arcane life-knowledge this night, please! Better anything — even your lecherous tales — than that!'
Hop, whose given name was Runewort, son of Kay of Ashdown, was in addition to ostler and troubadour a highly skilled mountebank. When he spoke of gossip, Hop knew of what was told from the noblest of salons to the lowest of dens in Greyhawk and elsewhere as well, for his customers were of many diverse lifestyles. He knew the cause of Gord's melancholy and, having failed at his attempt to broach the subject by philosophizing, decided to come straight to the point. 'I too have suffered love lost, my friend. A place such as this is good medicine for the imbalance of humors you suffer of late, but the cure requires the cooperation of the afflicted as well.'
'Meaning what?' Gord asked impatiently. 'If you wish to be dolorous, then no amount of drink and lively company will lift the pall, old friend.'
'Talk, smile, laugh — allow yourself to heal! Come, let's find a pair or so of likely wenches and see if that doesn't lift your downtrodden spirits. Tomorrow I ride west — come with met I’m sure we can fill a few weeks with the kind of activity guaranteed to make any man forget his troubles — no matter who or what they may be.'
'I have no desire for such frolicking,' Gord said, adding a slight scowl for punctuation.
Hop launched into a long-winded lecture on life and the ways to deal with its problems, but Gord had no intention of letting his words take effect. 'As a savant, Hop, you are a superb mountebank. Save this patter for marks and those who wish-to be entertained.'
The bearded, crop-headed fellow was undaunted by the rebuff. 'I am ever the rebel, Gord, as you well know. If society or a star-crossed friend were able to put me off, what would I be?'
'Less noticeable and silent!' Gord volunteered with a slight grin that quickly vanished, to be replaced by a frown once again.
'Touche!' said Hop, with a rueful smile, and feigning a deep wound he continued. 'Now I see that you can relieve your hurt only by skewering those who care about you on the sharp point of your wit.'
'Point of my head, more likely. Why not leave off, Hop? I know you mean well, but I just wish to be alone.'
'Gord, this is not merely a matter of idle chatter and uplifting the spirits of an old associate. Considering the adventure — or two — we have shared together, you are one of my closest friends in life. I need you to get back your zest for life, or I shall have to end up doing all your drinking, lusting and other miscellaneous adventuring for you! Even I can't handle that much fun!' With that the mountebank winked at the young thief and quaffed the rest of his ale in a single gulp. Gord drank, too, and the slamming tankards brought the serving wench hurrying to the table with refills. Hop belched and patted his muscular stomach, where a slight paunch could be seen. 'I really should spend some time exercising,' he said.
'No fear.' Gord teased 'You'll guzzle down a gallon of ale a day for the rest of a long life and never grow fat — you work it off nightly bawdstrotting each willing wench you meet.'
Hop laughed appreciatively and then grew serious. 'It is good to see you more the Gord of old. I’ve heard what is said of the dancer, Ageelia. I heard of the vast treasure. The tale of her betrayal is oft told. You are more than a bit of a folk hero these days, Gord. I am sorry that the fame is such. .' Hop trailed off with a sympathetic look at his unfortunate friend.
When Gord heard Hop's mention of Ageelia, the lovely dancer who had been pulled to her death in the Gray Run by the gold and platinum she and her lover had stolen from him, his heart grew leaden and his face became granite again. 'You are sorry? So am I,' he said flatly, turning to look elsewhere in dismissal of the other man.
'Why not find another girl to love and forget what happened?' asked Hop with a not-to-be-put-off urgency.
'I cannot.' Gord replied heatedly.
'You mean you won't. I know you. Your pride won't let you!'
'As you will,' Gord said emotionlessly now, his face averted.
'This mourning is useless!'
'Something else is bothering me,' Gord said, now looking squarely into the mountebank's eyes. 'Eventually, I'll figure out just what it is that troubles me so. It is more than the loss of one who did not love me. When I find the answer to this disquietude, perhaps then I'll do something besides mourn — as you put it.'
'So!' Hop said slowly, with a nod of his head. He eyed the cat-quick young man, seeing determination written on the tanned face and within his deep gray eyes. His scrutiny also took in the slender but powerful body that moved so easily and surely, and the hands so agile as to be able to deal cards from mid-deck, unseen, yet hardened for deadly weapon play. Gord noticed the assessment but said nothing. Hop finally sighed in resignation, determined to speak again. 'I feared you would be thus. Gord. There are whisperings in certain places.'
Without a sign of interest, Gord echoed, 'Whisperings?' He barely accented it so as to form a question, but did not really care.
'Yes, whisperings. Hushed talk among those who frequent the hangouts of the guild,' Hop went on in a conspiratorial tone.
'What? What are you mumbling about?' Gord asked with a trace of annoyance.
Not wishing to mention the girl, the mountebank-turned-ostler paused a second, then said softly, 'The affair with Xestrazy. The sum of money involved. Your part Who knows?'
'A thousand and more orbs is bound to make anyone buzz — from the lowest dive to the grandest court.'
'Perhaps. . yes. But before you had even, ah … acquired. . the sum for the supposed purpose you obtained it?' Hop asked with a voice filled with implication.
'The hells you say if you're trying to tell me something, come out with it man!'
The near-shout caused several of the bistro's nearby customers to turn and see what was going on. Hop ran his fingers through the stubble of hair he so prided himself on. His hair style was formerly a sign of nonconformity, but it was now unremarkable except for the fact that only villains and certain unusual folk from far-off territories affected the style. Gord recognized his friend's gesture as one of nervousness and reiterated, in a quieter tone of voice but a no less determined tone, 'What is this all about?'
'Rumor and gossip are unreliable.' Hop said in a negligent tone of voice and with a wave of dismissal.
'Dragondung!' Gord spat in a low, steely voice. Tell me the whole of what you’ve learned, or by all the-'
'Now take it easy! And can the threats — I am not impressed.' Hop added with a mixture of confidence and anger. 'As I have told you, I only heard hints and allusions. In all likelihood, none of it has any substance.'
Gord was pale now, and his eyes burned with fervor. 'Hints? Of what were you given hints? No more beating around the bush! Come out with it, Hop!'
'It is time for me to entertain the patrons once again. Gord,' the mountebank said. As he rose and slung his battered lute over his shoulder, he looked the perfect troubadour. His words, though, were not of music or poetic lyrics. 'If I were in your boots, Gord, I'd look up old friends for information, especially those now high in the Thieves Guild.'
The meaning of those words was clear — there was a distinct possibility that the scam pulled by Ageelia and Xestrazy had more players involved than those two scoundrels. Hop had implied that the person Gord must question could be none other than the companion of his childhood, the one-time beggar-boy San. But what would his old friend have to do with a plot against him? He would have to pay San a visit and find out.
Just South of River Street, from the Old Wall to the Processional, trade, commerce, and common dwellings give way to a special element. Hidden behind blank walls and screening buildings are a collection of large, lavish homes with walled gardens and guarded perimeters. This enclave, not so originally named The Enclave, is located directly east of the High Quarter and touches the green commons near the Newmarket Square. It is the place reserved for the most important of the city's underworld society. The foremost thieves of the guild dwell in The Enclave, as do the leading assassins. The community is also the home of prosperous panderers and madams, forgers and counterfeiters, actors, smugglers, and a gang boss or two.
However, the head of the Thieves Guild, as well as the Guildmaster of Assassins for that matter, and all the other oligarchs and officials of Greyhawk, had palatial residences elsewhere, disdaining The Enclave, as did all who haughtily decreed their domiciles to be in the High or even the Garden Quarter. Only the best of places in either quarter could claim more opulence than the walled villas and mansions of The Enclave, but prestige was gauged by the location of the residence first and the state of the residence second. The best of the worst and only oligarchical status could remove the epithet.
Gord was comfortably seated in one of these large and lavishly furnished dwellings located within the
