"Gone, too. Lean Cole and his bunch ate them last night."
Grumbling and fretting, Hop searched frantically for what he needed. Then, snapping his fingers, the mountebank searched his cloak. It seemed he could vaguely recall some mushrooms he'd put into an inside pocket for some reason. Sure enough! The little buttons of fungi were there — dried out and wrinkled, but they would have to do. After all, in a stew such as he'd serve, who'd be the wiser?
"Problem's solved, Cookie. I’ve found something that the boys will be sure to think is special!"
The woman finally looked up and shook her head. "Hop, you know you make that stuff of yours so spicy and full of herbs that nobody ever knows what you put in it anyway. Why worry about a few tasteless mushrooms?"
"Because," Hop told her with pride and dignity, "these are some of my special friends. I'm going to serve them up a dish they'll remember for the rest of their lives!"
"Well, I guess you'll just do that then, won't you?" Cookie said rhetorically, for Hop was already departing, pot of slumgullion in hand, heading for the common room.
There was never any doubt about its unforgettability forever after.
Cats Versus Rats
THE WELL-REGULATED BUSINESS of the Thieves Guild was in turmoil. Nerof Gasgol, Lord Mayor of Greyhawk, was personally calling upon the assembled masters of the guild. The usual procedure for such an audience would be a summons of the latter to appear before His Solemn Authority, The Lord Mayor. This reversal of form boded ill.
Amid the confusion a tall, sinewy servant went about his duties unnoticed. His hard eyes were keen and quick. None of the others hurrying about would meet his gaze twice, for the tall man's eyes were as flat and cold as a viper's.
A small whistle sounded, its brassy tweet a formal alert that visitors had entered the precinct of the guild. As a great staff was pounded to announce the lord mayor and his entourage, the tall man seemed to melt into the background. The one with viper's eyes was now no more noticeable than a table or a stool. He had, somehow, managed to shrink and become older. Now he was but one of many lackeys awaiting orders to fetch and serve.
"Cease this parody of ceremony!" the lord mayor commanded as the crier and sergeant-at-arms began to go through their well-rehearsed rituals in honor of the occasion.
"Desist!" ordered Arentol, master of the Thieves Guild. Even though he was one of the ruling oligarchs of Greyhawk, there was no question as to whom ultimate authority belonged.
Gasgol waved a hand. "Have this chamber cleared immediately. I have come to speak with you in privy."
The master of thieves signed his instructions to his fellows. Although he was quite aware that the lord mayor was an expert at the silent speech used by both thieves and assassins, Arentol was determined not to bend his guild's rituals and customs one jot more than absolutely necessary. "And your own servitors?" Gulldmaster Arentol inquired politely, even as his hands and fingers ordered the room emptied of all but a pair of guards and a like number of attendants.
"Don't be impudent." Gasgol countered dryly. Then, turning so as to face his half-dozen men, the lord mayor directed, "Two of you remain at the door while you others assist the gulldmaster's good helpers there." he concluded, pointing out the servants and guards well back from the center of the irregularly shaped counter.
"As you wish, my lord." Arentol's tone reeked of artificial politeness.
"Indeed it will be, guildmaster, indeed. Sit, sit by all means," Nerof Gasgol said with a humorless smile as he took a chair.
"The honor of your—" Arentol was not allowed to finish his attempted lie.
"Honor? Come now. Oligarch Arentol! You know very well that this visit is less than an honor to you." the lord mayor said with a chill in his tone. "Your guild is indeed honored by my presence, but it is a disgrace to you for me to be here,"
The master of thieves of Greyhawk winced imperceptibly. "I know the reason for this visit, but it is no disgrace to me. Surely, Nerof, one rogue bandit roaming so vast a city as this one cannot be so great a matter."
The lord mayor stared at the thief as he said that. "What? You, one of our oligarchs, one who has heard council and leading citizens threaten revolt, dare to say that?" Gasgol's face flushed with anger as he spoke. "This matter is one that must be resolved with alacrity, or else this guild will be made anathema until we have control once again!"
"We have obeyed the codes! All thieves of the guild obey—"
"Says you! Not a handful believe that any longer, Arentol. Even I have begun to doubt."
The guildmaster was pale but spoke firmly. "You have seen my orders, your men have been with my agents as we sought to find and take this Blackcat."
"Oh, so? And has that rogue thief been caught and put to justice? I see no head adorning the gates of the Citadel announcing Blackcat's end!"
"Such a one as that takes time to trap."
"You have run out of time, guildmaster!" As he spoke Gasgol was smiling inwardly. He reveled in the discomfort of the proud and ambitious master of thieves. Arentol was, after all, an oligarch and a potential rival for the headship of Greyhawk. The lord mayor had himself once been a thief, albeit one less skilled than the current guildmaster. The humiliating of this man before his own, before the other oligarchs, and before the eyes of the influential folk of the city would help assure Gasgol's own continued preeminence. "As of this moment I am hereby personally assuming control of the matter."
Arentol sat bolt upright in his high-backed chair. "What?"
"What, indeed. Any thief wishing to carry out his trade must first clear the matter with me — or one of my lieutenants. For that, of course, there will be an additional tithe levied against your guild. Inform your membership immediately."
"What if the members decide not to obey?"
Gasgol smiled broadly at that question. "They will be killed." he said simply. "Any thief found acting outside the strict confines I have just outlined will be subject to instant execution."
"The other guilds — assassins, beggars ..."
"Either concur or care not a bit. Arentol. After all, most have suffered loss because of your inability to find and end the career of a single rogue."
"Bah!"
Again the lord mayor smiled. "Perhaps you prefer that Blackcat not be caught."
"Are you suggesting that I somehow support the depredations of a rogue thief? That threatens my leadership and weakens—" and with that Arentol snapped his mouth shut grimly.
"Yes, that result is evident now, isn't it? Whether or not it occurred with your approval or participation, we shall soon learn, shan't we?"
"Be damned, Gasgol!" the guildmaster said forcefully but so softly that only the lord mayor could hear. "I am no fool to risk such an undertaking."
"No? Perhaps the lure of such rich hauls and an underestimation of my response prodded you into being, ah, less than prudent, shall we say?"
Guildmaster Arentol sat back and stared at the lord mayor. "So now this matter of Blackcat is out of my hands and in yours alone?" he demanded with anger evident in his tone.
"Correct," Gasgol replied. Just as forcefully.
"Very well. I shall inform the guild immediately, just as you have commanded. Guildmaster and guild bow to your wishes."
Nerof Gasgol stood. "Of course, there could be no other way. I depart now. My men, Blonk and Jenkin, will remain here to see that all goes as I wish. You, guildmaster, are to come with me to the Citadel until the matter is fully resolved."
When the lord mayor, guildmaster, and various servitors had gone. Blonk and Jenkin seated themselves comfortably at the big table. "You over there!" Blonk said to a shadowy figure hovering in the gloom. "Bring us a flagon of good ale." In a moment the attendant was back with a big beaker, and Jenkin grinned. "Out with the rest of you," he laughed, filling his tankard with the foamy, amber fluid. "This one stays to see that our drink doesn't run dry!"