the two young men was eroding the mutually beneficial relationship they had all enjoyed in the past. The three of them used to do everything together, but now either Sunray or Gord was alone half the time. Gord planned capers for himself and Teline, and Sunray likewise developed adventures that left Gord on the outside. Gord had been left alone on this night, actually, and had been none too pleased with the fact. Thus, he acted a bit rashly in once again donning his Sir Margus guise and venturing forth to see what delights the night might hold.
No linkboy was needed to light the streets in High Quarter. Cressets and lamps hung from its buildings made the streets bright enough. No escort was necessary either, for the broad thoroughfares were well-patrolled by the Watch and observed by many private guards in addition. Gord had no need for either torchbearer or protector, having grown up in the darkness and danger of the Old City’s worst sections, but as a Velunese knight of few years and unknown capabilities visiting the metropolis of Greyhawk, he would have been obliged to have them for show had the quarter been anything other than it was. He determined to stay within the warmly illuminated avenues of the place, and to stray neither into its more dimly lit, seductive byways nor beyond its boundaries. With him, as always, was the small sword of finest craftsmanship, which he had disguised with gold wire and gewgaws to appear the trapping of a dandy rather than a weapon, and his familiar old dagger and knife. The former, also embellished, hung at his right hip; the latter was nestled out of sight in his boot. His purse contained a total of five orbs value, in various types of coin-enough for fun and sportive gaming. The remainder of his winnings, and the rest of other successes too, was cleverly hidden as usual. Not even Sunray or Teline knew where he secreted this wealth. Damn them both! He would have his amusement without further thought of either.
Avoiding the Patricians’ Club, the establishment in which he’d outfoxed Lord Dolph, he walked away from The Citadel toward the less prosperous section where High and Garden Quarters met. There was more excitement to be had there, and less risk posing as a Velunese. It was unlikely that he’d run into anyone thereabouts who knew Sir Margus. He strolled toward the door of the Nymph and Satyr, selected it as a good place to begin, and in a minute was seated and quaffing his first tankard, casually observing the clientele.
“Sir Margus, how pleasant to find you here!” The voice from just behind his shoulder startled Gord, for he usually detected any nearby presence-a sixth sense, almost. He turned hurriedly to cover his confusion. It was Arentol, and the guildmaster was smiling slightly.
“I was just speaking of your marvelous success the other evening,” he said. “Allow me to introduce my associate to you, for he was fascinated by the tale.” Arentol turned and beckoned. From the shadow of a nearby pillar stepped someone Gord knew well.
“Master San of Warwell, may I present Sir Margus of the noble Velunese House of Leewes. Sir Margus, Master San.”
Gord kept his eyes fixed on his old friend’s face, but San never showed a hint of recognition. Blandly, San responded, “An honor indeed, sir,” and gave a slight bow.
Arentol was not finished. “Come and join us at our table, please! We two are poor company, but we offer fine drink and a willing ear for your stories of far Veluna and your travels.” The guildmaster was all warmth and smiles as he touched Gord’s arm and gestured in the direction of his table across the room.
“It will be my distinct pleasure, Honorable Guildmaster-and master… San? Yes. Yes, by all means!” said Gord with equal friendliness, moving with them. “Let us share a cup or two, and I shall gladly tell you all about my wonderful homeland and the exciting adventures I have experienced since leaving that fair place.” Gord gave both fellows an ingenuous smile. “Serving maid!” he cried out as they reached the table. “We need your ministrations here!”
If the Lord of Greyhawk’s head thief thought to test Gord on his knowledge of Veluna and the lands around, he had not reckoned with that worthy’s previous schooling. While Gord had never been more than a mile beyond the walls that encircled the city, he had spent many hours reading history, studying geography, and hearing lectures on such faraway places. Perhaps Arentol thought San’s smiles were due to the elaborate lengths Gord went to in the near-monolog that ensued, or perhaps he attributed the cheerfulness to the young man’s ability to storytell. Gord knew that his old chum was secretly laughing deep inside as Gord related, nearly word for word, what both had heard from a particularly dry and windy professor. Gord intermixed a bit of his own fanciful creations withal, but the context was unmistakable.
Finally, after nearly two hours, and many draughts of the most expensive liquor the establishment offered, Arentol broke in. “And that ring on your finger? As I recall, you said it was a valuable family heirloom when you wagered it at the game.”
“Ring?” Gord allowed his gaze to move idly to the piece of jewelry on his finger as his mind raced. He had underestimated the guildmaster. A mistake.
“You mean this?” he said, holding up the chrysoberyl and moving it slightly so that the large green cat’s-eye winked back and forth in the light. “Great Pholtus, no! This trantlum is no family treasure, I mean.” Gord used his utmost duplicity to make the whole sound like indifferent and demeaning speech.
“Odd,” commented the Guildmaster, “I’d have sworn that you said it was a treasure. No matter…. But if it is no family heirloom, wherefrom came it?”
“Aha! You’re on to it, clever fellow. It is worth a bit of coin, and it does mean much to me. You guessed at the tale, so now I shall relate it for you!”
At first the guildmaster seemed interested, but after several minutes of preamble, he began to shift restlessly in his seat. He politely suggested that Gord get to the point. Gord assured him he was doing that, and then the young man went on to tell of a meeting with a devious gypsy and his band of sullen cutthroats, how they had tried to first dupe, then overwhelm him, and how he had finally slain the leader in single combat, thus gaining the ring.
At this, Arentol grumbled softly and abruptly excused himself to go to the jakes. After letting a couple of minutes pass in silence, San spoke.
“You’ve put him off, Gord,” he murmured with his flagon held before his mouth. “He’s suspicious of you now, and he’ll never stop until he finds out for sure, one way or another, whether you are who you claim to be.”
San cast a glance over his shoulder, checking to see if Arentol was on his way back to the table, while he waited for a response. Clearly nervous for himself as well as for his friend of old, he faced Gord again and with sad eyes gave him a last, whispered piece of advice. “You’d best get out of Greyhawk-while you can!”
Gord smiled but drained his cup instead of replying. The guildmaster returned, and within moments thereafter Sir Margus graciously took his leave.
Teline found the note first and read it aloud to Sunray: “My dear friends, I am so sorry I must leave without proper farewell, but a messenger from my family has brought me news that I am urgently required in Veluna. Do visit if you ever should come there! Your most loving servant, Margus.”
“What is this shit?” demanded Sunray.
Teline looked up from the note, her face contorted in anger. “The bastard has skipped with everything!” she shrieked.
That was a lie. Gord had left a pair of luckies next to the note.
Chapter 10
“Furl that sodomized sail, you mudsucking shitfoot!” The captain was not one to mince words, especially in the middle of a vicious storm.
“Aye, aye, cap’n!” Gord replied, tearing at the flapping canvas. He was near to being blown off the barge by the combined force of wind and sail, nearly blinded by the sheets of driven rain, and exhausted, but he obeyed as well as he could.
“Well, move your blasted buns then! How in hell can I save us all from visitin’ the bottom with the likes of you crewin’ this tub?!”
Gord had the sail in hand now, and several others of the Rhennee crew were helping him to secure it with stout lines so that it wouldn’t break loose again.
“Avast there, you blasters!” Gord heard the captain shouting in a bellow that managed to defeat the howl of the storm. “We need that gaff sail to keep her headed-” and then a shrieking blast of wind tore away the rest of the
