Night Arrant

Twistbuck's Game

The last time it had happened Gord had run for his life, laughing all the while. This time the reaction was the same.

"Treacherous little trickster!" the big barbarian bawled. "I'll split that scheming skull of yours in two!"

As Chert charged head first, elbows tight at his sides and fists raised, the supple young thief flipped sideways, avoiding the rush. The barbarian thudded into the wall, rebounded and fell sprawling over the table. No construction of mere wood could withstand such an impact. With a groan, the table's legs spread outward and its top split with a sharp crack. Chert's roar of outrage as he struck the floor drowned out the cracking and splintering noise of the sundered oak, but Gord's laugh pierced the din.

"I think I’ll go out for a while, old comrade!" the young thief called loudly, still laughing uproariously. "After all, I have a few coins to dispose of now, thanks to you!" So saying, Gord danced nimbly over to where two stacks of copper and silver coins were piled, scooped them off the top of the tall chest, and sped out the door of the dwelling. As he went down the lane. Chert's roars could clearly be heard despite the closed door. Exactly what the brawny hillman was threatening Gord wasn't sure, but it undoubtedly concerned the young thiefs limbs — and anything else that could be chopped or torn off.

"Such a poor loser," Gord clucked in mock disgust as he clinked the coins together in his palm. The amount of money was paltry, a mere hundred bronze zees in total. But the wager had been fair, after all, and it wasn't Gord's fault that Chert had been too slow-witted to detect his friend's ruse. "Well, no matter, by the time I finish spending the winnings," the crafty thief assured himself, "he will have cooled off, I hope." At the cost of one zee for a small mug of beer, the money would soon be gone. And since wine was even more expensive, and he fully intended to drink some now that he could afford it, his winnings would dwindle even faster. "If Chert had any sense of humor, I would have allowed him to help drink my winnings," Gord said, shaking his head as he carelessly tossed a coin in the air and quickly retrieved it. "Oh well, more for me!" Whistling a jaunty tune, the young thief strolled off to see what was going on along the Strip.

Meanwhile Chert was grinding his teeth and surveying the wreckage in the small quarters he and Gord shared. They had recently acquired an abandoned shop on a disused lane in the trade sector of the River Quarter. It had been easily converted into lodgings by expending a few silver nobles for labor and materials. The shutters chosen for the front windows made the place seem deserted still, a definite necessity for someone in Gord's and Chert's line of work. After making a few additions to the furniture that had come with the place, the two had themselves a fine apartment. Of course, Gord talked Chert into taking the third floor while the young thief had installed his sleeping quarters on the second. The ground floor was their lounge, with the little back room serving as kitchen and dining room in one. Neither of them cooked nor ate at home often anyway.

"It's the principle of the thing!" Chert exclaimed aloud, talking to the walls. "A friend shouldn't use sharper's methods to win bets from a pal!" Screw it — let Gord clean up the mess, the big hillman told himself as he stomped up the narrow steps leading to his quarters. The wooden planks groaned and creaked in complaint at his weight and the force he angrily put into each step, but Chert ignored the warnings and the worn steps somehow managed to withstand the assault. At the top of the long flight, the still-fuming barbarian slammed and locked the door that made the upper story his private domain. "At least that foxy little thief doesn't steal directly from me," Chert said as he went to the place where he hid his wealth. "But then again, he doesn't exactly know where I keep it."

The incredibly strong hillman extracted a wall beam as easily as if it had been a splintered piece of wood waiting to be peeled. Behind the beam was a space large enough to contain a long, narrow iron box. Therein Chert kept his ready cash and a small fortune in jewels. He peered into the container and breathed a sigh of relief. A sprinkling of gold orbs, a handful of electrum coins called luckies, and a fair quantity of silver nobles, copper commons, and other smaller coins lay scattered around a small sack of soft suede leather. Chert shook the container so that the coins made a pleasant jingling sound. Then he opened the small leather sack and took out the little silk parcels inside it. Each square piece of cloth encased a bright gem, a dozen in total.

These precious stones were his mad money, so to speak. If he ever needed to leave town in a hurry, the gems and gold would not only provide ample means to do so, but would see to his needs for a year of travel as well. Unlike Gord, the barbarian hill-man managed to hold onto his money carefully. He never admitted this to anyone, let alone Gord. Thank heavens the sums he had invested in various places in the city were bringing him handsome returns! At the rate the miserable thief he associated with was skinning him of funds, he was adding barely a silver noble a day to his balance.

Chert chuckled softly as he played with the stash and it occurred to him that Gord would be buying meals for him for the next few days, since the troublesome trickster was working under the assumption that he had won the last of his friend's meager holdings. "This is going to end up costing him much more than he stole from me!" Chert proclaimed loudly, and then he fell back on the bed and erupted in a fit of thunderous mirth.

"Perhaps I need a little sport myself," he mused, running the coins through his huge, thick fingers. "I should only spend the extra money earned from 'activities' with Gord. but what the devils!" With a careless motion, the hillman plucked several of the coins from his hoard and placed them in his purse — a noble, a pair of coppers, and twice as many bronze zees. "That's enough for a fair night on the town!" he exclaimed happily to himself. With that, Chert clumped downstairs, taking the steps three at a time. He'd head for the Toad on a Toadstool. Taverns in the University District were far more reasonable than the ones outside its confines, and their clientele included a goodly number of impressionable young females.

"Top of the evening to you, Chert. What's your pleasure?"

The big barbarian put a zee on the counter. "A jack of that brown ale you serve, Paddy," he said to the fat barkeep. "I'm in a mood to drown my troubles tonight!" Tankard in hand. Chert went to an empty table and sat down to ponder. How was he going to get even with the rascal he lived with? Some time passed. Another brown ale and then another went down easily. Chert was finishing off his fourth when the place began to fill up.

The crowd was a happy, amiable bunch, mostly students from nearby colleges, a few locals, and Chert. The huge hillman stood head and shoulders above everyone else in the Toad, and his thick body was broad enough for two of the smaller men to hide behind had there been a need. Naturally, such a figure attracted considerable attention — especially after things loosened up as the drinks began to flow.

"Where have you been lately, Chert?" it was a young scholar asking the question, a lad of about eighteen years who openly worshiped the barbarian. He eased his own considerable frame into a chair at Chert's table, setting a large pitcher of ale and his jack down as he did so. "Have one on me!"

Chert happily complied, filling his bumper full to its rim and swigging down half of it immediately before replying. "I’ve been busy — taking care of duties in the High Quarter, you know."

It wasn't a lie, but from this and remarks the barbarian had made in previous conversations, the student thought Chert to be some sort of special guard and consultant to those wishing protection against danger — and loss of goods. "How did it go?" he asked admiringly.

"Well enough, Budwin," the barbarian said with a slight frown to indicate things didn't work out as well as hoped for, "save for the loss of a large chunk of my all-too-meager holdings. But what the hells, live and learn, right? Your good health!" With that Chert drained off the remainder of the flagon and refilled it in one continuous motion.

"Don't tell me — you got stiffed!" the student exclaimed, noting the huge barbarian's sour expression. "I can get a few friends together, and we'll help you get things straight, what say?"

Budwin was well over six feet tall and weighed in excess of fifteen stone. Chert knew his college associates were likewise large — for city-bred folk, anyway. It was a sincere offer and the lad was anxiously searching Chert's face for a reaction, to see if he should jump up and begin gathering a gang. "Relax and drink the brew, my friend," Chert said with a negatory tone. "I need brainpower, not muscle and brawn, to set this little matter straight."

Budwin drank and scratched his head. His thinking ability in no way matched his strength of limb, but he was willing to try. Just then another student came to the table with three twittering girls in tow.

"Hey, my men! I'd like you to meet-"

"Shut up, Lloyd!" Budwin ordered. "We're thinking. If you bring another ewer of brown ale here and be helpful, maybe Chert and I will let you join us." The newcomer nodded, left the girls standing in silent confusion, and went off to fetch more drink. Budwin eyed the trio, smiling lecherously at them, and said, "Sit down, cuties. Lloyd will bring us refreshment in a trice." They sat.

One of the girls, a blue-eyed blonde, was very attractive and met Chert's gaze boldly. "Hi there, darlin’," he said to her. "My name's Chert."

"I am Holly," she said with a smile. "Are you- "

"We have a problem to solve," Budwin interjected. "Tell them about your problem, Chert." the young scholar said ingenuously.

The hillman frowned in irritation and resisted the urge to cuff Budwin on the ear for thoughtlessly spoiling his play. Then the barbarian shrugged his massive shoulders, deciding to clear the matter quickly and get on with the pursuit of the tender morsel sitting across the table from him. "I have an. . associate. . who continually plots and schemes to dupe me. He throws off outrageous statements, claims so fabulous that no one in his right mind could believe them. When I rightly object to the out-landishness of his assertions, this sly trickster suggests a wager as to right and wrong. Invariably, by the most outrageous of twistings and machinations, this devil wins! I must devise some problem or trick that will best him. Otherwise I will never see an end to his trickery."

"Has he won great sums of money from you thus?" Holly asked with interest.

"It isn't the amount of money lost," Chert lied, "but the very principle of the skulduggery involved which galls me so. I won't rest until I turn the tables on the little devil and stop the bull he throws at me!"

Lloyd arrived with the fresh supply of ale, and for a time they drank and bandied ideas about. There wasn't one really good one brought forth in all that time. Chert decided to make a serious attempt to separate himself and Holly from the crowd. Then Budwin slapped the big barbarian on the back and nearly shouted.

"Say, look! See that tall, kind of paunchy fellow who just came in?"

Chert, who was attempting to empty his ewer of its contents, nearly choked on the stuff when his young friend hit him. The barbarian again stifled a desire to throttle the bumptious chap. "Yeah, I see him! What of it?" Chert asked angrily, wiping some of the spilled drink off his face.

"That's Twistbuck, a Don of Counts College. Everyone says he's the cleverest man around. I'll wager he could solve your problem!"

Chert was about to dismiss the suggestion in the rudest of terms when Holly jumped up. "You're in luck, he likes me!" she exclaimed happily. "He's always flirting and trying to get me to. ." Her voice trailed off but a wave of crimson spread quickly across her face, telling all. "I'll get him over here."

Before Chert could object, she was heading toward the professor. The scholar seemed more than happy to see her and, after some reciprocal eyeplay, the couple began looking in the barbarian's direction. Holly seemed to be doing all of the talking and, finally, the man issued a hearty laugh that could be heard across the room. Then she had him by the arm, and the don was dragged over to the group.

After introductions and a brief statement from Chert regarding the problem, Twistbuck gave Holly a pinch on her round bottom and smiled at the un-amused hillman. "Must you actually win the wager from this antagonist?" he asked. "Or will a loss to me, for instance, serve your needs?"

This sounded too good to be true. The brawny barbarian could easily ignore the affront of the scholarly fellow molesting the girl he had his eye on in exchange for the promise of beating Gord at his own game! "Your emptying the purse of the cheating jackanapes would serve splendidly!" Chert said with eager enthusiasm. "But it must be a hefty and thorough trouncing!"

"Yes." the college don said contemplatively. "I think I can just about guarantee that. Are you willing to put up a fair sum to back me on this? The stipend paid to even a headmaster is insufficient for this undertaking, if I read you right, barbarian."

Chert looked skeptically at Twistbuck. "How much should I be prepared to furnish?" the hillman asked unenthusiastically.

Twistbuck eyed Chert in return. "A pittance for one of your obvious means," he said after his assessment. Sliding an arm familiarly around Holly's waist, the don added. "Let's say a thousand zees at worst, but it is far more likely that I'll win that and more from the knave!"

"Do we share winnings?"

"Certainly not!" Twistbuck said indignantly. "It will be through my wit, and the clever game I have devised, that I will bring a return of your honor. Surety, should not my efforts then bear a return of monetary sort? Or is your honor not worth so slight a risk as a mere gold orb?"

"You have a deal." Chert said, trying to keep the sourness he felt from creeping into his voice. An orb was far more than he cared to hazard, but all this talk of honor made it impossible for him to back out now. "Give the details to me now, Master Twistbuck, whilst Lloyd fetches us more ale — take care of it, Budwin," he added, seeing Lloyd searching his flat purse for odd change. As soon as Lloyd got up to do his duty, the hulking barbarian moved to his spot, thus placing himself between Holly and the college don. Then, leaning in front of her in a feigned effort to grasp every detail of Twistbuck's plan. Chert began to make his own moves upon the sandwiched Holly. The rest of the evening was sheer joy.

"You're remarkably cheerful and forgiving this morning," Gord noted as his companion slapped bread and cheese on the table across from him.

Tossing a sliver of cold chicken beside the young thiefs other viands, and helping himself to the remaining half, Chert sat down with a grunt and tore into the breakfast, humming with his mouth full. After demolishing several additional slices of bread and all of the cheese as well, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hairy arm, belched, and washed the food down with a final gulp of pungent goat's milk.

"Why not old chum? I's a fine, bright morning!"

"But last evening you were ready to kill, me, I'll swear to it! You never forgive and forget so easily. Why, last time I took you in a stupid bet you didn't even speak to me for a week, and this morn you're happy and even feed me breakfast. What gives?"

"Well, I'll admit I was slightly peeved. But that was yesterday. What matter you managed to dupe me for a few coppers? Ire is a thing of the past when one has a means of regaining one's losses."

Gord couldn't believe his ears. "What? You want to take me on again? I’ve already won the piddling amount of money you had to lose. What do you propose to wager this time?"

"Well, dear friend. It just so happens I have been saving for a rainy day for some time now. But I won't be giving you a chance to rob me. No sirree! I have a sure thing in mind that is going to make me a rich man!"

The combination of learning about his friend's hidden resources and his plans to build on them was too much for the greedy thief. Gord began demanding the full story, in detail, while Chert coyly avoided telling much. After a fair time, however, he fulty consented. "I am loath to give you such a mark, Gord, for I intended to take the fellow by myself. You are my friend, though, and this idiot has enough to make us both rich ten times over, so I guess I should let you have a crack at him, as long as we split the winnings and you put up the capital"

Gord bridled at the last stipulation. "Why not split the capital as well?" he asked suspiciously.

"Because you won my share from me last night and I'm doing you a favor as it is — one you hardly deserve, I might add," Chert said, putting heavy emphasis on the last part of the statement Then he added. In a somewhat gentler tone. This will work out for both of us. We'll both get a large sum and I won't have to touch my savings while I earn it." The barbarian's tone convinced the usually cautious thief that his friend was sincere.

"Then tell me, and be done with this ambiguity!"

"It's a game of this college don's own making, and one I think you could most definitely best him at" Chert replied, a little too eagerly.

Gord began to sniff the odor of a setup. "And what made you think you could get the best of this college professor?" he asked, one eyebrow raised in telltale uncertainty. "Or were you planning on drawing me into this all along?"

The usually slow-thinking Chert had been prepared for this question, and he answered posthaste. "All right so I set you up. But what of it? At least you come out better when I trick you than I do when you pull the same stunt! If you pull this off, which I think you can, then we both win. So what can be wrong with that?"

Chert's response was so vehement that Gord felt a little sorry for him. "Why didn't you just ask me to help you out on this, instead of trying to dupe me?" Gord asked gently.

"Because," Chert sighed. "If the truth be known, I wanted to pull a trick on you for a change."

"I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, poor fellow, but you couldn't fool a fool, let alone anyone of my intellectual caliber." Gord issued the insult in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

"Well, it was worth a tiy," Chert said humbly. And still is, he thought, smiling inwardly. "So, will you do it?"

"How can I resist?" Gord eagerly agreed. "It will be be fun taking money from someone other than you, for a change," and with that he planted a hearty slap on the hillman's broad back. Chert had all he could do to keep from pounding his egotistical friend into the floorboards.

"So tell me, when do I get to meet this soon-to-be-broke professor?"

"Tonight you'll accompany me to the Toad, and there you can get the details directly from the man himself. Then it will be up to you to set the time and the stakes — should you opt to game. Oh, and one more thing." Chert added in as oflhand a tone as he could muster, "we split the winnings evenly. But should you lose, you're on your own, pal."

"Agreed. I have no fear, for I know not the meaning of the word 'lose'!" the overconfident thief boasted.

Chert simply nodded his agreement. If things worked out to his satisfaction. Gord would soon become well acquainted with the meaning of that particular word, as well as a few others. The barbarian fairly shook with repressed laughter.

"I hadn't recalled the Toad on a Toadstool being this far." Gord said as the two made their way to the tavern.

Chert gleefully noted his friend's obvious attempt to hide his eagerness to get to the game that was promised. The challenge, as well as the prospect of winning, was an apparent sauce to his appetite for chicanery and wagering. "Hmm. I thought you said you had gone to the University and lived around here," Chert said in a perplexed tone.

"Yes, there! Isnt that the sign?" In a minute they were seated comfortably at a table in the establishment. Chert, much to Gord's delight and amazement, volunteered to buy the first round. He purchased good wine for the young thief, and heavy, black-colored milk stout for himself. "Drink up, Gord, for the fellow will be here soon. To your health and our imminent wealth!"

Gord drank to that, of course, and bought the next round. Those drinks, too, were history a few minutes later, and Gord was soon starting to fidget. "Where is this Twistbuck? Are you sure he'll be here?"

"Relax. This round is on me, old chum. I'm not willing to stake my life on it, but he said he would be likely to stop in here when we parted company yesterday. Let's kick back and enjoy the evening!"

After a couple of hours, Gord began to suspect that he was being had. But the fact that Chert was buying the majority of the drinks was at least a saving grace, so the young thief decided to take it as it came, enjoy the moment, and see what happened. Let Chert have his fun, Gord thought to himself. He probably thinks he's getting me back for last night.

Then, when it was close to eleven o'clock, the hillman reached over and nudged Gord. "There, you see? The man who just came in is Twistbuck. But now I’m wondering, Gord. Maybe it's unfair to get him in a game against you. . "

"Oh, no, you don't! You're not getting me to back out of this now!" the nearly salivating rogue cried. "This is too good an opportunity to pass up."

Chert shook his head in mock sorrow. "I really do feel bad about this, Gord. We aren't in the habit of stealing from honorable men."

"If he desires it of us, what can we do?" Gord asked with mock sincerity. "C'mon, Chert if bringing me here and getting me all excited about the prospect of adding to my holdings and then letting me down is your idea of a joke, then the joke's on you! I insist on being introduced to this gamester, or I'll make my own introductions!" The tone in the young thief s voice left no room for doubt.

"Very well. You are forcing me into this, Gord. I can see that you have no intention of sparing the fellow, so I’ll go fetch him. You get another round — he usually drinks a decoction of lingonbeny spirits and barkwater, by the way." With that Chert stood up and went over to where Twistbuck was involved in conversation with several other scholars.

After signaling the barmaid to take a fresh order, Gord eased back in hits chair and waited. The drinks arrived, and a moment later so did the barbarian and the professor. Chert introduced Gord to him, and soon the two were chatting.

"Chert tells me you once attended the university," Twistbuck said with an inquiring smile.

The young thief nodded. "Yes, I did manage to spend some time studying at Ganz, but I didn't stay long enough to be graduated."

"What courses did you pursue?"

"Some of this, a bit of that," Gord said impatiently. But the scholar pressed him, so Gord mentioned the more interesting classes. There followed some banter concerning the instructors and relative merits of the various colleges. Eventually the young adventurer managed to steer the conversation onto the subject of betting and games. "Is it true that you have devised an amusing game, professor?"

"Oh, you must be referring to "Legs'. It's a silly little pastime, really, nothing more. I can't understand why it seems to have piqued anyone's interest, and calling it Twistbuck's Game' is annoying! It is beneath my dignity and station, after all, to have so foolish a thing bearing one's name."

"On the contrary! Chert says it sounds quite exciting and very sporting, too," Gord said ingratiatingly and then he leaned close to the professor and said in a low tone of voice. "In fact, my barbarian pal was so intrigued by the game that he was considering placing a wager on his ability to best you at your own creation! I told him it would be an insult for someone in your position to be challenged at your own game by someone with Chert's, ah, shall we say, low standing in the community of scholars? So he dragged me in here to do his dirty work for I him. I'm going along with this just to humor him." Gord put away the rest of his drink and issued a self-satisfied belch. Then he loudly prompted the professor, "Do be so kind as to explain this 'silly little pastime' to me."

Twistbuck concealed his fury, all the while consoling himself with how much fun it was going to be helping Chert get even with this arrogant rogue. With an airy wave of his hand, Twistbuck explained, "It is so simple a child can play. Why, I think even you could catch on in a matter of minutes." Gord ignored the insult, and the professor continued. "One simply notes the name or depiction, or both, on the sign above an inn, tavern or drinking house. If legs are implied in the name, then one counts them, modifying the count upward if the depiction on the establishment's sign should show a greater number." Gord looked puzzled, so Twistbuck further explained, in as condescending a tone as possible. "Let's suppose there is a tavern called the Fox and Hounds. A fox has four legs and hounds, being plural, implies two dogs and eight legs. Therefore, the minimum score of legs for such a place would be twelve. Am I clear so for?"

"Yes, I can see the game scoring clearly now," the young thief said enthusiastically.

"That's not quite all there is to it. Suppose the sign showed a single hound?" Before Gord could answer, the fellow went on impatiently. "It wouldn't matter a whit! 'Hounds' is plural, so that calls for a score of eight legs. However, should it happen that the sign showed three or four hounds, then the score would be twelve or sixteen for the canines, plus the fox, naturally."

"That's all well and good, sir, but knowing how to count legs doesn't actually tell me how to play your game."

"It is a matter of alternate occurrence — mere child's play. Two individuals engage in a contest Each alternately counts the legs, if any, on the sign encountered during his turn. There is usually a time or distance limitation so that the game lasts a reasonable period and has a conclusion. Of course, the player with the highest leg count wins." Twistbuck paused to finish his drink, and Gord immediately ordered a fresh one to replace it. Thanking him for his generous consideration, the professor decided that an example of the game might serve to illustrate the whole thing clearly and completely.

"Chert and I might, for instance, decide to play a game." Twistbuck paused, looked at Chert for effect, and shook his head in disbelief. The barbarian cast him a menacing look, and Gord found the little interlude amusing and made no attempt to hide his reaction. The professor continued. "So anyway, we decide that we will walk outside, move randomly, and alternately count the legs which appear on signs along our path. Each of us gets one sign, legs or not appearing on it, the occurrence of a sign ending one player's turn and beginning the other's.

"Suppose we walk out the door now, and Chert is given the first sign encountered after leaving, but I choose what direction we take. Now, after an inn, tavern, or drinking establishment is encountered, legs are counted and scored, and a running total maintained on paper. The person awaiting his turn can select the next direction of the route of the game, as long as it does not go back over territory already covered. After some set limit — say an hour's time, five signs each, or whatever — the total scores are compared. The person having the higher total of legs wins. Simple. To add zest, the loser might have to buy drinks or perhaps pay a small sum for each leg his opponent had counted above his lesser score."

Despite the somewhat convoluted explanation, Gord grasped the game easily. "What a delightful pastime indeed!" he said with admiration oozing from his voice. "Do you ever actually wager on the play?"

"Certainly," Twistbuck replied. "Didn't your gigantic comrade here tell you that? However, I don't waste my time playing for small stakes."

Gord could hardly conceal his enthusiasm. "Let's play a game now! It would be quite exciting to learn from the one who invented it, you know — quite a feather in my cap!"

"Well. ."

"Of course I'd be willing to place a small stake on each leg. Would a zee be too little for a man of your talents?"

The professor slowly nodded. "Too little by far. A common is the least i'd be interested in wagering."

"A man after my own heart! If you're going to wager, you might as well make the stakes worth winning. What say you to a silver noble a leg, then?" Gord asked, brimming with uncontained eagerness.

"Done, young man. It is nearing the witching hour even now, and I must repair to my chambers for study and rest. Tomorrow is a day of classwork, you know. May I suggest that we play at noon on Starday?"

Gord was delighted at the stakes and the time, for the delay would enable him to do some scouting beforehand. "That seems satisfactory, although I'd hoped to play sooner." he told the professor, allowing false disappointment to enter his voice as he did so. "No matter, I defer to your wishes, sir. May I select the starting point?"

"Of course, my boy," Twistbuck agreed heartily, "but it must be somewhere within the southern half of the city, and it must also be at an intersection with three or more possible directions to choose from."

That sounded reasonable. "I agree," Gord said, his mind racing. "But who shall go first? And what length of game will we play?"

Twistbuck considered the questions for a moment, then suggested. "You take the first sign, and we'll just alternate back and forth from then on. In the case of two signs on either side of the route, the one on the left shall be taken first, the one on the right considered second. As you shall have first count, you will also pick what direction we go from the starting intersection. I'll pick the next direction, and so forth. Alternating choice prevents any pre-selection of a route — that would be cheating, now, wouldn't it? Signs off the direct route are not allowed as proper for either contestant, even if the sign is clearly visible from the artery being traveled. That is all, save for us to set the limit on play."

"Time could allow one or the other player to gain an advantage by having one or more sign than the other fellow, as would distance traveled. I suggest that we each be allowed a set number of signs," Gord said thoughtfully.

"Of course! Now do be so good as to set the number, and I'll bid you good night!"

Gord arose as Twistbuck did, shook his hand, and said, "A noble a leg to the winner, game to commence on Starday noon, each counting a dozen signs before total score wins."

"Indeed, and I look forward with pleasure to the amusement my little game will provide to such a bright, enterprising fellow as yourself. Good rest to you all!" So saying, the don took his leave, and Gord and Chert left the tavern soon thereafter.

Chert was sound asleep when Gord went out the next morning. He had much to accomplish in the little more than twenty-four hours left before the game would begin. The young thief was suspicious. Twistbuck seemed too casual about the stakes involved, too willing to let Gord determine the details of the arrangement. Gord was going to carefully go over the area he would choose for the game to start in. familiarize himself with the signs around it. and be fully prepared when they began. Perhaps this was unfair, but the verbal rules set down by the game's creator held no provisions for or against such conduct. Planning and preparation were smart steps, and Twistbuck himself had set the day and time. If that gave Gord an edge, it would be foolish not to utilize it! What worried him most was the possibility of some variation of the rules that the professor had neglected to mention.

"Where have you been?" Chert asked as his comrade returned to their domicile near sundown.

"Taking care of some business and walking a bit. Nothing important," Gord replied carelessly.

Turning away to hide his smile, the giant hillman asked Gord if he should fix something for them to eat.

"No, let's go out for a bite — my treat. How about the Toad again?"

"Sure pal, whatever you say if you're buying, but the food there isn't very good. What about- "

"Hey! I'm buying, so we go where I choose!"

"Okay, if it means that much to you. I just thought you might like a good meal," Chert wasn't about to argue when the ride was free.

"Well, in all honesty, I'm hoping your professor friend will be there. I need to ask a couple of questions about our game tomorrow."

"Oh," said Chert, dropping the subject.

They had eaten and were sipping drinks when Twistbuck came in. As soon as he saw the two, he came over to their comer and sat down. After pleasant greetings were exchanged and Chert had ordered and paid for the professor's refreshment, Gord began to grill the fellow.

"If I were playing this 'Legs' game of yours, and I came upon a place called The Boot, would I count a leg?"

"Hardly, old chap." Twistbuck replied with disdain. "It is a game of legs, after all, not footwear."

"Doesn't a boot imply a leg to go into?"

"Pish! Does a horseshoe impry the leg and hoof of a horse?"

"Well, then, how about an octopus? Does that merit a score of eight?"

"Never!" Twistbuck cried in mock horror. Tentacles are also referred to as arms. Must I constantly remind you that the game is legs'?"

"A table has legs."

"Of course."

"And a chair or stool likewise?"

"Certainly. The legs need not be those of a living thing."

Now Gord smiled triumphantly. "What of a wine bottle? It is said that wine has 'legs', you know!"

Twistbuck's reply was dished out with a large helping of scorn. "You are reaching for very silly meanings to this straightforward game, young sir. A wine bottle has no legs, and the name of the establishment, or its sign's proper designation by name, demarks the limits which are allowed."

"What?" Gord asked, somewhat puzzled.

"Should a sign state the establishment is known as Zygfg's Arms, and should the arms thus displayed show various things with legs upon them, there would be no counting of said legs. The proper name of the establishment mentions a person or thing with arms, not legs. Furthermore, should the sign not bear writing, the picture displayed would still have an implied name; that of Zyglg’s Arms in my example. Ergo, other things shown would not allow the scoring of legs."

"But what if a place called The Ship showed several crewmembers aboard the vessel painted on the sign?"

"That, Gord, would absolutely be irrelevant to the game. No score!"

"Hmmm …" said the young thief, feeling a bit foolish but still highly suspicious that he was being duped. "How about a game or a race? Either can have legs as part of them."

"A point I can concede. I shall leave it up to you whether or not to score legs for the occurrence of such signs — providing, naturally, that nothing indicating the contrary appears on the sign in question. If a tavern was called Chequers and showed a game of that sort, or The Game and showed chess, chequers, or some other game having no legs of play, then no score, obviously. In other cases I would allow scoring of two legs. If you wish."

"I do wish it," said Gord, feeling any point was a victory after the rude handling Twistbuck had given him in this matter. That concluded their discussion and the evening.

It was high noon on Starday. Gord and Twistbuck were at a six-point intersection in the Low Quarter. Chert was there to assist in keeping count tn case of disagreement, although the university don also had a bit of parchment and quill to mark totals. Gord was pleased that his comrade was there, for marks could be added or forgotten in the excitement of play. The young thief had selected the site with care. He knew the drinking places for a mile in any direction, and when turns were made he would be aware of what lay ahead. He would then have several choices of direction and would choose the route that promised him the highest gain. It looked to be a solid win, and Gord was wondering if Twistbuck's earnings would be sufficient to pay the losses he would incur when the total was discovered.

"You count first, and what route would you like to take?" the professor asked Gord.

"I believe we should follow that route," he replied, pointing to the northeast. They walked up Tosspot Lane and almost immediately came to a small tavern.

"The Blue Elf. I score two." Gord said with artificial disappointment. It was one of the least desirable shops around, but he knew what came next, in any of the optional directions.

"Let's continue along this route for now," the professor said. They followed the curve of the lane uphill and soon came upon another sign.

The Castle. Pity. I don’t have any legs at all, and it's now your turn again, Gord."

The young thief whistled as they walked along. Two signs down, two and twenty to go, and an intersection lay ahead. "I say we go right along Uskbarrel Road," he informed the others, and headed off due east thereon. Soon he came to the place he knew was there. "What luck!" Gord called happily to the pair trailing him. "Here's the Stag amp; Wolves, and I note that there are fully four of the latter painted on the sign too! Twenty legs for me then, plus the two before. I lead two and twenty to naught, I believe."

Twistbuck nodded glumly, but then pointed to a narrow opening to the left. "There is a new intersection, and I choose to follow it" He peered nearsightedly at a small, filthy plaque high above the brick wall of the building whose shoulder stood next to the passage. "Rag Alley. It says. Let us see what lies along this way."

Gord was disconcerted, for he'd missed this narrow place. No help for it now. There was a dingy drinking house there too, but it didn't help the professor at all.

"It is a place called The Crock," he lamented, holding his head. "I seem to be most unfortunate this day!"

"Cheer up, good don." Gord said with merriment oozing from his every pore, "for such ill luck must surely change." He still led the way, and very soon the alley debouched on a broader thoroughfare, a street named Felbo Close. Gord had never seen or heard of it, but it didn't matter. It ended to the left, so he had no real option but to turn right, and they were walking eastward again. "Does that count as a choice?" he inquired.

"Yes, any intersection is counted, but what matter? It is now my choice at the next joining, but your sign comes next"

It turned out that the next place was a tavern named Rose in Ice. It was irritating for he had hoped to build his lead further, but twenty-two was still commanding.

"I say! My turn, and what do I have but The Hungry Bear! Four, and your lead is cut to only eighteen legs, my boy!"

There was a very little triumph, even though the place stood on a corner, and Twistbuck opted to continue along toward the east. Gord was up again in both sign and intersection direction, and he knew this area now. "A crossroads!" he said as happily as the don had exclaimed when he scored the four count. "Let us turn to the right here, and see what lies southward along Hothand Street." He knew very well and soon added eight legs for coming upon the inn of the Double Dragon. He led by six and twenty now. Chert was beginning to get a little agitated. Gord was not supposed to be enjoying this little exercise.

A mile farther, and seven signs passed, Gord had scored a total of ten more legs to the professor's two. That gave him a round six and thirty, less Twistbuck's mere six, for a lead of fully thirty legs! The poor professor was going to lose the equivalent of six hundred bronze zees, thirty silver nobles, at this rate! Even the fact that they had passed out of the Low Quarter and into the Halls District didn't trouble Gord now. Chance dictated a win of from twenty to forty legs in his favor. Chert was not at all pleased.

The Avenue of Fountains was not a place for drinking, and Twistbuck had the option of direction at the next intersection. He selected Scrivener's Crescent, which curved off southeastward. The professor did not add to his score when they came upon Iggy's inn. Gord was pleased to see that there was a tavern a little farther along with a sign showing a wispy maiden in green and brown garb. "I score another two for The Dryad," he noted reflectively, not bothering to name the lead he now held.

"What miserable luck I am having today," Twist-buck lamented in earnest. "Now you are up by thirty-two legs, I have no idea what direction to take," he added miserably, indicating the lane that ran into the crescent at an odd angle. "Well," he said in a resigned manner, "I don’t wish to go back to the fountain area again, so I guess I choose Haven Lane for my next route." They walked some distance, and then Twistbuck clapped his hands in glee.

"My luck is changing!" he caroled. "This is my sign and I count two legs!"

"How so, Twistbuck?" Gord demanded. The tavern had only a piece of metal above its door, a chime to be struck to indicate meals or some like event.

"Surely that is an iron triangle, is it not?" When the young thief concurred, the professor nodded and said firmly. Triangles are figures composed of two legs!"

"How do you figure that, or are you beginning to grasp at straws here, professor?" Gord was more than a little perplexed.

Twistbuck grinned. "In my lexicon the legs of a triangle are the two sides, as distinguished from the base or the hypotenuse. Therefore I score two, and your lead is cut to thirty!"

Gord shrugged and let the new totals stand. After all, he was still incredibly ahead. They zigged and zagged and passed two more establishments that had permissible signs. Gord's was Web and Spiders for twenty-four, since the signs depicted three of the arachnids; Twistbuck's was the Xorn and Gems. Since that creature had three legs, the total lead now enjoyed by the young thief was fifty-one.

Gord began to feel a bit sorry for the unfortunate professor, for he could never afford to pay over such a sum as that Chert had long since begun to trudge along in a dejected manner. He was, of course, feeling sorry for himself, but Gord took his demeanor as an indication that Chert felt the same way he did about taking such great advantage of the professor. But Gord shrugged off his pity abruptly; after all, a game was a game, and old Twistbuck was responsible for his own decisions.

"Perhaps we should stop where we are," Gord ventured, for he glimpsed a sign ahead that would aid Twistbuck. If tt were counted. Gord's lead would be sharply cut.

"Never!" the fellow shot back. "How dare you attempt to cheat me of my rightful opportunity to win?"

"As you wish, as you wish," Gord reassured the angry professor. "I simply thought it might prove expedient considering the high losses you might suffer, but I will abide by the number of a round dozen each, so set when we began."

"As well you should!" Twistbuck countered, "and I make my new score to be up by a figure of twenty-four, for there is the tavern called Six Mastiffs!"

"That reduces my lead to but seven and twenty — slender indeed," Gord replied dryly. Twistbuck ignored the sarcasm.

"You are next, and it is your choice of direction as well," he told his opponent flatly.

"Then let us follow Harper Street here," said Gord. He had been in this section of Clerksburg before, and he thought he remembered a tavern that would seal his victory and teach the pedant a sharp lesson. Sure enough, they came upon the place after a short walk. It was called The Loyal Company. Twistbuck started to protest loudly, but Gord pointed to the illustration on the sign. Although only some of their legs were shown, the sign clearly depicted a score of men. "Forty legs, I am certain, and a lead of sixty-six. You have two signs to go, and I one," he added with a small but triumphant smile.

"So I am foredoomed, it appears. No matter, we shall proceed straight along this route to the next establishment"

Had he noted the sign ahead? Gord thought so, but it didnt matter. "You gain six for The Blind Basilisk," Gord said smugly, "cutting my lead down to only sixty even with that coup." Twistbuck started to say something, then clamped his mouth shut. The young thief stole a glance ahead. They were coming to another crossroads, and far ahead he could make out another sign. "I approve of your selection, sir don. I too shall march straight ahead. . What's this? The Hornets' Nest! Do I see ten of those angry insects there? Yes, I do! Sixty legs plus sixty makes a lead of one hundred and twenty, Twistbuck, and you have but a single sign left to count!" Chert moaned under his breath, and Gord continued to taunt his opponent. "Shall we end the charade now? I'll be kind, allowing you twenty off the total I have, so that you need pay over but a hundred good nobles."

"Your generosity is monumental, my young fellow, but I prefer to allow the game to run its full course. I shall take my last sign no matter what the outcome, and I shall also choose direction here. I think we will pass down inkwell Lane to close the game."

A little time later they came to the end of the passage. There was a tavern there, and Gord turned pale at the sight of its sign of three red centipedes. A very clear depiction.

It was almost two weeks before Gord would exchange anything approaching friendly conversation with his huge companion. In fact, for several days he wouldn't speak to Chert at all, and thereafter he had merely grunted replies when necessary to do so. Finally, the pain of having lost a hundred, and eighty nobles, almost four gold orbs, wore off sufficiently for the young thief to resume a semblance of his former swagger and assurance.

"You noted, didn't you, that never once during the course of playing that stupid game did we encounter a felon or ruffian? They feared to accost us, for it was evident that I was there to protect the scholar from harm," said the thief.

Chert flexed his arm, looked at Gord, and said nothing.

"Of course, your being along as a backup was of benefit too. But tell me, did you set the whole thing up?"

"Gord, I am thunderstruck at such a suggestion," the barbarian said, shaking his head in hurt disbelief. "You insisted on going to meet Twistbuck and you alone determined you'd play against him!"

"True, true. Still, I am troubled. There has to be a logical explanation for the professor's victory over one with my capabilities. It just doesn't make sense. Do you know what position the man holds at Counts College?"

"He professes."

"Of course." the young thief snapped irritably, "but what does Twistbuck profess?"

"Architecture."

"And?"

"Someone mentioned cartography, I think."

"That wouldn't have been a factor. Is there anything else you heard about Twistbuck that would have contributed to his win?" Gord demanded.

"Well, there is one minor detail that might have made a difference in the game. But I don't know, maybe it's nothing," Chert said hesitantly, while concentrating on stifling the grin that wanted to spread from one cheek to another and back again.

"Let me be the judge of that. Tell me, what do you know?" Gord demanded.

"Oh, just that your worthy opponent also specializes in history and city planning. Knows Greyhawk like the back of his hand!" The barbarian allowed the insistent grin to have its way and then broke into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

"Aaargh!" Gord roared in absolute rage. It would be some time before the furious rogue would send another word in Chert's direction.