exclaimed, rising and grabbing one handle of the wooden trunk. "Come on, Gord. We'll put this aboard that cart and hie to the hostel this Yagbo extols. You get your comfort and I get the proximity I desire."

Yagbo made to assist with the chest, but Gord waved him off and took the other end himself. In a moment the heavy container rested in the porter's heavy cart, and that worthy pushed it on down the crowded length of Weird Way. Yagbo emitted a piercing whistle now and again to warn the pedestrians that he needed a way through their midst, and even the largest and most surly-looking of them stepped aside. Gord wondered at this until he noticed that the cart had a number of wickedly pointed spikes protruding from its forepart. A few hundred paces later brought them to the plaza called Faire Market, and at the upper end were the Hostel of Ineffable Comfort, Sogil the Gemner's shop, and a half dozen other places that Gord could not identify.

"I'll do that!" Chert fairly roared as Yagbo made to carry the chest into the hostel. The huge barbarian hoisted the heavy box as if it were no heavier than a trunk full of clothing, although bronzewood and coin must have weighed two hundred pounds.

"Yagbo doesn't mind," the fellow said with a gap-toothed grin. He scuttled crabwise between the two and opened the door. There he remained, scratching his unshaven jowls expectantly with his left hand, the other grubby member held forth to receive a coin.

Gord flipped him a silver noble with a grand flourish as the pair entered the narrow lobby of the place. Chert set the big coffer down carefully on the thick carpet, peering around as he did so. The hostel was richly furnished and displayed several valuable-looking works of art.

"May I serve your needs, worthy sirs?" a smooth voice inquired.

Startled, both Gord and Chert turned to face the sound. A tall, exceptionally thin man had somehow appeared behind the counter of polished rosewood to the right of the chamber. "We seek a suite of rooms for the night," Gord said without evidencing his surprise.

"We are . . . somewhat crowded this evening, but I believe I can provide you with suitable accommodations. Please register, and I will have Yagbo carry your trunk to your suite meanwhile."

"I carry that," Chert said, placing one foot on the bronzewood container as he scrawled his mark on the vellum page the thin man had placed before him on the counter.

"Hmmm. Just so. Yagbo said you preferred to manage it yourselves, but we must always extend every courtesy to our guests. And this is your first visit to Weird Way?"

"Why do you ask?" Gord demanded suspiciously.

"No reason, no reason at all — other than to describe the finer services and accommodations that we at the Hostel of Ineffable Comfort offer!" The fellow then described the drinks and meals available, clothes-cleaning and tailoring services offered while guests took their repose, and various and sundry other offices that the hostel could provide.

"What are these Gedrusian Exotic Dancers?" Chert asked as they approached the door that led to their quarters.

"Never mind," Gord said sternly to the lanky fellow. "My friend tends to be overzealous. but we are tired and have a full day on the morrow. Simply show us our chambers."

"Here you are." the fellow said, ushering Gord and the glum-faced barbarian into a large parlour. There is only one bed," he continued as he led the pair into the adjoining room. "But notice how large it is."

"I care not for a bedstead of heavy iron," Chert said, eyeing the thing distrustfully and shaking his head.

"Ah, but notice the fine feather mattress and down pillows. Do you know that this device — bed, that is, was created by the renowned Procrustes himself?"

"No. We don't like this suite at all," Chert replied over the protests of their tall, thin host. "Be so good as to show us another, or we will take our custom elsewhere."

"Well, I have a very fine set of chambers, what we call the Burke and Hare Suite, but it is quite expensive."

"Bugger the cost!" Chert said forcefully. "Show us that place now."

Gord disliked the thick, padded canopies of the beds in the Burke and Hare Suite, and neither adventurer cared much for the cramped suite the proprietor identified as the Bates complex. Finally, after much muttering and exasperation, the lanky fellow settled them in a large, ordinary room. The bed was smallish, but each took his turn sleeping while the other kept vigil. Neither Gord nor Chert felt at ease in the hostel despite the claims and services offered. An hour before dawn. Gord detected a faint draft. Grasping the pommel of his enchanted blade, he peered around the room, using the dweomer of the sword to see in the pitch blackness as if it were a normally lit place. The room remained pitch dark to any who did not hold the enchanted blade.

Yagbo stood in a newly revealed opening in the wall near the head of the bed. With him was another man who, if anything, was less savory than the rascally porter. Each had a cloth tied over his face and a wad of lint clasped in hand. Yagbo was unstopper-ing a flask, bent on pouring its contents into the wad of lint each held. Gord could see fumes rising as the stuff issued from the bottle. Yagbo worked with swiftness, and as soon as both balls of stuff were soaked, he and his villainous associate pitched them onto the bed where Chert's head was, and where Gord's should have been. Chert groaned softly, tossed, and then began to breathe most heavily and unnaturally.

That does for ‘em!" whispered the porter with an evil chuckle. "Light the candle and we'll tie 'em up nice and tight for Plincourt's supper!"

Holding his breath, Gord stepped to the bed and skewered the nearest ball of lint on the point of his shortsword. He flicked it through the air with unerring aim. The wet, fuming clump of fiber took Yagbo full in the face and hung for a heartbeat before dropping. As the soggy mass slid down to gravity's will, Yagbo's eyes bulged, his hands clutched at his throat, and he wheezed forth a croaking cry of agonized defeat.

"Wazzamatter?" the other would-be killer whispered as he looked up from the sputtering stub of candle he held. "Youse trussin' ‘em already, Yagbo?"

The needle-sharp point at his throat, pressed just hard enough to cause a bead of crimson to drip forth, answered his query. "If you move so much as an eyelid, I’ll put this point through your neck!" Gord said. "Now, kneel — slowly!"