The little thing began to do a jig atop Viper's head. "Oh, yeah. That's the other part I forgot to mention. I'm not really a quasidemon after all — how could you have thought I was when you saw me as a rat and I brought wererats to you? I am an imp, after all!" With that, the foul little creature began lashing its barb-tipped tail downward. The appendage struck at Viper's face, lacerating his cheek, forehead, and chin before it sank deeply into the assassin's eye. "Gotcha!" cackled the imp.
There was a long, terrible shriek that ended only when Viper's body struck the cobblestones below with a meaty thump. Of the imp there was no sign at all.
Gord stood staring down. What had just transpired was so terrible as to have frozen him in horror. Then he remembered about the saber-tooth! He sprang around, bringing up his sword. The massive cat was there, not six feet away, eyes fixed on him, small tail twitching. Useless or not, Gord brought his sword and dagger to the ready. The monster wavered and changed before the young man's startled eyes!
"Sheathe your weapons, Blackcat." a large-muscled man with flowing yellow hair said. "Someday, perhaps, you and I will meet under less constrained conditions — and then will we test our strengths and skills. Until then, we have no quarrel."
"No? No, I should think not, for you have saved my life. Just who, or what, are you?"
"One sent by Rexfelis to aid you, and so have I done."
"In truth, sir, in truth! How could he have known I would need help?"
"Who can say what the Lord of Cats knows? Or why he cares to do what he does?" the big man said with a rumble. "Give over now the talisman of amber the one containing the purple spider, as payment for Rexfelis' aid, and I will leave you."
"The talisman? Payment?"
What is free in life, brother?"
Gord sighed and turned away in resignation. He had dealt with the Catlord before, and he knew the futility of argument or trying to bargain. "Here," Gord said, handing the hemisphere of petrified resin to the strange man who could assume the shape of a saber-toothed tiger. "You have the payment, and tell Lord Rexfelis that with it come my thanks and regards."
The man turned and left without a word. Gord didn't care. He felt drained, exhausted, and there was yet much to do this very night. In a few minutes the men of the watch would be around to inquire as to what had occurred. When they arrived, he must be well away. It took only a minute to gather up his gold and a few necessary items. Then Gord was away into the darkness of Greyhawk. It would be a long time before the city was troubled by Blackcat again.
The next day Lord Mayor Gasgol had a full report of the incident in the Craftsmen's Ward. Viper's demise was a mixed blessing, but what of the thief? Gasgol's personal repute was on the line, yet he had no minion to serve him now. Word had reached the Thieves Guild of the previous night's happenings, and Arentol had put two and two together. "Have you succeeded in eliminating the rogue, lordship?" the guildmaster inquired.
"Of course, my dear fellow, of course." Gasgol avoided the guildmaster's gaze as long as possible as the conversation went on. Finally, after trying to fend off several pointed queries, the lord mayor said airily, "How could I fail?" And as he so stated, he looked at Arentol, challenging him to continue the discussion.
Then Nerof Gasgol saw the look in the eyes of the oligarch and master of thieves. Trouble of the worst sort was brewing in the mind of the man. "Indeed, sir," said Arentol, "you cannot fail — as all will know when Blackcat's head is high above the gates of the Citadel, just as you said it would be."
Gasgol was ready with a response to that. "I've had some time to think about that, and I fear that such a display could be disturbing to the populace. After all, the man was high in our circles."
"Whatman?"
"Why, Blackcat, of course! I think it best if you and I keep this whole affair between us, dear guild-master. We have no need to upset the other oligarchs or the citizens of Greyhawk. By way of my gratitude for your cooperation, I shall end the strictures upon your guild this very day."
"There is more, lordship. What of the losses we have suffered because of your orders? And there is the loss of face to be considered, too," Arentol said softly, his tone almost honeyed.
Gasgol shifted uneasily in his chair and grumbled. This seemed very much like extortion to him — and he, of all people, should recognize extortion when he saw it. A lengthy bargaining session commenced, and in the end it was agreed that certain substantial sums would be transferred from the lord mayor's exchequer to the treasury of the Thieves Guild. Records were altered and the matter closed.
"An agreeable conclusion, don't you think, dear cousin?" Arentol said heartily as he slapped the lord mayor on the shoulder in comradely fashion. Nerof Gasgol winced, scowled, but nodded in concurrence before he stumped out.
Rumors circulated in the city, of course. It was whispered that the rogue calling himself Blackcat had been none other than Viper. It was said that the master of the Thieves Guild had devised a clever trap for the man, and the lord mayor had wisely agreed to the ploy. Thus, Viper had been brought to justice and once again all was well within the city.
Gord was among those who heard the tale, naturally. He applauded it and told it to others as often as possible. Any reappearance of Blackcat in the future would certainly be a matter for the innermost circles of Greyhawk. and never again would there be a reward offered for the offending rogue. After all, the lord mayor and the guildmaster of thieves had both personally accounted for the man. Ever afterward in the city, Blackcat was dead.
Love Laughs at Locks
"MY MISTRESS HAS POTIONS and amulets for every need!"
The oily-haired Medegian merchant raised a pudgy hand glittering with jewelry to fend off the hunchback who had just made this bold claim. "I am no fool, you malformed huckster," he said with a sneer. "Keep your distance!"
As the merchant spoke, a burly Urnstman, hand on his sword hilt, stepped beside him. It was obvious that the fellow was the merchant's bodyguard.
"A paean of regret, gracious master," the shabbily clad cripple said, slowly moving sideways to escape the threat of attack,
"Not so fast!" the fat man said, gesturing to cause the hunchback to remain in place even as he directed the armed Urnstman back a bit to a less threatening position. "Tell me now. Just who is this mistress of yours who offers such merchandise?" he demanded.
Cringing, the cripple attempted a gap-toothed smile and replied, "She be the Grand Wizardess Noperda, your worship."
"Never heard of such a person," the pudgy Medegian said in a tone of disappointment. He stepped closer to the bedraggled little man, who was still edging warily away from the merchant and his scowling attendant. "Why does a worker of her repute offer to sell her wares thus? And why does she use you as an agent?"
The hunchback shrugged, a strangely disquieting gesture. 'Why, sir. is not for me to ask. Indeed, I dare not," he said hastily, and the merchant's features darkened at the reply. "The Grand Wizardess hired me when she arrived in this city several weeks ago, and I have reason to be glad for this employment."
Grasping the corded arm of his bodyguard - for emphasis, the merchant stared hard at the cripple. "Even in so large a city as this, a villain of your sort is easily found and, shall we say, reprimanded. Still, you say you have been selling this Noperda's magical wares for weeks, and yet you live and breathe. Do you truly know that the offerings are efficacious, as advertised?"
"Indeed so, noble merchant," the hunchback offered with a revealing wink. "Not a single customer has voiced a word of complaint in the time I have served—"
"Not so fast, churl! I am not to be duped by vague assertions," the cautious Medegian warned. "How many customers requesting a — shall we say, specific purchase — have you brought to your mistress?"
"Can you believe only a dozen or so, most sagacious one?" The hunchback displayed a leering grin before continuing, slowly and with emphasis. "And that despite most reasonable prices — and Grand Wizardess Noperda's guarantee of absolute satisfaction to tenfold the purchase price!"
"If you lie, deformed lout, my man Bolgar here will make straight that which is crooked!" the oily Medegian snarled as he slapped the fellow's back, while the burly Urnstman patted his sword hilt in agreement.
After asking for details of exactly what magicks were available from the so-called Grand Wizardess, the merchant directed the hunchback to lead him to the place where such marvelous wares could be purchased. Bolgar stumped along right behind his master.
In the deeper darkness of a nearby alley mouth, a shadow emerged, cautiously at first. Then, with a practiced air of nonchalance, the figure fell into step some distance behind the trio.
The silent form that flitted after the unlikely threesome was unnoticed, for the clever thief kept an even pace with his potential targets, staying far enough behind to avoid drawing attention to the fact that he was on their trail, yet following at a pace even with that set by the hunchback and his customers. To witness this young adventurer ply his profession was to observe a master at his art — and by virtue of his skill, no one was ever likely to know the whole truth about just how good he really was.
Sometimes he used a variety of disguises to avoid detection; at other times in the past the daring fellow was little more than a wraith, going where no one thought a man could go in order to burgle some precious store. At such times the victims could speak of the unknown perpetrator only as Blackcat, the name he had used for himself when he left his calling-card after one of these "impossible" jobs. Rarely did he appear as himself when plying his trade — but tonight Gord, the consummate rogue thief of Greyhawk, was doing just that.
The southern sector of the city featured an abundance of various types of stores, small shops, rambling market buildings and indoor bazaars filled with stalls and booths. This clustered warren eventually gave way to the great warehouses and factories of the River Quarter's edge where the thick walls of Greyhawk described its southern and western boundaries. After dark most of the quarter was black and silent. Roisterers there were aplenty in the dives near the Rivergate, but most persons who sought activity after sunset went up to the lawless area between the River Quarter and the Low Quarter — the long, narrow place called simply The Strip.
The hunchback led the Medegian, his bodyguard and their undiscovered guest southward through the dark byways of the upper River Quarter, scuttling toward the huge warehouses of the Depositor District. "Ageelia, if only you knew what I must do for the sake of your love," Gord murmured to himself as he continued to follow the strange group. "Why does that fat Medegian have to be seeking something as esoteric as an amulet? The whores along The Strip seemed so likely . . ."he muttered as he continued to creep ahead. He was committed now to following this unseemly group, for trying for another victim at this hour was probably a fruitless pursuit, and he had no choice but to score a large hit tonight. Unless he was able to buy her freedom this very night, the beautiful Ageelia would be handed over to her new owner come dawn.
As he passed over one of the bridges spanning Newduct, the east-west canal of the newer portion of Greyhawk, Gord thought back to when he had first seen the incredibly lovely dancer. ...
The Foreign Quarter of the sprawling city was a favorite haunt of Gord's, for the young thief found its mixture of strange cultures and cosmopolitan attitudes far more interesting than even the elite gathering places of the fashionable High and Garden Quarters. He seldom worked in the Foreign Quarter, preferring it as his rest and recuperation spot. It was an evening just a week ago when he had sauntered into the Lotus House, just off the Street of Songs. The place was frequented by Bakluni and other westerners, and Gord went there often for the exotic foods and strange music of those distant lands represented by the clientele.
"Your pleasure, gracious master?" a robed servitor had inquired as Gord entered the central salon through the swaying curtain of ralnbow-hued beads.
That girl — who is she?" Gord demanded, not taking his eyes from the dancer whose midnight tresses trailed all the way down to her tiny waist.
The pockmarked Tusmite leered and winked. "The eye of the gracious master is as quick and sharp as a hawk's! That is Ageelia, the most beautiful dancer ever to come from Ket." He paused to spit before adding, "May the demons of the Abyss void their bowels and bladders on that place!"
"Never mind your politics, jackal! Tell me more, about this vision. You say her name is Ageelia?"
"True, master, Ageelia she is, but not even so noble a person as yourself may know more of that fair houri."