Chapter 2
The
Guildhouse
Earthday, month
of Wealsun, 591 CY
I had a bad, bad
feeling about this.
I had no real
idea what this was all about, however, so I didn’t know how to prepare. As
well, it was best not to keep anyone at the guildhouse waiting too long. They
all had nasty tempers.
I shimmied my
way down from Merreck’s cubbyhole, using the wooden legholds I had memorized on
my way up. A perfect memory is a very useful thing indeed, and I was thinking
about what resources I had.
I was not fool
enough to keep any coins or valuables in my own cubbyhole, which I shared with
three other apprentice thieves. It used to be four, until Hayli made the mistake
of picking a Rhennee fellow’s pocket. Or trying to, rather. The guild hadn’t
even attempted an evening of scores – apprentice thieves just aren’t worth the
bother.
But I did keep a
few worthless things there, toys and scraps. So they’d have something to look
through, whoever ‘they’ were… and I also kept one thing that only seemed
worthless, my one magical treasure.
A pitted,
seemingly bent knife of tarnished copper was openly driven into the wood by my
blanket. I knew the others had tried to take it, despite its appearance, but it
seemed stuck into the wood. It was not.
Amazingly
enough, I’d actually found it in a garbage heap, a couple of years ago. It took
me awhile to gather up enough courage to approach, since it shown so brightly
with power to my senses that I could not quite see well enough to tell what it
was. It took even longer to muster the will to actually appropriate it, since I
had trouble believe that such an item of power would lie abandoned. But it was,
and I did.
The runes on the
metal were faint with the passage of ages, the intelligence I felt in my first
touch upon the cool metal slumbering. Alive, yet dreaming. My touch awakened
it, but the spirit seemed to have lost much of its mental voice. Kallahast
recited the powers it held in a thready, grandfatherly voice, acknowledged me
as its new mistress, and fell right back to sleep.
I’d never felt
pity for an inanimate object before, or for the elderly. The first felt no
pain, or so I had supposed, and the second had at the very least managed to
survive. For such a tiny thing, a curved green-flecked copper knife scarcely
the length of both my open hands, Kallahast could do so much. I could have
uttered a word, and it would have appeared in my hand, but I didn’t want to
attract attention - or make it to the guildhouse any sooner than I truly had
to.
Now that I had
it in my hands, I felt much better. I swept greasy, ash stained fingers through
my short, equally filthy black locks, and was on my way.
--<0>--
Everyone knows that the thieves’ guildhouse, “City Hall” as it is known only half in jest, lies in the Old City Great Hall, where Greyhawk’s government once resided. It is a most impressive building, presenting a grand facade, rebuilt as it was after the fire of 584, and no common urchin would be granted access – or at least not openly. There were surely many secret entrances, but I only knew of one.
The sewers, how
else. The actual sewers beneath the building and in a few other select places
were sternly guarded. The workers, the filthiest and smelliest bunch of dwarves
and gnomes in the Flanaess, whispered that dark things slithered there. If
those nasty brutes, who could give a drunken troll a real contest where it came
to bad breath, ill temper and ready fists, were afraid, there was surely
something to fear.
The sewer
adjunct I used was old and crumbling, and not in general use. Perfit, who’d
introduced me to it long ago, claimed that an old time robber baron had bribed
one of the architects in charge of rebuilding the original sewers, back in the
time of Zagyg the mad, to adjust things a bit. At the time, the official map
kept in the Great Citadel bore only a marked semblance of the true layout.
These days, the mayor being a thief, that was doubtless no longer true.
It was an
unusually clement day for low summer. The threatening clouds had vanished, and
the sunshine warmed my skin. The crowds were not so bad, as I chose to avoid
the petit bazaar, not wishing to be seen at ‘work’. Passing the Black Gate to
the thieves’ quarter, I paid my common and signed the usual X. There was sufficient
traffic that no one paid any real attention to a child who wasn’t obviously
carrying anything.
A derelict
figure huddled near the sewer egress, watching the few passersby from beneath
hooded eyes, a begging bowl before him. Renaulf was a refugee from the wild
coast, and had picked up a filthy wound from the orcs. Unlike some of the
beggars, he really had lost the use of an arm.
I’d always tried
to keep on their good side. The beggars see everything and remember most of it.
“Hey
there,” I smiled and tossed a tarnished silver noble into his bowl, to keep
company with the three commons there. It was customary the pay the gatekeeper,
and I wanted something extra.
“Say,”
I leaned forward and toned down my voice, “you know anything about a fellow
Dirk, I believe they call him the Greeter?”
“That’ll
cost you somewhat, princess,” Ranaulf grated out. A closer look showed
bloodshot eyes and all the signs of a serious afterdrunk.
“Come
now, be serious, Ran,” I protested. “I’m a bleeding apprentice. You think I’d
carry coin into the guild, of all places? You know I’m good for it.”
He
seemed to consider it, a trifle too slowly for the knots in my stomach.
“Oright,”
he murmured, “I heard ye be a good sort. But don’t think I’d forget!”
Riding
right over my protest, he carried on.
“Now
then, this fellow is right nasty, I hear. A mite too close to the assassins. He
an’ that Turin fellow were thought to keep company. Word is the Dirk has deep
pockets, a pretty girl, and a small residence up in the Garden. Shouldn’t
rightly be visiting the thief’s quarter. He is, ain’t he? You wouldn’t be in a
hurry otherwise. I’d bet ye’d clean up nice,” he leered.
“But
you’re a bit young, and he ain’t got that rep. It means big money, girlie, I’d
bet you a bottle of dragon’s breath on it, if I had one. You won’t forget poor
Ranaulf when you’re rich, right, princess?”
I
sneered right back. “When I’m rich, surely! You’ve been drinking way too much,
your brains have curdled, that’s certain. You really think anything’d trickle
down my way, assuming I ain’t the bait that gets chewed up? But don’t you
worry. I forget nothing. Rudd’s luck to you!”
I’d been
watching the alley, and the way was clear. I darted away and pressed the lever,
leaping blindly into the darkness. I must have been fast enough, or Ranaulf
chose not to bother with a rejoinder, and the opening closed behind me with a
low clicking noise.
It
might have been blind dark, but that didn’t bother me at all. Night was no bar
to my sight. I grabbed the ladder, not bothering with the hidden recess that
held lantern, tindertwig and oil, and climbed down.
Rudd?
She’s my choice of a goddess, the lady of fair fortune, self reliance and
skill. A mortal risen to divinity, I deemed her suitable for someone who must
beat the odds, such as myself.
Dirk the Greeter’s name was met with nods
from the lanky, teenaged pair of visible guards, who were almost swollen with
self importance. Their swords were so big, they probably wouldn’t be able to
take more than a swing or three before collapsing from sheer exhaustion.
The silly gits were kind enough to offer me
vague directions, “he’s one of the masters,” the pimply one told me something I
already knew, “and yer to find him on the second floor, on the left from the
grand staircase.”
He shot me an appraising gaze, which was
rather surprising considering my present looks and state of cleanliness, and
added, “I heard he’s the prissy kind. Feels that filth’s beneath him,” he
emphasized pointedly.
I could only shrug in response – he’d asked
for me quicktime, and he’d just have to survive the stink.
It was obvious that I’d been expected, for
there was no other reason for the guards on duty to know the location of Dirk’s
quarters. A master thief he may have been, but he did not normally reside in
the thieves’ quarter.
Ranaulf’s words rang true – an uptown man,
judging by the ‘prissy’ remark, he almost certainly made his living either in
the Garden quarter or the High quarter, where the noble and rich made their
homes.
I knew enough of the invisible internal
demarcations of the guildhouse to be certain that the rooms he’d taken were
reserved for visiting masters, though I’d never been in the vicinity.
I made my way up to the second floor,
avoiding the peristyle of Kurel’s temple, which always struck as somewhat
ridiculous – a square of carved columns surrounding an altar to a dark god
should, theoretically, be hidden somewhere underground or something. He was too
bitter a god for my taste, anyway. I am a sweet girl, and I like things sweet.
Really!
I was approaching the purported location of
Dirk the Prissy’s room, pondering exactly how I was supposed to guess which
suite was his, when one of the doors opened, and a girl stepped out.
I couldn’t help but stare, eyes wide.
Yellow hair curled down to the middle of her back, precious stones winking from
the gold wire that twisted amidst the curls. Her sleeveless dress was crimson
silk threaded in gold and quite revealing, thigh-high boots glittered red with
scales taken from some sort of horrible creature, and what little jewelry she
wore, a necklace, a begemmed ring and a bracelet, was both expensive and
tasteful. The girl herself was beautiful in a doll-like fashion, fully made up
and perfumed, and though her bust was rather large, she appeared not fully
grown. A head taller than myself, I judged her cautiously to be perhaps fifteen.
So maybe Dirk the Dick did like them young, I pursed my lips in worry, and
opened my mouth to speak.
I was pre-empted. She’d looked me up and down,
surprisingly enough without any hint of revulsion, “You’re the princess right?”
Her voice was soft and breathy
and contained the smile her full lips avoided, doubtless with something of an
effort. I was annoyed at showing my surprise, not embarrassed, but let her keep
her illusions. And then came the words I was dreading… “time enough for a bath
and a styling,” she looked at my hair, and absorbed my fierce frown without a
change of expression. “Part of the job, dearie, so you’ll just have to be all
noble ‘bout it,” her accent slipped, showing that she’d likely been gutter scum
not terribly long ago. Or at least, had associated with such.
This was bad. In fact, it
might be downright disastrous. Choices, choices… there were none. I followed
the snake sway of her hips into the luxuriously appointed room, so preoccupied
that I didn’t even bother to case it. Not that filching from the guildhouse was
an option, naturally.
The large copper tub was
already full of steaming water, and there were six large buckets with yet more,
as well as three bars of soap, the expensive kind I’d only seen a couple of
times, when I sneaked into the Blue Lotus after a well heeled mark, the only
time I’d really been forced to rely on my magic – serious security there, I’d
had to stick to crawling on the ceiling to make my way out – and in another
house, when one of the girls had a client who needed a lockpick. Paid well too,
and I’d made sure they saw a different face than mine.
I couldn’t quite contain a
small snicker. The guild was one of the very few places around with indoor
plumbing, like the wizards’ guildhouse and a few great mansions. But someone
had decided to introduce a certain waterbug into the pipes in an ill conceived
scheme whose ends I could not imagine – unless it was a simple prank that had
gotten out of hand. It must have been brought in from the southern jungles or a
wizard’s lab, because it multiplied like mad. They were still working on the
problem, and I didn’t envy the one responsible when they found her.
But it did underscore the
importance of the bath thing. Not that I had any objections to being clean, per
se. Being clean was nice, I distinctly remembered. The real problem was getting
used to the filth again, assuming they’d let me. I was betting that things were
going to change, and not necessarily for the better, and inventing new curse
words to heap on whoever had mentioned my name, of all the filchers
available. Must have been Merreck, demons take him!
There was another door inside,
I noted, and nodded internally. The Dick probably meant to just accidentally
enter the room while I was bathing and not so accidentally have his way with
me. It was too predictable. Making it seem as though I was trying to prolong
the time before the dreaded bath, I put on a sullen expression. “What’s yer
name, sweetie pie? And what do I do with my things?”
She’d been watching me with tolerant amusement painted
on her features, and never noticed the wooden wedge I sent sailing at the far
door. It might be enough. “Charise. Just throw the clothes down, I’ll have them
burned. Your new duds are over there,” she pointed to large wooden table that
shone richly with lacquer and had more curlicues than her hair. A brief glance
showed royal blue, but I was too terrified to really look. “Put your tools in
that bowl,” she pointed to something the tub hid. No choice, I looked down at
myself, and starting divesting said self of coins, picks and sharp things,
Kallahast first, piling them loosely into the brass bowl that looked like a
chamber pot, of all things. It didn’t smell like one, fortunately.
I straightened, and we just
stared at each other. Her eyes, I noted absently, were dark green. She
gestured, as if to say ‘well’, and I bit my lip, and began tearing things off.
It didn’t take very long, but it felt like hours, stripping as she stared at me
intently. As soon as everything was off, I jumped into the tub, luxuriating
shamelessly as the heat and oils soaked into me, eyes closed with bliss. I jumped
again when something rough rubbed into my skin, and couldn’t help but blush.
She’d taken off her dress and
jewels and everything else. Charise, nude, was an impressive specimen if you
liked them slightly plump and full breasted. Her dark nipples were hard, and
she moistened her full lips suggestively with a long swipe of her tongue, a
naughty smile on. She also had a brush in hand, and was using it on my skin
with a bit too much enthusiasm. If the pale translucence were half as delicate
as it appeared, she’d have rubbed bruises in, leaving most of my body black and
blue. Actually, it was quite pleasant bliss, a sensation the likes of which I’d
never felt before. I concentrated for a moment and released the minor bit of
power, the thinnest of tendrils, to sweep most of the dirt away, when she
changed the water. The white had changed to a nasty looking grey sludge.
“My, my,” she stared at my
nudity for a full minute, before pouring hot water into the empty tub. I
squirmed as the heat returned, the heat of her eyes on my body.