Night Arrant

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!"

Eyes as hard as pebbles stared into those of the mayor's two flunkies as the other thieves and varlets left.

"Have a care how you speak to me." The words were uttered with unmistakable warning.

"Ah, Viper. We meant no harm," Jenkin assured him. "Blonk and I just wanted to be sure none suspected — right, Blonk?"

The square-headed Blonk nodded vigorously at his partner's words as the tall man continued to eye them both emotion lessly. Finally, after both men were visibly uncomfortable under the scrutiny, Viper spoke again.

"Watch the young one named San. He's very good. Smart, too. A loyal man of Arentol's. None of the others seem to have the stuff in them to be anything but common thieves, but be on guard anyway. If you are suspicious, use the pigeons to send word to the Citadel. Someone will take care of things after that. Understood?"

"Sure, Viper," Jenkin said unctuousty.

"So, whaddya gonna do?" Blonk blurted out before he could stop himself.

The tall man leaned close and spoke softly, his flat eyes as expressionless as his hard, lined face. "Not that it's any of your affair, but I have no intention of remaining here to observe you two bumbling around," he hissed. The man's resemblance to a venomous snake — and a serpent ready to strike, at that — was uncanny now indeed. Blonk quickly drew back a considerable measure and Jenkin seemed to shrink in his seat. "Lord Mayor Gasgol has personally charged me with the handling of this matter, and I intend to bring Blackcat beneath my blade," Viper spat. Without another word he turned and left so quietly and swiftly it almost seemed like magic.

"Wheesh! No wonder they call him Viper," Jenkin said, loudly exhaling in relief. "I thought he was about to bite you!"

"Shut up." his comrade replied, still shaken. "One day that snaky bastard is going to catch his own, and I want to be there to see it"

"Tush. Blonk," Jenkin said with a little laugh. "That killer is the best in Greyhawk — probably the whole of the bloody Flanaess. He'll get the fool who calls himself Blackcat, Gasgol will take the credit, and the Thieves Guild will pay the reckoning."

Blonk scowled at his associate. He hated to admit it, but Jenkin was right. With Viper the assassin on his trail, Blackcat hadn't a prayer of surviving. And life would be easier for all of them when the thief was dead and their boss was in better spirits.

The one who was the object of all this, the unlicensed thief, the rogue who had come to accept the name he had been given by others, Blackcat, was quite unaware of the machinations of those who ruled the city of Greyhawk. He sat in a noisy tavern, ate, played quoits, and drank. Many called him by name and stopped to chat a while with this small, dark young man. Though plainly dressed and lacking a fat purse, many of the women present flirted with him, too. He had a certain quality that caused them to be attracted to him.

"Gord! Let's you and I go to my place" a bronze-haired girl called seductively over her pretty shoulder as she headed for the door.

"Not tonight, love." Gord called back. "You nearly wore me to a frazzle last night. I have to sleep sometime!" There was raucous laughter at that, and the girl flounced out into the night.

"Come over to our table, Gord," one of the patrons said when the laughter died down. "We need another for plaques."

Shaking his head sadly in declination, the young man smiled ruefully. "Helga would use me up, and you three would empty my already slender purse. What's an honest man to do?"

"Let us know when you find one." the game-players called in reply. "I can't recall you ever losing at a game of chance!"

"Maybe so." Gord said as he rose and headed for the exit, "but tonight I'm for home and bed. I'll be back soon enough to test your skills, my friends, so save a few nobles for me."

Outside, the streets and alleyways of the Craftsmen's Ward were either but dimly illuminated by sputtering flambeaux or small lanthorns or else in total darkness. It was near midnight, and even here near the wall of Old City, which separated the ward from the Foreign Quarter, most of the residents of the district were asleep. Revelry and nlghtlife were for other, rougher places. That was, in fact, the very reason Gord frequently spent his time hereabouts.

Who would look for the notorious thief Blackcat in so straight and plain a place as the Craftsmen's Ward? Gord hadn't been plying his rogue thievery long before he became aware that he had to be very careful — even more careful than he had been in past years before he had left Greyhawk to go adventuring in the lands around. Now the city seemed especially attuned to breaches in its own codes. Unlicensed thievery was a serious crime, punishable by death.

Gord had no intention of meeting an untimely end. But he had no intention of joining the hated Thieves Guild, either. Therefore, he had to ply his art. but cautiously, if he was to maintain the high level of spending he enjoyed. The fact was, he did occasionally lose at the tables, and his preferences in women and drink cost plenty. Every now and then he found it necessary to reconnoiter a place and call back late at night swathed in black, hooded with a cat's-ear hood, and armed with sword and dagger. Then he would take some store of gold orbs or coffer of jewelry as his own. The few who happened to see him could not tell who or what he was. Those who didn't try to interfere with Gord's work described him only as a black, catlike figure. After a brief time, the name of Blackcat grew. Now it was almost legendary.

In his current guise, Gord maintained a small apartment in the upper story of an old building nearby. The young thief walked swiftly from the tavern and went directly to his own place. Had anyone been watching, he would have observed a lamp's warm glow showing high above the narrow lane. In a few minutes it was extinguished. No one saw the sablelike form that subsequently emerged on the rooftop, using the aerial route as a highway to rapidly move away from the dark district toward the rich area of shops opposite the city's High Quarter. Later. Gord slipped down and used the maze of sewers, conduits, and passages under Greyhawk to traverse still more distance without being seen.

"A hundred orbs, that's what they're now offering for his head!" Old Farley Fastfingers had exclaimed just the other evening during a lull in the conversation.

"Who's offering what?" This came from Morgos, a sometimes sell-sword, now respectably employed as a household guardian. That sum of gold would enable him to retire comfortably for life.

Gord pretended complete disinterest as Farley replied, "For the head of Blackcat, the rogue thief, of course. The Thieves Guild will pay a round hundred orbs!"

"Might as well look for the pot of gold at the rainbow's end," Gord drawled.

There was agreement at that, with Morgos adding, "Oh, they'll get the bastard all right, devil take 'em all. It won't be little chaps like us, though. Some high-powered spell-binder will snare the outlaw, or else he'll be trapped by the assassins. Mark my words. Forget the gold, lads. What our sort gets has to be earned."

As he recalled that conversation, Gord had to smile. Those comrades would, indeed, have turned him in for such a reward, had any of them the least inkling that he was Blackcat. Gord wouldn't blame them, either. There was a lesson in all that, and a warning to be heeded in the words spoken. He was safe from no one — not even his friends. Each potential target had to be viewed as a possible set-up, a trap cleverly laid to catch him. Gord thought he had better redouble his caution henceforth. Perhaps it was time to retire Blackcat after today's foray.

"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!

Viper had immediately sought out the chief mage of the Assassins Guild. The first result was dismal, but perhaps something would come up soon. Viper had a good feeling inside, the same sort of tingling he felt just before he plunged home a long, envenomed needle or slowly tightened a knotted cord around a victim's soft throat.

He spent the next several hours searching for any clues or information leading to the whereabouts of the elusive thief. But the malevolent Viper discovered absolutely nothing. No help from beggars, no word from whores, not a hint from swindlers and gamblers. . and not even Viper dared to question the mysterious gypsy folk of the city too closely. Momentarily defeated and in the foulest of moods, the dreaded assassin sat down to brood for a while before heading back to his quarters. A couple of minutes later a big, black rat suddenly ran up to him, skittered up his leg. and sat on his shoulder. The chittering squeak of its voice went directly into the tall assassin's ear.

"Mastrrr sezz come fasst."

The rodent was gone in a flash even as the assassin moved. Viper wasn't at a loss, however. He recognized the creature as Yormodrin's familiar. So the dweomercraefter had managed to get something with his enchantments after all! Viper quickened his pace.

"Well?" Viper stood before the mage. It was now hours since he had begun his search for Blackcat, and deep twilight was sinking over the city.

"You will pay me amply for my services?" Yormodrin decided it was time he was given the respect due to one of his important station.

Viper's flat eyes showed nothing. "You will be paid in full if you can tell me what I want to know."

"I would have the spider encased in the amber. It is an ancient tails- er, token, which suits my humors, let us say."

"Say anything you wish, fool, but tell me where the thing is now!"

"You agree that the amber is mine, then?" the spell-worker demanded.

The tall, reptilian assassin moved closer to Tor-modrin. "I will personally place it into your grasping palm, that I swear. Now, where is it?"

The spell-user smiled slightly. "It lies just to the east. It is within an old building near the wall that divides the Foreign Quarter from the Craftsmen's Ward." The mage didn't bother to explain to his questioner that the effort involved in locating the amber-encased spider had been monumental. Lesser spell-casters, scrying, and much more had been required to locate the object, even though it had been but a few miles distant and within the city.

"Can you show me exactly where it lies? What guards the thing? Tell me!"

Yormodrin had a haughty expression as he stood and beckoned the tall assassin to follow. The mage entered a small, darkened alcove and gestured over a basin of porphyry filled with sepia-stained oil. At his hand's pass, the liquid rippled and opalescent hues played over the surface. Then the colors coalesced and formed a picture. It was a hawk's-eye view of the city. The scene wheeled and changed, as if the viewer were actually flying over Greyhawk. From the green of the Park, over the massive buildings of the Halls District, past the trade establishments, and to the Craftsmen's Ward, the picture upon the liquid's dark surface flowed. Then the view changed, sweeping downward to scarcely a few feet above the rooftops. There was the south wall of the Old City, there the tall, narrow structures of the artisans' sector. One particular building came into focus, then only its uppermost portion from a side view. A window ledge, a narrow, dirty window, and a plain room dimly discernible beyond the dusty pane. The center of the room's scene was a small table upon which a pouch of black leather rested. At this instant the oily liquid bubbled and its roiling surface showed no more.

"Satisfied, Viper?" Yormodrin's tone was smug.

"Very," the assassin said as he suddenly thrust a pair of specially prepared hedgehog quills into the unbelieving eyes of the mage. "The poison will take a few minutes to work. I am so sorry, Yormodrin, that I am unable to stay and watch the exquisiteness of your agony. Work before pleasure has always been the curse of the ambitious," Viper called over his shoulder as he left the mage's sanctum. If Yormodrin heard it wasn't apparent. He was moaning and screaming, writhing as death overcame him upon the smudged sigils of his floor.

A thin, rasping giggle brought the murderer to an abrupt halt. A wickedly curved blade glinting suddenly in his hand. Viper spun around to locate the witness to what had just occurred.

"Don't worry, man." an evil, high-pitched voice shrilled. "You have just done me a great service, and none shall be the wiser as to what happened here."

A small thing, a demonling of some sort, was perched on the lintel of the alcove, in a place where Viper thought he had seen a rat out of the corner of his eye just a second or two earlier. "What are you saying, imp?"

The creature's face contorted in rage. "Don't call me imp, turdheaded human!" the thing screeched. "With Yormodrin's soul safely abyssed, I shall be a full-fledged demon soon."

Viper spat and turned away. This was nothing.

"Wait, man!"

"I need no familiar, demonling. Why do you babble so?"

The thing leaped down and stood before the tall assassin proudly. "I have information, man-called-Viper. You give me the amber talisman, and I will tell you what it is I know."

"There is no need for me to know anything further, runtling," Viper countered. "And if there was. I could force the information from you."

"Ass!" the horrible thing rasped back. "Don't-fool yourself. Go away without what I know, and you will fail."

Viper gave the creature a threatening look. The demonling didn't flinch. "All right, it's a deal," he said coldly. "But I don't have the amber — yet."

"Sign this, man," the demon-to-be said, producing a scrap of sooty vellum. "With your own blood, of course. It is an agreement to hand over the amber spider when you gain it."

"If I do so?"

"My knowledge will be your gain. Besides, I will send you help, too."

That statement piqued Viper's curiosity, but he did not reveal his eagerness to learn about the help. "You make too much of the affair. It is a simple matter for one such as I to kill a thief, even so clever a burglar as this Blackcat has been."

The little monster shook its vile-looking head. "Not so," he piped back with a nasty leer that displayed the dozens of needlelike teeth in its mouth. "The one you seek is more powerful than you know, and my soon-to-be-dead master withheld something from you,"

"What?"

"That is my bargaining point, man! I'll tell you what for the gift of the talisman."

Viper sneered again. "And the assistance?"

"Simply insurance. If you fail, I don't get the spider, turdhead. That's ample reason for me to be willing to have certain servants assist."

"Come then, quasidemon," Viper said, naming the demonling for what it was for the first time.

"You seem to be something I may need. I know what you are and how to deal with you. Produce the agreement, and perhaps we can strike a bargain."

Gord was returning home in the wee hours. A little celebrating of his newly improved finances had been in order, but he had actually kept it within reasonable limits — and it was good he had. As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he sensed something. It was as if eyes were upon him. Despite that, he stopped only for a moment, as if pausing a minute in drunken fatigue, to gather himself for the arduous climb up the many steps to his apartment on the fifth floor. Someone was watching him from above, Gord knew that.

With a long sigh and a bit of tuneless whistling, Gord began plodding up the stairs. He went slowly and made a production of it. Anyone watching would surely believe that he was tipsy, tired, and vulnerable. The short cape he wore hid the drawn dagger clasped firmly in his left fist, while his right hand rested casually on the pommel of his enchanted sword. Because of that, Gord saw clearly enough.

An unusually large rat was scuttling upward, undoubtedly fleeing his approach. Apparently, nothing worse lurked along the way. Whoever was lying in wait must have decided to ambush him when he entered his chambers. How could they have found this place? Gord asked himself. Perhaps it is a common robber, his brain answered. A dozen possibilities flashed through his mind as he ascended the last flight of stairs, but only one conclusion was logical. Very powerful foes had finally located the den of Blackcat, and what happened next would be a matter of life or death.

"Now where's that silly-sodding key?" Gord said loudly in a crooning, drink-slurred voice as he approached the door to his apartment. His ears detected a faint whispering on the other side of the old planks. It was the noise felt-soled boots made as they slid along hard flooring.

"Open up!" Gord shouted as loudly as he could even as both of his feet struck the door near its latch. He rebounded and rolled through the suddenly created opening while the door slammed and shivered as it struck the inside wall. Another figure was likewise somersaulting away. Too bad. Whoever lurked inside had managed to react with incredible swiftness when Gord had kicked the door in.

Two smaller forms hastened to join the first There were three, possibly more, against him alone.

"Fair odds, lads," the young thief laughed confidently as he advanced with his sword and dagger ready. He hoped that his seeming aplomb would put off the attackers one way or another. In truth Gord's heart felt like lead in his chest. This was a desperate situation indeed.

The central figure made a waving motion to both sides of him and the two smaller men slid off to his left and right. "Welcome home, Blackcat." the tall I fellow hissed. "I brought you some special guests." The man issued a sibilant laugh at his little jest."

"Guests? You are mice playing in the cat's lair!"

"Almost, little pussycat, almost," the hissing reply shot back. "Let's say rats, though — with a big serpent to oversee their handling of an offending torn!"

Just then the two men on either side of the assassin made a concerted attack, darting in to stab from left to right. Gord faked left, sprang right, and took the attacker there through chest and stomach with both blades. The rat-faced fellow screamed in pain and tried to get free, but Gord struck again, twice, with the long-bladed dagger, then shoved the corpse around into the path of the other one, who was coming from behind now. This one looked like the brother of the dead attacker, and as he became entangled with the body and fell. Gord made swift work of him so that two forms lay dying and twitching on the oaken floor.

"Most impressive! Those blades you wield are dweomered, too. Our cat has sharp claws."

"Viper!"

"You know me, Blackcat? How curious. In that case I should have guessed your identity long ago, and all of this would be completely unnecessary. You'd have been dead and rotting weeks ago. But I don't recognize you at all, little man."

The speech was almost sufficient to distract his attention, but Gord was too good to be totally taken by any such ruse. The sounds from behind warned him, and he vaulted into a series of springs that placed him farther inside his apartment and well away from the entrance. A quick look showed Gord he had done the right thing. At least a half-dozen of the rat-faced men were where he had been but a second or two before.

"Stay there!" The order came from the lanky assassin and was directed at the rodent-faced henchmen. "I think that it will take a viper, not a pack of rats, to skin this cat."

"You are very confident," Gord said to the assassin as he began to close. "I’ll tiy not to give you too long to regret your mistake. This cat is faster than any adder alive!" So saying, the young thief engaged his tall foeman, and in a series of quick exchanges wounded the man twice without receiving a scratch himself.

"You little bastard!" The last came from Viper as Gord's dagger point slashed fine chainmail and the flesh beneath it. "Close on the filthy bastard now!" Viper nearly screamed the command. The rat-faced bunch nearby hastened to obey.

The very number of attackers made Gord's situation an impossible one. He could hold them off for some time but there was no hope in the long run. He'd kill a few, but then their sheer numbers would tell; he'd fall in the press, and Viper would finish him with his damned poisoned sword. "I'll pull your fangs. Viper, before this load of rats finishes me!"

At that, the assassin only laughed. There was little force in the threat, for Gord was now surrounded by the ratmen.

The scene changed in the wink of an eye. One second three of the attackers were before him. The next they were scattered around, one broken where he had stood, another sent crashing through a window, and the last bitten in twain. Even the ice-cold Viper gave a startled gasp at the sudden turnabout.

But it wasn't Gord's doing at all. Like an apparition, there stood in the midst of the melee a giant saber-toothed tiger, its jaws dripping blood from the wererat it had just bitten in half. Even as the assassin vented his cry of fear and the remaining rat-men tried to draw away, the huge cat struck again, as did Gord.

The tiger was upon the remaining wererats in an instant, dealing out death with claw and fang. This beast was the largest of smilodons, the lord of them all. Perhaps one or two of the ratmen would have survived the attack of even so potent a beast as the saber-toothed tiger, but never the attentions of this giant among its kind. The sounds of their dying were not pleasant.

Meanwhile, Gord leaped to confront the lanky killer. "Now, Viper, we have a more even game — cat against serpent. Shall we see which shall have the upper hand when the play is finished?"

Rather than bothering to reply. Viper sent his sword flying at Gord as if it were a javelin. It was all the young thief could do to avoid the missile, so unexpected was the attack. Before he had a chance to regain his balance from the first onslaught, Gord found he was faced with yet another series of flying missiles. Viper had used his time well, and now his hands were filled with great darts. These he hurled with force at his opponent, and the missiles came in such rapid succession that it took every ounce of Gord's acrobatic skill to avoid their long, envenomed points. A dozen of the things buzzed through the air before the assassin's arsenal was exhausted.

"What now, snake?" Gord had his sword pointed at the assassin's throat as he so inquired.

A set of poniards appeared in Viper's hands as he leaped toward his smaller opponent, bent on sinking both weapons into him. Gord blocked the thrusting points with his shortsword and sank his own dagger deep into Viper's thigh as the two combatants wheeled and spun round an invisible center point One of the twin blades sliced through Gord's leather jerkin but was stopped short by his shirt of eliin chain. All the while, a small, ugly little creature that had appeared but moments before clapped and cheered, laughed and jeered, as the pair fought for their lives.

Both foemen moved back to catch their breath.

Now Gord was silent, but Viper was angered by the presence and commotion of an unwanted spectator. "Shut your foul little mouth, quasidemon, and assist me in killing this man!"

The little fiend laughed raucously at that. "Can't handle him by yourself, big-mouth turdhead? Sorry, but fighting isn't our deal. Beat him yourself or die, chump."

"You'll not get your prize that way," the bleeding assassin gasped.

"Who cares?" the creature japed in reply, "I got you then."

Gord didn't wait to hear any more. He moved into another attack, lunging out to skewer the tall killer with a straight thrust. His point barely grazed the fellow, however. Viper was quick and a superb fighter. Both of his poniards flew at Gord. and then the assassin hurled down a vial that he had drawn from inside his tunic. When the glass struck the floor it exploded, and a cloud of thick, vile-smelling smoke hissed up and filled the room.

"What the hells!" Gord swung his sword through the cloud of smoke blindly, but the effort was useless. There was noise from the room beyond. Viper was escaping through the window in his bed chamber! The young thief sprang after the escaping assassin and arrived in time to see him disappear through the opening. Gord knew that Viper was easily capable of climbing down and escaping before Gord could prevent it. He looked out and down anyway. Perhaps he could use sword or dagger to bring the damned killer to his doom.

Viper was already about five feet down the wall and moving with assurance. Then an ugly little creature appeared and sat atop the assassin's head.

"Where's my talisman?" Gord heard the thing demand.

"Get the hells off my head!" Viper managed to scream. That was all he could do, for his hands were busy holding on for dear life. The little monster must have weighed a lot.

"Give me the talisman or else forfeit your contract." the thing replied.

"Putter you and the amber too!" Viper shrieked. "You didn't help me!"

"Sure did! You were warned, and you got the nine wererats I promised. Sorry, but you have to forfeit. ."

"What are you talking about, quasidemon? There was nothing in that deal about forfeit!"

"Sure there was, only it was written in small print. You probably didn't notice it."

"Don't give me that dung." the assassin managed to say as he tried to continue his descent. "Demons aren't smart enough to put in that sort of stuff."

The little thing began to do a jig atop Viper's head. "Oh, yeah. That's the other part I forgot to mention. I'm not really a quasidemon after all — how could you have thought I was when you saw me as a rat and I brought wererats to you? I am an imp, after all!" With that, the foul little creature began lashing its barb-tipped tail downward. The appendage struck at Viper's face, lacerating his cheek, forehead, and chin before it sank deeply into the assassin's eye. "Gotcha!" cackled the imp.

There was a long, terrible shriek that ended only when Viper's body struck the cobblestones below with a meaty thump. Of the imp there was no sign at all.

Gord stood staring down. What had just transpired was so terrible as to have frozen him in horror. Then he remembered about the saber-tooth! He sprang around, bringing up his sword. The massive cat was there, not six feet away, eyes fixed on him, small tail twitching. Useless or not, Gord brought his sword and dagger to the ready. The monster wavered and changed before the young man's startled eyes!

"Sheathe your weapons, Blackcat." a large-muscled man with flowing yellow hair said. "Someday, perhaps, you and I will meet under less constrained conditions — and then will we test our strengths and skills. Until then, we have no quarrel."

"No? No, I should think not, for you have saved my life. Just who, or what, are you?"

"One sent by Rexfelis to aid you, and so have I done."

"In truth, sir, in truth! How could he have known I would need help?"

"Who can say what the Lord of Cats knows? Or why he cares to do what he does?" the big man said with a rumble. "Give over now the talisman of amber the one containing the purple spider, as payment for Rexfelis' aid, and I will leave you."

"The talisman? Payment?"

What is free in life, brother?"

Gord sighed and turned away in resignation. He had dealt with the Catlord before, and he knew the futility of argument or trying to bargain. "Here," Gord said, handing the hemisphere of petrified resin to the strange man who could assume the shape of a saber-toothed tiger. "You have the payment, and tell Lord Rexfelis that with it come my thanks and regards."

The man turned and left without a word. Gord didn't care. He felt drained, exhausted, and there was yet much to do this very night. In a few minutes the men of the watch would be around to inquire as to what had occurred. When they arrived, he must be well away. It took only a minute to gather up his gold and a few necessary items. Then Gord was away into the darkness of Greyhawk. It would be a long time before the city was troubled by Blackcat again.

The next day Lord Mayor Gasgol had a full report of the incident in the Craftsmen's Ward. Viper's demise was a mixed blessing, but what of the thief? Gasgol's personal repute was on the line, yet he had no minion to serve him now. Word had reached the Thieves Guild of the previous night's happenings, and Arentol had put two and two together. "Have you succeeded in eliminating the rogue, lordship?" the guildmaster inquired.

"Of course, my dear fellow, of course." Gasgol avoided the guildmaster's gaze as long as possible as the conversation went on. Finally, after trying to fend off several pointed queries, the lord mayor said airily, "How could I fail?" And as he so stated, he looked at Arentol, challenging him to continue the discussion.

Then Nerof Gasgol saw the look in the eyes of the oligarch and master of thieves. Trouble of the worst sort was brewing in the mind of the man. "Indeed, sir," said Arentol, "you cannot fail — as all will know when Blackcat's head is high above the gates of the Citadel, just as you said it would be."

Gasgol was ready with a response to that. "I've had some time to think about that, and I fear that such a display could be disturbing to the populace. After all, the man was high in our circles."

"Whatman?"

"Why, Blackcat, of course! I think it best if you and I keep this whole affair between us, dear guild-master. We have no need to upset the other oligarchs or the citizens of Greyhawk. By way of my gratitude for your cooperation, I shall end the strictures upon your guild this very day."

"There is more, lordship. What of the losses we have suffered because of your orders? And there is the loss of face to be considered, too," Arentol said softly, his tone almost honeyed.

Gasgol shifted uneasily in his chair and grumbled. This seemed very much like extortion to him — and he, of all people, should recognize extortion when he saw it. A lengthy bargaining session commenced, and in the end it was agreed that certain substantial sums would be transferred from the lord mayor's exchequer to the treasury of the Thieves Guild. Records were altered and the matter closed.

"An agreeable conclusion, don't you think, dear cousin?" Arentol said heartily as he slapped the lord mayor on the shoulder in comradely fashion. Nerof Gasgol winced, scowled, but nodded in concurrence before he stumped out.

Rumors circulated in the city, of course. It was whispered that the rogue calling himself Blackcat had been none other than Viper. It was said that the master of the Thieves Guild had devised a clever trap for the man, and the lord mayor had wisely agreed to the ploy. Thus, Viper had been brought to justice and once again all was well within the city.

Gord was among those who heard the tale, naturally. He applauded it and told it to others as often as possible. Any reappearance of Blackcat in the future would certainly be a matter for the innermost circles of Greyhawk. and never again would there be a reward offered for the offending rogue. After all, the lord mayor and the guildmaster of thieves had both personally accounted for the man. Ever afterward in the city, Blackcat was dead.