"Left here," the young thief murmured to himself. He used no light to discern his path through the pitchy darkness of the labyrinth, yet he saw clearly. Thanks to his dweomered shortsword, Gord could move easily in total gloom. "That iron ladder takes me to where I must go," he added, and then he scrambled up the rungs. Starlight was visible now, and soon he had slipped through an opening in the drainage grate and was abroad on the streets of Greyhawk once again, a deeper bit of blackness in the shadows.
Gord had been making expeditions of this nature for some time now. There had been rich hauls and close calls. The bet he'd lost with the Lord of Cats had been one of the latter, as had been the slip when Blackcat had foolishly attempted to loot the city's treasury. Earlier, it had seemed to Gord that it was mainly his friend Chert's profligacy that had kept him chronically short of coin. Now that the great barbarian was gone, however, Gord had to admit to himself that his own bad habits were primarily responsible for his needing to frequently replenish his dwindling purse.
"Two hours o' the clock, and all's well!" The cry sounded from the street nearby. The sound of the tramping feet of the soldiers of the watch as they marched through their rounds faded to the north. Gord clambered swiftly upward to the tall, narrow building's sharply peaked roof of slate. The place was the headquarters of a syndicate that gathered up rarities from everywhere, gaining them by means fair or foul. This secret group then disbursed its stock here and there in Greyhawk — exotic poisons to the Assassins Guild, rare scrolls to mages or collectors, jewelry to the rich, and so on.
Not many minutes later, the black-garbed young thief was again below, this time returning the way he had come. Skill, intelligence, and not a few magical devices assured Blackcat that neither deadly trap nor enchantment would detect his presence or protect the valuables he intended to pilfer.
This time Gord had taken only a small portion of the treasure that was stored in the building. Ancient funerary pieces, gold and gems worn by a Sulolse king ages dead, were stored safely within his felt-lined pouch. Gord chuckled, thinking how Lord Mayor Gasgol would rage when he was informed of the loss, for these very trinkets had been his share of the profits from the secret operations of the syndicate. News of this theft, at least, would not be broadcast throughout the streets of the city, for Gasgol himself had been criminally involved in the matter. Not that this fact would lessen the hunt for Blackcat. . . .
"Three hundred for the lot," Basil said. "Stones and ingots and amber."
Gord eyed the ratty little fence. The offer was a good one, and this made the young thief uneasy. Without thinking, Gord plucked out one piece of amber, a golden drop that had a spider trapped within its depths. "A deal, Basil!" Gord said. "But I shall retain this one trantle for myself."
Basil scowled and bit his lip. The bit of amber would fetch eight or more orbs in the right place. "You are a vile mountebank, Gord! I'll be lucky to garner a handful of silver from this lot without that amber you offered," he said with a whine.
"Batcrap," Gord said with a grin. "That red gold there is nearly pure and will fetch a premium from goldsmiths, as you and I both know well. Those stones — rare lavender diamonds and pearls, too — will easily cover your offer to me. The way I make it, you'll pocket about fifty orbs on the transaction."
"The risk! The uncertainty! The . . ."
"The deal's off unless you shut your mouth and pay me!" Gord said with finality.
Basil looked daggers at the young thief but kept silent. The fence disappeared into his establishment and returned a short time later with a leather bag. "Here's a hundred and fifty," he said as he plopped the sack down on the table. "And don't you say anything now, Gord. or there will be no deal from me. That's all the coin I have right now. but in a couple of days you'll get the balance. Do you want me to bring it round to someplace? Or do you prefer that I hold it for your next visit?"
"Sure thing. Basil." Gord said with a glare. "I'll accept the half now and be back in two days for the balance. For your health, I suggest you have it handy when I drop by." He eyed the fence as he spoke, but Basil merely shrugged and nodded.
"Done. I will expect you two days hence."
Back in his apartment in the Craftsmen's Ward, Gord flopped on his bed and decided to spend the rest of the day sleeping. He'd had an easy time of it after all. Separating gems from settings was mere child's play. The gold had been a little harder to get out. and he bad hated to destroy such old and beautiful craftsmanship - no, artistry. But he had done it nevertheless. Pounding made the stuff shapeless and generally unrecognizable. For a few nobles, a not-altogether-honest coppersmith had smelted the lumps into little bars of gold, undoubtedly nicking a little for himself for good measure in the process. Basil had actually offered a bit more for the whole take than Gord had expected. It would be no real trouble to make the three hundred he got from this job go for a year's time — but maybe only half that long if Gord chose to live it up occasionally. Just to be on the safe side, he decided, wenches and gambling were to be shunned as of today. . . .
Thunk.
The soft sound of something falling to the floor made Gord sit up and peer over the edge of the bed. There was the piece of amber with the entombed spider. The stuff seemed to glow, and the spider within its head stood out starkly. "Beautiful and doubly deadly," Gord said aloud as he leaned over and picked the thing up. "I'll place you in my pouch for safekeeping now," he said, peering into the amber and speaking to the long-dead arachnid. "Some doddering mage or muddlepated priest will surety pay dearly for such a trophy as you, but have no fears for now, spider. You are safe until my funds run low." With that, the thief snuffed out his candle and put his head on his pillow. Sleep came instantly.
"What do you see, spell-binder?" The demand was sharp, and the dweomercraefter addressed in such a tone disliked it. It was an affront. The man answered anyway.
"Something clouds my vision. A power prevents location. Master Viper."
"Devils rot your brain! What use are your incantations and paraphernalia if you can't so much as locate a simple object but a few miles distant?"
The mage showed no expression on his gray visage as he replied. "I did tell you that the spider was within the city."
"Such prowess! What fool does not know that Blackcat lurks within Greyhawk? Fagh! I must know exactly where the skulking little cat hides!" Viper, the assassin, glared at the spell-user for a moment as if expecting the fellow to suddenly confess he knew the information.
"Magic has its limits," was all the man said.
Viper turned on his heel. "Keep on, Yormodrin. Do not stop your casting until you can supply me at least some clue, or the guild shall soon be in need of a new worker of spells." How could this fool not be able to discover the location of so simple a thing as a spider locked fast in amber? The stone-eyed assassin wondered this as he left the place and headed for the streets of the Low Quarter to see if he could uncover any information himself. Lord Gasgol was furious at the loss of his own personal treasure, and that fury threatened everyone, even Viper himself. Fortunately, the assassin had been with the lord mayor when the loss was reported by a trembling lackey sent by the syndicate's frightened leader. Viper had immediately gone to the individual responsible for safekeeping of the loot and questioned him thoroughly. Of all he learned, only one bit was of any use.
The jewelry could easily be broken up and sold; of that there was no doubt. Viper held no hope of ever discovering the whereabouts of the stuff, for it would be scattered far and wide as loose stones, remounted in different settings, the original settings melted down for the value of the metal. One piece of it was unique and describable, however. That was the key to finding and eliminating Blackcat once and for all. There was a piece of cabochon-cut amber containing a spider — a spider of purple hue with a flamelike pattern upon its underbelly. That description was sufficient to trace the amber gem anywhere. In time it would turn up, he hoped. At least if it should come up in Greyhawk, Viper would know about it within an hour. But he didn't want to sit around and wait for that to happen. Time was something he didn't have!