At that the virginal player laughed, nearly choking on his ale and splattering the viellist with a shower of the brown liquid in the process. Sniffing disdainfully, the latter man arose, brushed at the droplets and announced, "It is past time for us to play again. Let us by all means put our respective theories to the test. I say it is my artistic renditions of these common folk melodies which generate such enthusiasm!"
Still sniggering, the virginal player followed him, so the other two decided to get on with it as well. Just as they were mounting the low platform whereon they performed, the sackbutist happened to glance toward the door. A pair of hooded men there were motioning toward the table where the four who had bought the musicians their drinks were seated. A bald half-elf positioned so as to be able to watch the entrance noticed the two strange figures, said something to his friends, and all four arose and left the tavern in the wake of the hooded pair.
The viellist refused to speak to anyone the rest of the night.
Outside the Blue Lantern Tavern the four plainly dressed men joined the pair of heavily cloaked wayfarers who had gestured to them. All six walked rapidly along Hardcobbles Way, entered Lost Lane, and disappeared into the deep darkness there. A drunken fellow weaving along across the street from them burst out in a ribald song, took a few more steps, then fell into the gutter in a drunken stupor. The sound of his singing disturbed a cat or rat elsewhere, for there was a clatter just after the last off-key notes died away. Then the street was quiet.
"We are being followed."
"Very perceptive, Chert," Gellor whispered dryly. There seems to be some sort of relay setup, I believe, designed so that we wouldn't notice that which you immediately spotted," the one-eyed bard added softly. The big hillman's sixth sense was keen, and Gellor did not want to discourage Chert from using it to the fullest.
There are at least two men on the rooftops above," Gord hissed. "Watch that we aren't caught unawares if they try to rain death upon us in this narrow place."
Curley Greenleaf, uncomfortable in this urban wilderness, started to walk faster. Gellor unobtrusively caught hold of the druid-ranger's cape and tugged on it to slow his pace. "Let's not alert the enemy and let them know we're aware of them," he said in his soft whisper. The sound didn't carry more than a few feet. Then, loudly enough for any nearby to hear, he asked, "How far is this place you're taking us to?"
One of the hooded figures turned and replied casually, "Just a little way ahead. We'll arrive soon enough, I assure you."
Lost Lane had several narrower alleyways leading from it, but it terminated in a close called Heart's Desire. Not only did the street there make a vaguely heart-shaped bow among the buildings of the close, but the establishments there were of the sort sought out by those abroad at night. There were dens where exotic substances could be consumed, houses of pleasure, and gambling establishments of unusual sort. There were many such places in the Foreign Quarter, but no others quite so varied or expensive as these. In fact, outside of certain places in the Garden and High Quarters, the whole of Greyhawk offered no establishments of higher quality than were to be found in Heart's Desire. It was therefore quite plausible that the half-dozen men would be where they were.
Thieves, or... ?" Gord muttered, allowing the question he had whispered to the troubador to trail off meaningfully.
"Killers, I think — meaning to make their work look like that of street bandits if need be," the one-eyed man replied. "Being where we are, they'll hold off, awaiting our exit from whichever of these houses of iniquity we should choose."
Being very much familiar with the operations of both assassins and thieves, and knowing such places as Heart's Desire as well, Gord shook his head, even though the negatory gesture could not be seen in the all-but-lightless lane. "No, Gellor. They'll certainly strike when we're inside and diverted from wariness by the pleasures of the place we're in. Tell the others — I am certain of it."
One of the hooded men pointed to a flight of stone stairs leading to a cellar door. Narrow windows of deep amber glass, dirty and coated with grime, allowed a faint glow from within to illuminate the steps slightly. "Mind now. We're going down here to Hegmon's Underground... a place you're sure to like!" the man said. With laughter and rude jesting of the sort that a group out for such sport would make, the six clumped down the stairway and entered through the old door at the bottom.
It was a little brighter inside, but not much. They found themselves in a longish, narrow foyer that ran the whole length of the building's front. There were three curtained doorways on the far wall, and through the center one came a huge man, his muscles running to fat from dissipation and age, but not one to provoke nonetheless.
"Welcome, strangers! I am Hegmon, and my establishment is yours. Name your pleasure and pay the coin. No customer is ever allowed to leave unsatisfied!" The beefy fellow was not speaking idly. He was assessing the six, mentally weighing their status and purses as well, as he allowed a bland smile to lift his face slightly. However, the expression softened his eyes not a Jot.
"A quiet room in the rear, first," the taller of the two hooded men murmured in reply to the invitation. "We will indulge in Flowers of Thratus Kaloid to heighten our senses — agreed?"
Nods and words of assent came from the other five, so the massive proprietor stepped to his right, waving the group to follow. This way then, if you please, worthy gentlefolk," he said, and proceeded to take them to a smallish room toward the back of the basement. As he opened its door, Hegmon held out his hand. The salon is yours at a mere copper the hour, and the essences you require are one silver noble each. That comes to one hundred twenty-five bronze zees."
"My pleasure," Gord said with a wink to the beefy fellow as he counted out six nobles and a common into the man's fat hand. "Here's another noble for you, sir," he added as a seventh silver coin appeared in Hegmon's palm, "to see that the heady vapors arrive soon and no one disturbs us until after they are done!"
"Of course. It is always thus in Hegmon's Underground," the fellow said with his insincere smile. "I will order that none disturb you until you ring the bell there," and the beefy proprietor closed the door as he gestured to the pull Gord adjacent to it. In a few minutes an ugly old Flan opened the door and wheeled in a little cart with six earthenware flasks of odd design upon it. Saying nothing, she placed the containers before them, so that each of the six was supplied with the sense-altering drug. Without looking up or speaking, the woman then departed, shutting the door firmly behind her.
Gord, Gellor, Chert, and Greenleaf were ranged around one side of the round table in the room, while the two cloaked men were opposite the four. Both of them now threw their hoods back just a little. Anyone viewing the room through a spy hole would still not be able to distinguish them, but the four others could see their eyes and lips. One was the wizard Allton, from the Circle of Eight. The second man was a high priest named Timmil, who was associated with Tenser the Archmage. The latter gave a small wink as he drew forth a bottle from his heavy cloak. "Let us have a sip of this old Adri, a redoubtable brandy, before we sample those Flowers of Kaloid, eh?"
With laughter and much ado, the bottle was passed from hand to hand, each of them seeming to swill heartily from its contents and sigh or cough appropriately after swallowing. Gord's turn came, and he went through the act. It was bad-tasting stuff, thick and bitter. He knew it was an antidote to the narcotic effects of the vapors they would soon have to inhale. "Whoosh! Powerful stuff, comrade," he said, passing the flask along to Allton, who in turn gave it back to Timmil after taking his drink from it. "Now for the really invigorating stuff," Gord said to the company. "Come, let's enjoy!"
All six moved as close to the table as their chairs would permit, drew their container of vapors near, and hunched over so as to be able to unstopper, inhale, and restopper without losing the fumes that shot from the ceramic pot as it was warmed by each person's grasp around its smaller, bottom bulge. While seeming to be lost in enjoyment of the stuff, the six were actually busy exchanging conversation by sign. It flashed around the table like this:
"Are we watched?"
"Every move... typical of this kind of dive."
"What can be overheard?"
"Every word spoken."
"What should we do then?"
"Eliminate the one spying on us!" That sign came from Gellor.
Gord then signaled, "I see the place and the hidden door which is by it."
"Do the work," came a general series of signs.
The young thief stood, slowly inhaling deeply as he did so. "The last of the essence is gone," he finally said ruefully, "but what euphoria! I am full of every sense and feeling!" In truth, he did feel somewhat giddy and sensual, but each deep breath he took seemed to mix with the counter-agent he had drunk to nullify the narcotic vapors. Otherwise, there was no question he would have been thoroughly intoxicated by the heady stuff he'd just inhaled.
"I need to move, to experience," Gord announced to the other five, who were still in the process of sniffing up the last of the Flowers of Thratus Kaloid from their flasks. So saying, the young man stepped here and there around the room, moving quickly and as if filled with agitated energy. Seeing his nod, the others stood and began to act oddly, reaching into robes, drawing forth daggers, and so on. Whoever watched would certainly have his gaze riveted upon these strange activities.
The secret entrance to the room was hidden about three feet above the floor, its edges masked by supporting posts set into the wall and by strips of wood bracing them. It took the eye of a master thief to discover the not-quite-proper fit and note faint smudges from careless hands — where no hand should have been placed unless its owner was eight feet tall. Next to this panel was a long, irregular crevice in a ceiling timber, as if the ancient beam had dried and cracked from age. That too wasn't quite right, and Gord could discern that the "crack" was really only about an inch deep. That was obviously the spy hole.
As his associates commenced their strange behavior, the young thief began tracing the outline of the hidden portal with sensitive fingers — searching, pressing, seeking the hidden means of opening it. Come on, I know it's here somewhere, he said to himself, all the while hoping that the watcher had no means of locking the panel to prevent Just such unwanted entry as Gord had in mind.
He found a strip of wood that moved sideways. Gord gave a gesture at this discovery, and his comrades began to talk loudly and laugh. Their noise filled the chamber, and the click the panel made as Gord shoved the strip of old oak to the side was inaudible in the din. With an effortless heave, the young thief was up and into the space revealed as the portal swung inward to the left. Trusting his instincts, Gord sprang up and to the right with his dagger ready. He could Just make out a figure there, peering intently through the crack at the antics in the room below. A swift blow with the pommel of his weapon, and the surprised spy was unconscious.
"Move this cockroach," Gord called softly into the bedlam. Chert took one long stride and grabbed the limp form from where Gord had thrust it partially out of the secret opening in the wall. With the body out of the way, the young adventurer was able to move along the narrow passage and see if there was a nearby means of exit. A couple of minutes later he thrust his head into the room again. "This way, everybody. There's a back door!"
With one of the chairs Jammed firmly against the regular door, and the unconscious spy now firmly bound and gagged, the others clambered up and into the little inter-wall passage as quietly as they could. The last in was Gellor, and he carefully shut the panel behind him. Gord was creeping along to the right, with Allton, Greenleaf, Timmil, Chert, and Gellor following in that order. Gord and Gellor both had the ability to see in the dark, so they needed no illumination. The vision of the other four was aided by the soil glow of a magical brooch that Allton wore at his throat. The wizard simply touched the piece of jewelry when he entered the dark tunnel, and it began to give off light immediately.
After ascending four steps, the file of silent men came to a plain wooden door. "The other side appears to be the back of a cabinet," Gord hissed over his shoulder. "Mind your heads as you go through."
They exited In a dirty, disused room, formerly a large pantry or something like that. "Where now?" Allton inquired, looking at the young champion in the faint light from his brooch. "I am lost."
"We passed through the rear wall of Hegmon's, into another structure which abuts it," Gord explained. "From the looks of this room, the place is deserted. All we need to do is find a way to the front and depart. No one will look for us back there," he added, thumbing to indicate the underground lair, "for at least a half-hour. That's more than enough time to lose ourselves in Greyhawk."
"This all seems to be a lot of shit," Chert said. "Why not just take out whoever it is that's laying for us and be done with it?"
"That, my dear fellow," Timmil replied in a patient manner, "would give our enemy too precise a measure of our strength."
"It might just tell us who in the hells is after us!" the barbarian warrior muttered in exasperation. He did not like running away from any fight.
Gord opened the door that led on into the rest of the place. "If you must chat, do it as you go, please. We need to move quickly," he said, and then suited his actions to his words by slipping out.
After passing through several abandoned rooms they came to the front of the building, marked by shuttered windows and a barred door. "This is tricky," the young thief said in admiration. "Opens from outside and in as well," he said, demonstrating the latter by pivoting the brace that held the bar and giving the outer door a shove. It opened noiselessly on greased hinges. "Just duck under the bar — it's affixed permanently." Soon all six were outside and away without anyone around to see their escape.
Gord took them through a subterranean route so that they passed out of Old City and into Clerksburg unmolested. After entering a small inn there, Gord exchanged a few words with its owner, handed over a small stack of coins, and that was that. They were now safe and unobserved — for a time, at least — and could get down to the business at hand. Once the group was closed off in a private room on the third story of the place, Gord began the meeting.
"You are here to assist us, gentle priest and worthy mage, I know. But how is it that we were picked up by agents of our foes so quickly? I noticed none until you two joined us...." He let that statement trail off as he stared at both of the men.
Timmil answered without hesitation. "I fear I am the cause of it all. You see, the agents of Evil here know full well my efforts against them and on behalf of Balance. I did my utmost to avoid any who might follow when I went to meet the good wizard here and then seek you four out at the tavern," he explained. "That is why we motioned you out when we arrived there."