Thieves, or... ?" Gord muttered, allowing the question he had whispered to the troubador to trail off meaningfully.
"Killers, I think — meaning to make their work look like that of street bandits if need be," the one-eyed man replied. "Being where we are, they'll hold off, awaiting our exit from whichever of these houses of iniquity we should choose."
Being very much familiar with the operations of both assassins and thieves, and knowing such places as Heart's Desire as well, Gord shook his head, even though the negatory gesture could not be seen in the all-but-lightless lane. "No, Gellor. They'll certainly strike when we're inside and diverted from wariness by the pleasures of the place we're in. Tell the others — I am certain of it."
One of the hooded men pointed to a flight of stone stairs leading to a cellar door. Narrow windows of deep amber glass, dirty and coated with grime, allowed a faint glow from within to illuminate the steps slightly. "Mind now. We're going down here to Hegmon's Underground... a place you're sure to like!" the man said. With laughter and rude jesting of the sort that a group out for such sport would make, the six clumped down the stairway and entered through the old door at the bottom.
It was a little brighter inside, but not much. They found themselves in a longish, narrow foyer that ran the whole length of the building's front. There were three curtained doorways on the far wall, and through the center one came a huge man, his muscles running to fat from dissipation and age, but not one to provoke nonetheless.
"Welcome, strangers! I am Hegmon, and my establishment is yours. Name your pleasure and pay the coin. No customer is ever allowed to leave unsatisfied!" The beefy fellow was not speaking idly. He was assessing the six, mentally weighing their status and purses as well, as he allowed a bland smile to lift his face slightly. However, the expression softened his eyes not a Jot.
"A quiet room in the rear, first," the taller of the two hooded men murmured in reply to the invitation. "We will indulge in Flowers of Thratus Kaloid to heighten our senses — agreed?"
Nods and words of assent came from the other five, so the massive proprietor stepped to his right, waving the group to follow. This way then, if you please, worthy gentlefolk," he said, and proceeded to take them to a smallish room toward the back of the basement. As he opened its door, Hegmon held out his hand. The salon is yours at a mere copper the hour, and the essences you require are one silver noble each. That comes to one hundred twenty-five bronze zees."
"My pleasure," Gord said with a wink to the beefy fellow as he counted out six nobles and a common into the man's fat hand. "Here's another noble for you, sir," he added as a seventh silver coin appeared in Hegmon's palm, "to see that the heady vapors arrive soon and no one disturbs us until after they are done!"
"Of course. It is always thus in Hegmon's Underground," the fellow said with his insincere smile. "I will order that none disturb you until you ring the bell there," and the beefy proprietor closed the door as he gestured to the pull Gord adjacent to it. In a few minutes an ugly old Flan opened the door and wheeled in a little cart with six earthenware flasks of odd design upon it. Saying nothing, she placed the containers before them, so that each of the six was supplied with the sense-altering drug. Without looking up or speaking, the woman then departed, shutting the door firmly behind her.
Gord, Gellor, Chert, and Greenleaf were ranged around one side of the round table in the room, while the two cloaked men were opposite the four. Both of them now threw their hoods back just a little. Anyone viewing the room through a spy hole would still not be able to distinguish them, but the four others could see their eyes and lips. One was the wizard Allton, from the Circle of Eight. The second man was a high priest named Timmil, who was associated with Tenser the Archmage. The latter gave a small wink as he drew forth a bottle from his heavy cloak. "Let us have a sip of this old Adri, a redoubtable brandy, before we sample those Flowers of Kaloid, eh?"
With laughter and much ado, the bottle was passed from hand to hand, each of them seeming to swill heartily from its contents and sigh or cough appropriately after swallowing. Gord's turn came, and he went through the act. It was bad-tasting stuff, thick and bitter. He knew it was an antidote to the narcotic effects of the vapors they would soon have to inhale. "Whoosh! Powerful stuff, comrade," he said, passing the flask along to Allton, who in turn gave it back to Timmil after taking his drink from it. "Now for the really invigorating stuff," Gord said to the company. "Come, let's enjoy!"
All six moved as close to the table as their chairs would permit, drew their container of vapors near, and hunched over so as to be able to unstopper, inhale, and restopper without losing the fumes that shot from the ceramic pot as it was warmed by each person's grasp around its smaller, bottom bulge. While seeming to be lost in enjoyment of the stuff, the six were actually busy exchanging conversation by sign. It flashed around the table like this:
"Are we watched?"
"Every move... typical of this kind of dive."
"What can be overheard?"
"Every word spoken."
"What should we do then?"
"Eliminate the one spying on us!" That sign came from Gellor.
Gord then signaled, "I see the place and the hidden door which is by it."
"Do the work," came a general series of signs.
The young thief stood, slowly inhaling deeply as he did so. "The last of the essence is gone," he finally said ruefully, "but what euphoria! I am full of every sense and feeling!" In truth, he did feel somewhat giddy and sensual, but each deep breath he took seemed to mix with the counter-agent he had drunk to nullify the narcotic vapors. Otherwise, there was no question he would have been thoroughly intoxicated by the heady stuff he'd just inhaled.
"I need to move, to experience," Gord announced to the other five, who were still in the process of sniffing up the last of the Flowers of Thratus Kaloid from their flasks. So saying, the young man stepped here and there around the room, moving quickly and as if filled with agitated energy. Seeing his nod, the others stood and began to act oddly, reaching into robes, drawing forth daggers, and so on. Whoever watched would certainly have his gaze riveted upon these strange activities.
The secret entrance to the room was hidden about three feet above the floor, its edges masked by supporting posts set into the wall and by strips of wood bracing them. It took the eye of a master thief to discover the not-quite-proper fit and note faint smudges from careless hands — where no hand should have been placed unless its owner was eight feet tall. Next to this panel was a long, irregular crevice in a ceiling timber, as if the ancient beam had dried and cracked from age. That too wasn't quite right, and Gord could discern that the "crack" was really only about an inch deep. That was obviously the spy hole.
As his associates commenced their strange behavior, the young thief began tracing the outline of the hidden portal with sensitive fingers — searching, pressing, seeking the hidden means of opening it. Come on, I know it's here somewhere, he said to himself, all the while hoping that the watcher had no means of locking the panel to prevent Just such unwanted entry as Gord had in mind.
He found a strip of wood that moved sideways. Gord gave a gesture at this discovery, and his comrades began to talk loudly and laugh. Their noise filled the chamber, and the click the panel made as Gord shoved the strip of old oak to the side was inaudible in the din. With an effortless heave, the young thief was up and into the space revealed as the portal swung inward to the left. Trusting his instincts, Gord sprang up and to the right with his dagger ready. He could Just make out a figure there, peering intently through the crack at the antics in the room below. A swift blow with the pommel of his weapon, and the surprised spy was unconscious.