finished in a whine.
'Shut up,' Chert said without force.
Gord was watching the hags and not liking what he saw. The crones were coming in the pair's direction, with murder in their eyes. Worse still, several other hags and witches were coming downstairs to see what all the fuss was about. 'Time to get down to business,' Gord said matter-of-factly to his hostage. 'Have all your friends sit on the floor, hands under their bums, or it's all over for you right now!'
'Do as he says, girls,' the crone cackled. 'Sit on your hands while this pretty lad and I exchange a few words.'
Grumbling, the hags and witches complied, making rude remarks about both Gord and his captive as they did so. Pinkus. meanwhile, clambered out from under the table where he had taken shelter during the brawl. Despite the sheepish manner in which he did so, the ehjure still managed to give Gord a withering look.
'You sit on your thumbs too, Pinkus!' Chert ordered, 'or Brool and I will lower your vanity by a foot of ugly head!' As he said this. Chert hefted the huge axe menacingly. Pinkus snarled but sat.
'What are you here for, anyway?' the head witch queried. 'Maybe we can work something out.'
He didn't trust this crone as far as he could toss the bulging body of the mountainous ogre-magus, but this was one hell of a tight spot. Gord lowered his weapons and said, 'All right, let's cut out the forceful crap and have a serious conference on this whole matter.'
The ancient witch cocked her head and peered birdlike at him with her beady, black eyes. Then she nodded at the young thief. 'It's a deal, m’boy,' she screeched so that all assembled could hear. 'You and I will go upstairs and get this straight,' she added with a salacious cackle.
In a shower of catcalls and ribald comments, Gord and the witch marched to the staircase, the crone clutching his arm smugly. As they passed the hags, Gord heard the annis say, 'Come here, Pinky, you big hunk! No sense in letting them have all the fun!' There was a squawk from the ogreling and a string of expletives from the bat-faced night hag. Then, mercifully, Gord and the crone ascended the steps and the sounds were cut off by the door of the room they entered.
'That'll hold 'em,' the witch murmured as she slammed the portal.
'What the devil are you doing?' Gord demanded, reaching for his weapons again.
'Calm down, sonny,' the old woman said soothingly. 'It won't do to let that gaggle of trollops think we ain't doing what we ain't doing — and that's so. After all, a girl's got to have some pride,' she finished with a sniff.
'Well, the only reason we're here is to see if we can come to a deal, so let's get to it,' Gord said crossly.
'Ah, rejection doesn't get any easier with age, now does it?' The old crone mused sadly. 'Ah, well,' she sighed and poured two stiff drinks into a pair of pewter goblets on the sideboard, took a swig from each to demonstrate neither was drugged or poisoned, and then dropped glumly down on the bed. Gord sat stiffly on a three-legged stool. Ignoring the proffered drink she held in front of him. After all, she was a witch; there were many poisons she could use to do away with a mortal that would not affect her in the least. The witch shrugged when Gord failed to reach out for the drink and then quickly downed the contents of both goblets. 'They call it White lightning' on the plane where the stuff's made,' the crone said with an appreciative sigh after draining her vessel. Then she continued in another vein. 'So, why don't we begin by addressing the question of why you and your chums have ruined our little scam here?'
'We had no choice,' Gord said quickly. 'We're under enthrallment and geas, and we had to come here.'
'Let's begin at the beginning, sonny, and go until the end comes,' the witch said shortly. 'I don't like this whole business anymore than you do — unless maybe you'd like the two of us to get it on!'
'No, thanks. I'll settle for spending the time explaining,' Gord countered. 'Here's the story.' The young thief spent the next hour relating the details of their adventure from Weird Way to Castle Fizziak,
'Bugger that old bastard Boffly, and his crony Phompton, too!' the witch said vehemently. 'By the way, the name's Quodilde,' she said, extending her hand. Gord took it cautiously. The witch continued. 'They set you boys up — and the grand count and the king, too, or else I ain't got warts!'
'But the test-'
'Nothing more than a farce,' the crone nearly screamed. 'A nasty, mean way to get back at me for my having cleverly outwitted that pious old fart and his sexy old faker pal the last couple of times we’ve had a contest, so to speak! You don't have a prayer of succeeding, unless …' Her voice trailed off.
Gord was confused. 'You know Good Priest Boffly and Court Wizard Phompton well enough to engage in, ah, contests?'
'Know 'em? We grew up together, the three of us did, about a hundred years back! That namby-pamby Boffly decided to follow the straight and narrow, as they say. Matched his spine and mind, hee, hee, hee! Old Phompy, why, he never was any great shakes at spinning a dweomer, either. I always wondered how he managed to flummox the grand count into appointing him Court Wizard. But then again, those Fizziaks were never known for their brains.'
'What are we to do then?' Gord asked the witch earnestly.
Quodilde drew Gord closer and began to speak rapidly in a low tone. The young thief nodded now and again, then slapped his knee and gave a loud laugh. 'That's wonderful!' he exclaimed. 'How can we repay you?'
Realizing a potential error of serious magnitude, Gord drew back, but the witch only cackled lewdly and said, 'No time for that now, handsome. You and your chums have to set things aright here, then get back to castle Fizziak to prove you passed their silly test. Maybe you and I can get together some other time.'
'Errr. . I'll be sure and drop in if I'm ever in the neighborhood again.' Gord volunteered.
'That'll do.' Quodilde said with a leer. 'You know, I could apply a little geas of my own to make certain of it….'
'No need for that!' Gord said quickly. 'We'd just be wasting valuable time. The sooner we get going, the sooner Boffly and Phompton will get what's coming to them! You are anxious to see that happen, aren't you?'
'Let's get going!' the witch cackled excitedly. 'But you'd better make sure..'
'Yeah, yeah, don't worry!' Gord said quickly.
Quodilde gave him what she imagined to be a sensuous look. 'You seem to be an honest sort,' she said. 'And anyway, no one can resist my charm forever. I’ve got all the time in the world to wait for you to show up and pay your debt!' And at that the crone cackled madly, sending shivers up and down the young rogue's spine.
The witch cast a spell and suddenly an ancient coffer appeared on the table before her. She rummaged around in the old trunk until she found the three objects she was looking for. After handing them to Gord, she took him by the arm and steered him downstairs.
Chert and the former bandits were standing uncomfortably by the front door, weapons drawn and ready, surrounded by seemingly beautiful girls who mocked them and urged the employment of other sorts of weapons than those of steel. From the looks on the men's faces, it was evident that they were having a hard time believing that these lovely lasses were actually magically gulsed witches and hags attempting to lure them to a most terrible fate. Plinkus sat alone at a small corner table, pouting. He had been unable or unwilling to choose one of his two admirers over the other, and he was now being shunned by both of the hags. Gord and the rest of the humans saw them as stunning-looking doxies, but Pinkus, thanks to his innate ogrish powers of resistance to magic, still saw their true forms and lusted and lamented. Gord had to laugh.
'Let's go, lads,' the young thief called merrily to his comrades when he managed to regain his breath and composure. 'Our quest is done, and we must now hie back to Castle Fizziak and the grand count!'
That bit of news delighted Chert and the men-at-arms. Zimp boomed out, 'H'ray for Cap'n Gord! I knew he'd do it!' The other outlaws stared at Quodilde, shook their heads, gazed at Gord admiringly, and raised a hurrah.
Chert pounded Gord on the back. 'Nice going, pal. Sometimes you're rather useful to have around.'
Blushing and sputtering in a mixture of embarrassment and outrage at all of this praise, Gord was pushed by the witch and pulled by his companions toward the open door. Plinkus had already stumped through it and was heading off in high dudgeon. Just as the young thief was about to be forced out, however, he realized that something was amiss.
'Walt!' he shouted, and the shoving and tugging stopped. 'Where is Lord Maheal? We can't go off without him.'
Amid cries of 'Bugger the fop! Who needs 'im?' and 'Let him earn his keep here as a bumboy,' Gord walked
