Night Arrant (39 page)

Gord nodded. "Ill find the one, all right. But I'll need more time. Do you really expect me to solve a crime in three days that you have failed to solve in seven weeks?"

The magistrate ignored the insult. "Don't do anything else," said Vatman. "Don't try to leave Greyhawk. Don't get involved in anything else. You have three days, and three days only. After that, we'll arrest you and annihilate you after trial. This is no threat."

"This is as crazy as the murder charge," Gord shot back. "I'm no policeman. What can I do?"

Vatman had stopped smiling. "You had better do something. By way of encouragement, allow me to point out that you were evidently doing enough to follow the trail of the perpetrator as far as this place—"

"I wasn't following any trail. I intended to try to get information out of Basil because he was involved— "

"Even if you were later than the killer thought you'd be. Just between us, Hone here has watched the back for an hour prior to your arrival. The tip came too soon."

"Yes," said the inspector. "His Worship knows you're not guilty, as do I. But you have only a short time to prove it to the world, or you must be sacrificed in the name of justice."

That last ironic statement by Hone, the inspector of the Praefecture, still lingered in his brain as Gord prowled through the midnight alleys of the Garden Quarter. He was not followed now. He had been this afternoon, though, picked up from one of the places he kept as a safe hide-away. Prior to recent events, Gord would have wagered all he possessed that none but he knew about these hidey-holes, which Gord continued to change on a regular basis. Now he had less confidence but felt wiser.

Upon investigation of the matter, Gord discovered that the young man whom Basil kept as a lover was gone from the apartment the fence had provided him. Many of his personal belongings were still there, but Gord thought that the fellow, named Kesterin, had either managed to flee or had been kidnapped. It was hard to tell what might have happened, for the young thief found marks of entry indicating someone else had been to the apartment for the same reason Gord had come. Whoever it was, Gord estimated that he was about two hours behind in the chase.

"If I were this fellow, where would I go?" he said to himself as he neared the Processional. Traffic was only moderate, and nobody seemed to notice as he slipped into the stream of men and animals. "Would I attempt to leave the city? Not at dusk with a killer after me. Then I would hide . . . but where?" Kesterin was a comely and well-bred person, one used to easy living. Old City and most of the rest of Greyhawk would be unappealing and downright dangerous for one such as he. The Strip had its share of homosexuals, but the killer would expect Kesterin to go there, and he would probably know that. Where then?

Unless the fellow had some special friend in the High Quarter, there was only one place Kesterin could hide and realistically expect to remain undiscovered. Gord snapped his fingers and strode across the broad main thoroughfare of Greyhawk, slipping into the darkness of the trade area which paralleled the Processional to Green Commons and the Newmarket, taking great care that no one followed him as he moved purposefully to the south end of the city. Basil's frightened lover would have hidden in only one place — The University District, where there were many males his age. Effete manners and dress were as common as whores in the River Quarter, and Kesterin would blend in amongst the students and hangers-on there.

The University District was large by itself, and students lodged in an area that extended from the Craftsmen's Ward on the east all the way to The Halls northward and within the belt of trade that followed the lower Processional from the River Quarter to the Citadel. The greatest concentration of colleges and students, however, was along the wall of Greyhawk itself, the very southernmost part of the University sector. Many eating houses and taverns catered to the student trade in this area. It was to this part of the district that Gord went. Although it had been years since he dwelled here, the young thief still had many contacts. He had to take one chance, for it wouldn't do for anyone to recognize him as Gord as he walked the streets of the district. It was too big a risk to go to the little flat he had nearby, but his old friend Calzo the Trader was probably safe to visit.

Dressed in gaudier fashion now, a floppy cap of purple and olive-green velvet hiding his hair and shading his eyes, Gord left the darkened shop of Calzo to begin his search in earnest. He hated to do it, but he had left his shortsword behind in his friend's safekeeping. Even his dagger was hidden at his back, kept from view by the pleated cape which was in fashion now with students. At his Waist in plain view was an ordinary blade also typical of those affected by the young men who attended the colleges here.

There were no clues to be had at the Flaming Torch, Ancient King, Jolly Master, or Nymph and Satyr. One barmaid at the Lusty Friar, though, told Gord that she thought she recalled seeing one of Kesterin's general description having been here with a fat young chap about his own age and a hollow-cheeked man she thought was a professor or some such — she was very vague there. A copper richer, she hurried off to serve the thirsty throng of young patrons. Gord left his ale unfinished and went searching again, now fairly certain of his quarry.

The gaunt man the wench described could be no other than Maust the Scholar. If he had, in fact, ever professed any particular subject, Gord didn't know what it was. He did know that Maust operated a seedy place called the inn of the Seven Quills, a few minutes' walk from the tavern. It was a likely place for Kesterin to hole up in until he felt it was safe to leave Greyhawk, and it was equidistant from Southgate and Longgate too. The only problem was in getting into the inn without alerting Kesterin. Maust knew what Gord looked like, for the two had experienced several unfriendly encounters in the past year.

The proprietor wasn't in the common room, so Gord walked boldly into the place. "Give me an ale-gill, my good man," he said with a merry voice and simpering manner to the barkeep, "and do tell Kesterin I have come with what he needed," Gord concluded, patting his purse to indicate the need was money. The purse was heavy, and the sound of the chinkers therein evident.

"Kesterin? I know no Kesterin," the barkeep responded abruptly.

"Maybe he goes by another name these days. You would know him if you saw him. He's very sexy," Gord winked.

"I wouldn't know anything about that!" the barkeep said, his forehead wrinkled in an unmistakable frown.

"Well," Gord leaned closer, "you're not so bad yourself, and I would know about that!" The good-looking young thief removed a lucky from a pocket inside his robe and set it spinning on the bar as he cast an inquiring look in the bartender's direction. "I know you're acquainted with Maust the Scholar and I'll bet you can tell me whether or not he's had any company of late. . . ." Gord gave the barkeep an admiring glance. He was about done with this game. This was a role he would just as soon never have to play again!

Hie barkeep withdrew the lucky from the counter and said "The person you might be looking for goes by the name Lambert. His chamber is at the back of the inn, on the topmost floor. If you'll pardon me whilst I fetch another to stand my post, I'll tell the man that you've come to see him."

With a flip, Gord sent another electrum piece to the barkeep. "Save yourself the effort, there's a lucky chap!" Giggling in a shrill voice at his own witticism, Gord drawled over his shoulder, "I shall tell him m'self, thanks."

Out of sight, the young adventurer made a wry face and spat. This sort of pose was not to his liking, but it was far better than being executed for a murder he hadn't committed. He'd do what he must in order to get to the bottom of the game that had been run, for his whole life had been affected. The hall was narrow and ill-lighted, but Gord had no difficulty finding his way to the room that apparently hid the dead Basil's boyfriend. Voices were coming from the place, muffled by the door, but not so much so that Gord couldn't identify them. Kesterin, Maust, and the others must all be within.

Not having his sword, Gord decided waiting was the best approach. He pressed his body flat against the recess of the door to the room next to Kesterin's. He expected to have to remain in this uncomfortable position for a while, but he wasn't expecting what happened next. One minute Gord was vertical, his body stiff and rigid by choice, and the next he was toppling into the darkness of the room behind the door.

"Wha— ?" he cried out in surprise.

"If you've come to rob me," a soft voice whispered, "the valuables I possess are on the top of the lowboy."

Gord froze. What was this?

There was a sharp intake of breath, the speaker having held it listening for some sound or reply until needing air. Then she spoke again. Take the stuff, but I warn you I am armed, and if you touch me I'll kill you!" the soft voice hissed this time. It managed to sound quite menacing.

"Sssshhh!" Gord closed the door quickly, cutting off the light from the hallway. "I'm here neither to rob nor molest. Be still, and in a few minutes I'll be gone."

"How do I know you speak the truth? You've been sneaking around outside my door, haven't you? I heard you bumping against the planks and, rather than have you break it down I figured I might as well let you in, give you all I have and be rid of you without having to suffer the violence that usually accompanies this sort of nocturnal visit."

Gord was exasperated. He would have only a minute or two after Maust left to question the catamite rogue about Basil and the plot that lost Gord a fortune. The owner would certainly check downstairs, and there the barkeep would mention Gord's coming to see Kesterin — alias Lambert — and the ploy would be known.

"Hush! Use your weapon if I move closer — yell aloud for all I care. I'm staying right here until ... I can go out again. No noise meantime." he whispered forcefully.

"I think I'll scream now."

Gods, the woman! "No. no! Please don't make noise!" Gord was nearly frantic now. "Wait. I have an idea. Before you do anything, think about this. I'll leave you a handful of silver nobles if you remain quiet until I'm gone."

"I don't believe that lie for a moment," the soft voice shot back. "Now I'll scream even louder."

"Here! I’ve got a handful of coins now — silver, electrum, and whatever else is there. It's too dark to see, but I’ll put them on the floor." He let them clink as he did so.

"I'll light the lamp to see if you're telling the truth."

Devils must possess this woman. Gord thought. How he regretted the lack of the dweomered blade that allowed him to see in the dark. Without his enchanted sword, he was as helpless as a blind man. Without light he couldn't see. but he didn't want it nowl "Not the lamp!" he hissed back as sharply as he could. "I'm here to hide from another. The light will betray me."

"Nonsense! This is my room, and everyone in the inn must know I'm here. You'll not be at risk from a mere light," she replied.

It did make sense, but Gord remained stubbornly determined. "Don’t touch the lamp!"

"All right, sir smart-ass. I shall not." The whole room was suddenly washed in bright, clear light. "Is this spell to your taste?"

Blinking and owlish, Gord tried to regain his vision, but his eyes were filled with dancing spots. He had been peering almost directly into the area the woman had used to cast the magic that created light.

"Helpless female, my ass! What kind of a game are you playing here?"

The woman ignored the question. "Well, you look a student, but you act the part of a thief, and you're a bit too old ... so i'd say you're a thief." the female voice laughed softly. "You're not too ugly a thief, though, so I shall allow you to explain everything to me now — and take back your coins, too. You might need them later."

Slipping down to a sitting position on the floor, Gord leaned back against the door. By now his eyes had adjusted to the light and he was able to see that this was a female of great beauty. "I trust I can speak from here." he whispered. "I must be off at a moment's notice."

"Of that, we shall see," the woman said as she donned a white robe to cover her nightdress. She carefully rearranged her long, blonde tresses and then turned her full attention to Gord. "Tell me the tale you have, and then I will judge whether or not the authorities should be called."

"And if I am a licensed thief?"

"You will be the oddest one I’ve encountered, and perhaps a dead one, too."

"I am no lackey of the guild, madam," Gord said with resignation. The woman was a strongly built, well-proportioned one only a bit older than Gord. From the things she said and did and the items she wore, Gord thought she was either a magic-user or a caster of illusions. However, she could be a cleric, so he decided that truth was the best means of handling this situation. "I am with the authorities of this city. I am charged with the solution of certain crimes and the apprehension of the criminal or criminals involved. In the course of this duty I used your doorway, knowing not that you or any other person was herein, to keep an eye on one of these suspects. I must be ready to leave in an instant, for a person with possible knowledge of the crimes is in the adjoining room. As soon as the company in there with him leaves, I must break in and question him. Is this satisfactory?"

"Absolutely not!"

"But-"

"Oh I believe you, so far as you went," the woman said. She looked rather attractive in her seriousness as she spoke. Gord smiled at her, and she smiledback. "My name is Summer. What are you called?"

As golden-haired and blue-eyed as she was, he thought it a good name. "I am Gord, but all of this is a waste of time."

"No it isn't, Gord. I have to make a decision as to whether or not I am going to help or hinder you. This is part of that decision."

The young thief was growing exasperated. He nearly clenched his teeth as he whispered, "My life is at stake in all this. Why don't you just go back to bed and leave me be? Let me get on with my affairs, and I’ll leave you to yours."