Not sure what her gesture indicated, Gord hastened to explain. "Even if it takes the whole of this stuff, dearest one, you have the brooch, and I will hold onto a few coins to see us through. I will not be so bold with the practice of my . . . arts . . . when we are together, but with care we will be able to live comfortably—"
Ageelia cut him off with a kiss and an embrace. Laughing happily, she told him, "Quiet now. Gord. You are already beginning to sound like a husband!" She turned her back to him briefly, poured wine from an alabaster ewer, then turned back again and handed one of the goblets to the young thief while keeping one for herself. "Now, let us drink to our future. Soon enough it will be daylight. Then you must take this all to Xestrazy . . . and what will we do if he refuses?"
At that, Gord laughed. "He won't pass up so fat a sum as I will bring to him. Never!" So stating, the happy swain quaffed his wine and carelessly tossed the goblet aside. "Now let's enjoy the last hours of darkness in celebration of what is to come."
Ageelia smiled a seductive, cryptic smile, drank her wine to the dregs, and refilled both vessels. "Let it be so!"
Her ready affirmation was the last thing Gord remembered of that evening of supposed love. . ..
Somehow he managed to swim through the oily water. It was black as pitch and thick as molasses, but he could breathe and see. Far above was a redness, and he knew this was the burning floor of hell. Why must he leave the comfort of this liquid, its cool and weightless peace, to tread the cruel, iron floor above that glowed with molten heat? Even as that thought went sluggishly through his mind, soft tentacles wrapped themselves around his body. He felt powerless to resist, and slowly, slowly, Gord began to sink into the depths from which he had just come...
No! Searing, white flashes shot through his brain. New strength flowed along his nerves, and he began to kick his feet and strain his arms. The enwrapping members came free as if they were tendrils of smoke. With powerful, lunging motions Gord- shot through the cloying fog that sought to smother and drown him. With a shout, his whole torso broke through the surface. Gord gasped for air. Now, if he must, he would face the fiends of hell.
In the next couple of seconds his vision came into focus. He was not in the netherworld after all — he was sitting up in his bed, the red rays of the rising sun reflecting so strongly off the open lid of the iron strongbox that they nearly blinded him. His head ached and throbbed so much he thought he would vomit from the pain. Each of his arms seemed encased in lead, each leg as heavy as a tree trunk. His brain reeled and begged him to close his eyes and sleep once more. Mustering every physical and mental resource he could command, Gord managed to roll out of bed, pull open a secret drawer, and quaff the contents of a small vial his numb fingers found therein.
Somehow his drugged mind had recalled and sought out the stuff he now guzzled. This elixir, this magical potion he drained, had cost him dearly, but it was proving to be worth every bit of the price. It was for those who had need of countering the effects of privation — lack of food, drink, even sleep. The stuff also countered infection and poison. Alcohol being a poison, and most drugs likewise, Gord tried to keep some of the elixir on hand at all times to enable him to carouse and then later nullify the effects of the dissipation in order to ply his trade.
And it was with that purpose in mind that Gord had downed a small amount of the substance the previous evening, just before the treasure-counting, wanting to remain awake all night in order to be able to drink in Ageella's beauty and consume the wine he had purchased for their celebration without being forced to waste this precious time in slumber. Now he was using the liquid for another purpose altogether — to offset the devilish drug he had ingested through no fault of his own.
"Perhaps an hour's head start, but no more than two," he muttered to himself as he noted the time of day and examined his room. Ageelia had certainly drugged his wine, picked the lock of the chest, and left with its contents. As he turned over in his mind the events of his last encounter with Ageelia, Gord cursed himself as he realized that he had let slip one vital piece of information — the name of the one who could turn the gems and trinkets into ready coin. Then he regained his composure and patted his shortsword and dagger fondly, glad that these, at least, had not attracted the treacherous bitch's avaricious attention. He stalked out of the apartment, his purposeful stride eating up distance at a brisk rate. Gord was heading for a small shop but a stone's throw from the Hillgate. There, one could exchange stolen goods of high value for gold coins of almost any nation.
"Gord, my friend." the sleazy proprietor of the establishment said with forced cheerfulness after he had been roused. "Are you out late or up early?"
"Save the dung for fertilizing your flower garden, ratface!" Gord snarled in reply. With a move too quick for the nervous little man to follow, Gord grabbed him by his hair and pressed his dagger's edge to the fence's throat. "How long ago was she here? And how much did you give her?"
"Who are you talking about? I don’t know— "
A little blood trickled from a small cut on the man's neck. "One more tying word, Basil, and you won't need to worry about that little catamite you keep housed in the Gardens! You know I mean the girl Ageelia — the long-haired dancer from the Lotus House. She must have come with a man calling himself Malik Xestrazy."
Basil was nearly breaking his neck trying to keep his throat away from the magically sharp blade of the dagger. He tried to smile and beg at the same time. "Oh, yes, that girl. I didn't understand at first. Please, Gord." he whimpered, "for the sake of our long and mutually profitable business together, let loose, and I'll gladly tell you anything you wish to know."
"You'll tell me all, now, held fast with the edge at your jugular, or else I'll spill your life all over this miserable shop," Gord said. Basil knew he meant it, so the man began chattering.
"Not an hour ago the woman of whom you speak — you say her name's Ageelia? Well, this Ageelia and her lov— her associate, Xestrazy, were here. They laid out a fortune in stones and jewelry, claiming to need coin in trade for their family heirlooms. I didn't question the validity of the claim, as I should think you'd understand, for who cares what claims are made as to where such stuff comes from?" When Gord refused to react to this observation of one thief to another, the little man averted his eyes from the other's stony lace and hurriedly went on.
"It was a fine bunch of goods, and I finally agreed to give them a thou' for the lot. Lucky for them I had most of it in plates. The Bakluni chap loaded it all into a case he had brought with him, and the two of them left in a hurry, him near staggering under the weight of the money."
"Did either say where they were headed?" Basil hesitated for only a second — time enough for the blade to send a burning signal to the nerves of his stretched-taut throat as the enchanted steel drew the red line longer. His face twitching, Basil babbled out. "A barge — she mentioned a waiting barge! He shut her up immediately, but I heard her say it!"
Gord was satisfied that he had heard the truth. "I will let you live, you miserable little rat," he hissed, "but remember I know you and your ways. If you seek revenge for this little incident, I'll come back and finish what I’ve begun."
Holding his blouse shut to cover the place where the dagger had cut him, Basil watched the young thief depart. Hate contorted his ratty visage, but stark fear gleamed in his eyes. He would never forgive Gord, but Basil would never dare to do anything about this incident, either. He knew Gord's words were no idle threat.
As he ran toward the waterfront, Gord thought about his next move. There were at least a dozen places along the docks to board a barge. Greyhawk sprawled along the bank of the broad Selletan River, and the east wall of the city was bounded by the Gray Run, itself a navigable body of water for several miles above Greyhawk. All sorts of rivercraft moored in these waters. But exactly where would the pair of scoundrels be going to gain their means of escape?