"This doesn't fit the description," the cleric said with a small shrug. Puffing out his cheeks and then emitting a little sigh, he hesitated still. "How came you by this lovely little box?" he asked Gord.
"I was told there's a vellum square inside, good sir, that relates the whole matter. I am certain it will answer all your questions to the fullest," Gord told him with an ingratiating smile.
Phompton was getting impatient. "Don't be such a craven, Boflly. There is no fear of any danger here inside the castle — and these two are certainly incapable of harming either of us."
"Nevertheless, I am troubled," the priest retorted. "You detect for any enspellment, while I seek possible malign power surrounding this coffer." So saying, the cleric began to work a spell to find evil, while the court wizard resignedly went through the ritual for discovery of hidden dweomer. In a few moments both had finished their passes and stood rapuy concentrating on the box.
"Not a glimmer of magic," said Phompton.
"Nor do I find evil," admitted the priest. With that he opened the container and drew forth the sheet of vellum he found therein. As Boffly took the sheet out, there was a muffled whoosh, and a cloud of bright green dust was blown over the startled faces of both men. Boffly dropped the box, and it broke on the hard flags of the stone floor. Phompton, meanwhile, leaped backward, trying to brush the stuff from his visage. All he succeeded in doing was getting his hands stained vivid green so that they matched his face.
Chert began guffawing at the sight of the green-faced duo, while Gord did his best to appear amazed and shocked. "My good lords!" he exclaimed in mock horror. "What has happened here? Are you all right?"
Good Priest Boflly ignored all, peering intently at the sheet of parchment. "There's more than one way to skin a pair of old coots!" he said.
"What are you talking about?" the wizard demanded furiously, wondering if his associate had been unhinged by the shock of being stained in brilliant hue of purest vert.
"I am reading what is written here, you fool!" Boffly shot back to Phompton. "And it is signed 'Quodilde'," he added with a rising note of disbelief. "She's done it to us again!"
The court wizard and chief cleric of Fizziak turned in unison toward Gord, terrible things written plainly on their features. Just then there was a banging of halberds outside the door, and after a single knock the strutting Lord Preppyn entered and unknowingly interposed himself between Boffly and Phompton and the object of their revenge.
"On your feet! The Grand Count of Fizziak comes to honor you with his presence!" the popinjay proclaimed boldly. Then, as he turned slightly to be in better position to be noticed by all entering, he got a look at the green-faced pair. "Yow!" he squawked, trying to get his feet into running motion white holding himself erect by grasping the door.
"Be silent and stop trying to run awayl" the cleric commanded.
A now-speechless Preppyn still thrashed his feet wildly.
"Be still!" the cleric thundered.
Preppyn stood motionless, mouth open.
"You utter imbecile." Phompton said, forgetting in the heat of the moment just who the new object of his anger was. "I am Court Wizard Phompton, and this is Good Priest Botfly. Ignore the momentary discoloration that obscures our otherwise handsome features. And close that door immediately!"
Preppyn's mouth managed to open and shut several times. Then he stammered. "I cannot, Wizard Phompton and Good Priest Boflly. Lord Fizziak even now enters this room!"
With that, the grand count himself stepped into the chamber. "What is all this?" he asked, seeing the barbarian hillman collapsed in helpless mirth and Gord holding his sides with laughter. Then he got a look at his two grand officials and began chuckling. The whole was so infectious that even the stuffy little Preppyn was soon giggling too. Finally, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, Lord Fizziak said. "So this time Quodilde has definitely paid you back."
"It would appear so, on the face of it," Phompton admitted.
Boffly drew himself up and said haughtily, "I shall have this silly stuff removed in minutes, my lord, and then we shall see who has gotten whom!"
"Enough of your foolery! I am no longer amused with buffoonery and tricks of this sort. I command you both to set aside this petty squabble with Quodilde and prepare for our upcoming journey to Rel Mord and forget all lesser matters!"
"The capital? Why does my illustrious lord desire to go there?" Boffly said with a bit of remonstratlon evident in his questions.
"If you weren't so busy with your japes, cleric," the grand count said icily, "you would be aware that our beloved nephew, Lord Maheal, is betrothed to Lady Dulicia of Grimalkrnsham."
"Quodilde's brat!?" the cleric snapped before he could restrain himself.
"Your reference to Lady Dulicia, daughter of the Baroness of Grimalkin, is ill-advised." said Lord Fizziak with an icy stare. "I will not remind you again that her ladyship is not to be referred to as a brat — evert She unites the barony with Fizziak lands," the grand count added meaningfully.
"Of course, lord," the deflated priest said humbly. He allowed Phompton to steer him out then, without protest. As these two were making their hasty exit, Lord Preppyn shouted after them, "And never refer to me as an imbecile again! Really, Uncle, you must do something about the manners of your help!"
Lord Fizziak told the two adventurers to prepare for their audience and elevation on the morrow, then departed with Preppyn dithering in his Wake.
It was much like pulling teeth from unwilling monsters, but Gord eventually managed to get a full accounting of the fortune he and Chert had managed to gain, then lose here at Castle Fizziak. The steward presented Gord with a long sheet filled with writing and sums, shoving small stacks of gold, electrum, silver, copper, bronze, and even brass bits along with it. "This is exact and to the last coin." the official said smugly.
Gord went over the reckoning carefully. The steward was taken aback as he saw the young man reading and checking the addition. Surreptitiously, the fellow slipped several more coins into the piles before him. Gord pretended not to notice. "Here! What's this about a 'gift'?" he demanded, coming to the end of the long column.
"For the noble couple on their upcoming day of joy," the steward said smoothly. "Lord Fizziak personally instructed me to extract a generous amount on your behalf to honor the house of the groom."
"Oh," Gord said tonelessly, sighing at the loss of yet another ten gold pieces. All told, he had only forty of the gold coins left to share with Chert. The remainder didn't amount to a single orb. This was going to take some tall storytelling, but what the hells, it was better than nothing, Gord rationalized.
Chert, naturally, was furious at the loss of their fortune, which was perhaps the largest sum ever stolen in Greyhawk. After a day or two he started speaking to his comrade again, if only to threaten to tear him apart for having gotten him into the whole mess in the first place. "I told you we shouldn't have stolen that relic, but no, you had to have your way — and now look where it's gotten us! The next time. ." and on he went, incessantly stating'his complaints until Gord wondered if he'd even allow his friend to accompany him in an adventure again as long as he lived!
Dealing with the irate and vengeful Boffly and Phompton was another matter altogether. They had made common cause with Pinkus and even Lord Maheal, all somehow blaming Gord and Chert for their troubles. All in all, the next week was miserable, but the young thief managed to survive the ordeal through staunch determination and plenty of ducking. Then it was time to accompany the grand count's vast train on its journey to the royal capital of Nyrond, the city of Rel Mord.