There were no clues to be had at the Flaming Torch, Ancient King, Jolly Master, or Nymph and Satyr. One barmaid at the Lusty Friar, though, told Gord that she thought she recalled seeing one of Kesterin's general description having been here with a fat young chap about his own age and a hollow-cheeked man she thought was a professor or some such — she was very vague there. A copper richer, she hurried off to serve the thirsty throng of young patrons. Gord left his ale unfinished and went searching again, now fairly certain of his quarry.
The gaunt man the wench described could be no other than Maust the Scholar. If he had, in fact, ever professed any particular subject, Gord didn't know what it was. He did know that Maust operated a seedy place called the inn of the Seven Quills, a few minutes' walk from the tavern. It was a likely place for Kesterin to hole up in until he felt it was safe to leave Greyhawk, and it was equidistant from Southgate and Longgate too. The only problem was in getting into the inn without alerting Kesterin. Maust knew what Gord looked like, for the two had experienced several unfriendly encounters in the past year.
The proprietor wasn't in the common room, so Gord walked boldly into the place. "Give me an ale-gill, my good man," he said with a merry voice and simpering manner to the barkeep, "and do tell Kesterin I have come with what he needed," Gord concluded, patting his purse to indicate the need was money. The purse was heavy, and the sound of the chinkers therein evident.
"Kesterin? I know no Kesterin," the barkeep responded abruptly.
"Maybe he goes by another name these days. You would know him if you saw him. He's very sexy," Gord winked.
"I wouldn't know anything about that!" the barkeep said, his forehead wrinkled in an unmistakable frown.
"Well," Gord leaned closer, "you're not so bad yourself, and I would know about that!" The good-looking young thief removed a lucky from a pocket inside his robe and set it spinning on the bar as he cast an inquiring look in the bartender's direction. "I know you're acquainted with Maust the Scholar and I'll bet you can tell me whether or not he's had any company of late. . . ." Gord gave the barkeep an admiring glance. He was about done with this game. This was a role he would just as soon never have to play again!
Hie barkeep withdrew the lucky from the counter and said "The person you might be looking for goes by the name Lambert. His chamber is at the back of the inn, on the topmost floor. If you'll pardon me whilst I fetch another to stand my post, I'll tell the man that you've come to see him."
With a flip, Gord sent another electrum piece to the barkeep. "Save yourself the effort, there's a lucky chap!" Giggling in a shrill voice at his own witticism, Gord drawled over his shoulder, "I shall tell him m'self, thanks."
Out of sight, the young adventurer made a wry face and spat. This sort of pose was not to his liking, but it was far better than being executed for a murder he hadn't committed. He'd do what he must in order to get to the bottom of the game that had been run, for his whole life had been affected. The hall was narrow and ill-lighted, but Gord had no difficulty finding his way to the room that apparently hid the dead Basil's boyfriend. Voices were coming from the place, muffled by the door, but not so much so that Gord couldn't identify them. Kesterin, Maust, and the others must all be within.
Not having his sword, Gord decided waiting was the best approach. He pressed his body flat against the recess of the door to the room next to Kesterin's. He expected to have to remain in this uncomfortable position for a while, but he wasn't expecting what happened next. One minute Gord was vertical, his body stiff and rigid by choice, and the next he was toppling into the darkness of the room behind the door.
"Wha— ?" he cried out in surprise.
"If you've come to rob me," a soft voice whispered, "the valuables I possess are on the top of the lowboy."
Gord froze. What was this?
There was a sharp intake of breath, the speaker having held it listening for some sound or reply until needing air. Then she spoke again. Take the stuff, but I warn you I am armed, and if you touch me I'll kill you!" the soft voice hissed this time. It managed to sound quite menacing.
"Sssshhh!" Gord closed the door quickly, cutting off the light from the hallway. "I'm here neither to rob nor molest. Be still, and in a few minutes I'll be gone."
"How do I know you speak the truth? You've been sneaking around outside my door, haven't you? I heard you bumping against the planks and, rather than have you break it down I figured I might as well let you in, give you all I have and be rid of you without having to suffer the violence that usually accompanies this sort of nocturnal visit."
Gord was exasperated. He would have only a minute or two after Maust left to question the catamite rogue about Basil and the plot that lost Gord a fortune. The owner would certainly check downstairs, and there the barkeep would mention Gord's coming to see Kesterin — alias Lambert — and the ploy would be known.
"Hush! Use your weapon if I move closer — yell aloud for all I care. I'm staying right here until ... I can go out again. No noise meantime." he whispered forcefully.
"I think I'll scream now."
Gods, the woman! "No. no! Please don't make noise!" Gord was nearly frantic now. "Wait. I have an idea. Before you do anything, think about this. I'll leave you a handful of silver nobles if you remain quiet until I'm gone."
"I don't believe that lie for a moment," the soft voice shot back. "Now I'll scream even louder."
"Here! I’ve got a handful of coins now — silver, electrum, and whatever else is there. It's too dark to see, but I’ll put them on the floor." He let them clink as he did so.
"I'll light the lamp to see if you're telling the truth."
Devils must possess this woman. Gord thought. How he regretted the lack of the dweomered blade that allowed him to see in the dark. Without his enchanted sword, he was as helpless as a blind man. Without light he couldn't see. but he didn't want it nowl "Not the lamp!" he hissed back as sharply as he could. "I'm here to hide from another. The light will betray me."
"Nonsense! This is my room, and everyone in the inn must know I'm here. You'll not be at risk from a mere light," she replied.
It did make sense, but Gord remained stubbornly determined. "Don’t touch the lamp!"
"All right, sir smart-ass. I shall not." The whole room was suddenly washed in bright, clear light. "Is this spell to your taste?"
Blinking and owlish, Gord tried to regain his vision, but his eyes were filled with dancing spots. He had been peering almost directly into the area the woman had used to cast the magic that created light.
"Helpless female, my ass! What kind of a game are you playing here?"
The woman ignored the question. "Well, you look a student, but you act the part of a thief, and you're a bit too old ... so i'd say you're a thief." the female voice laughed softly. "You're not too ugly a thief, though, so I shall allow you to explain everything to me now — and take back your coins, too. You might need them later."
Slipping down to a sitting position on the floor, Gord leaned back against the door. By now his eyes had adjusted to the light and he was able to see that this was a female of great beauty. "I trust I can speak from here." he whispered. "I must be off at a moment's notice."
"Of that, we shall see," the woman said as she donned a white robe to cover her nightdress. She carefully rearranged her long, blonde tresses and then turned her full attention to Gord. "Tell me the tale you have, and then I will judge whether or not the authorities should be called."
"And if I am a licensed thief?"
"You will be the oddest one I’ve encountered, and perhaps a dead one, too."
"I am no lackey of the guild, madam," Gord said with resignation. The woman was a strongly built, well-proportioned one only a bit older than Gord. From the things she said and did and the items she wore, Gord thought she was either a magic-user or a caster of illusions. However, she could be a cleric, so he decided that truth was the best means of handling this situation. "I am with the authorities of this city. I am charged with the solution of certain crimes and the apprehension of the criminal or criminals involved. In the course of this duty I used your doorway, knowing not that you or any other person was herein, to keep an eye on one of these suspects. I must be ready to leave in an instant, for a person with possible knowledge of the crimes is in the adjoining room. As soon as the company in there with him leaves, I must break in and question him. Is this satisfactory?"