[Gord the Rogue 05] - City of Hawks

by Gary Gygax - (ebook by Undead)

  He studied his carefully made map again. Four main channels sloped gently down to the place where the big cavern was. A dozen smaller ducts fed into each of the underground canals. Each of those ducts, in turn, was fed by a half-dozen conduits from collection points. The place where the strongbox lay was in the western canal. All Gord had to do was to find one of those old openings that wasn’t fully closed up. He couldn’t use the secret subcellar of the Beggars’ Guild to gain access to the canal, but one of the conduits would do as well.

  What seemed an easy matter proved to be quite the opposite in practice. Gord spent most of his free time during the following three weeks searching the streets of Old City for one of the places where the drains had been. Changes made over the centuries were difficult enough to determine, so that locating the correct areas in itself proved most trying. The task was complicated by new layers of cobbles, plazas, dwellings, and all forms of other things that had been built upon what had been there before. Perhaps a collection conduit still remained somewhere, but Gord couldn’t find it. He was only temporarily stymied, however. Giving up was not in his nature.

  Returning once again to Landgrave College’s hallowed repository of scribings, Gord managed to convince the doddering old custodian that he was still involved in the project for Doctor Prosper and that the good sage desired him to garner more from the dusty archives the librarian warded. Again with the great folio before him, Gord located and studied successively higher layers of the works beneath Old City. He had to go back several times to find what he was looking for, but it was eventually uncovered. Then Gord had to search through yet more of the old plans to get what he wanted. That was the military plan of the subterranean complex.

  When he finally thought of the answer to his problem, he was astounded by his own stupidity. It was simply this: Well openings alone weren’t sufficient to manage the reservoir—there had to be passages leading to it for maintenance!

  These ways would be regarded as secret, naturally. But somehow the college had gained copies of the military plans despite their secrecy. That probably had happened in that long-gone time when the masters of the complex that was spreading forth to become a major metropolis of the Flanaess, instead of the out-of-the-way trading center that the city had been, realized that the former concerns of the community were no longer applicable. Gord imagined the long-dead officials of the college receiving the gift of the plans from the equally long-deceased city officials with great ceremony; and sometime shortly thereafter, the lad mused, the whole batch had been quietly consigned to the oblivion of an ordinary storage room. Surely that was as good as, if not better than, locking them in a strongroom that every spy would seek to penetrate to discover what it held.

  Once he knew what to look for, Gord quickly found what he needed. The plan wasn’t identified as a secret military one, but he recognized it as such immediately. Routes for movement of troops beneath the city were shown, and so were the means of getting to the reservoir. All he had to do now was to get to the passages that lay about midway between the sewers and the drains, and the rest would follow.

  Because of his own experiences, especially his apprenticeship as a thigger-thief, Gord was familiar with the maze that existed just beneath the streets. From deep cellars, sub-basements, sewers, and the like, one could enter a network of hidden pathways that could be taken to bring the adventurous individual unseen from place to place within the entire city. Beggars used this lowway, as it were, and thieves and assassins also utilized it frequently and extensively. Wild cats, huge rats, all sorts of vermin, and who knew what else made the complex their home. Gord had heard stories of desperate and mad individuals who dwelled in the subterranean realm under the city. Recalling that thought made him shudder. Such an environment would make men into something different and more terrible in a short time, for to survive there would mean that an individual would have to become more ferocious, more vicious, than the other beasts that resided there.

  What equipment would he require to get through the upper labyrinth, find a means of penetrating deeper to the ancient military complex of passageways, and eventually go all the way from there to the western canal wherein the coin-filled strongbox lay? The list was not difficult to make.

  First, he needed dark-colored, old clothing that fit snugly so it wouldn’t get in his way when he had to climb or go through a tight place; solid boots, well-greased to keep out water; and, of course, his weapons—boot knife, long dagger, and short sword.

  Then he’d have to have a strong line for help in climbing up or down sheer surfaces, plus a spike or two to use as an anchor for the line; a pair of small pouches to carry the money he would remove from the iron box; and a waterproof container to hold his map, some spare sheets of parchment, and a charcoal stick for writing on them.

  Next, a couple of good pieces of chalk for marking the walls with. That, and the rough map he would have along, should assure he wouldn’t become lost in the black mazes. Perhaps it would be a good idea to take along a little flask of brandy too, and a bit of food. It might take longer than he thought to find his way down and get back up again.

  That was just about it. He had or could easily obtain everything he needed except for one thing: What would he do for illumination?

  If Gord had comrades with him on this expedition, he would certainly have opted to bring some good, long torches. These would have provided both light and protection from whatever lived down there. The things dwelling there would not be accustomed to light or flame; they would shun the former and fear the latter. But this was a solitary endeavor, and he could not carry a supply of torches by himself. And, a regular lantern would also be of no use. It would require him to hold it or affix it to his body. That arrangement would be too cumbersome, the lantern too likely to fall or break.

  He decided that what he needed was an object en-spelled by a cleric, one that the priest had treated to make it give off strong light for a long time. Gord had seen such things occasionally. Wealthy people used them to light their dwellings and the areas around them. Rushlights, fat lamps, and candles were also used for this purpose, but only the poor folk had to employ such expensive and temporary means of illumination exclusively. Expensive, indeed…. Perhaps the priest-lights were more dear than he supposed. He had to find out.

  Temples and similar places of worship were absolutely foreign to the boy. He had studied theology in school recently, but outside that, he had no experience at all with religion. The small amount of knowledge he possessed allowed Gord some advantage in selecting a potential place to seek one of the special lights. He went to a little chapel of Fharlanghn nearby. The wanderers who tended to profess the deity were few in number in any city. The sect was broad-minded, accepting all sorts of folk. It also seemed likely that the priests there would be less oriented toward money. There were possibly other reasons for preferring this sort of place somewhere in the back of his mind, but Gord didn’t take time to ponder them. It was time to get on with his work!

  * * *

  “Pardon, good priest, but may I speak with you a minute?” he asked politely upon entering the small building and seeing a brown-robed man therein.

  “You may, boy. I am here to help all the faithful.”

  Gord was forthright. “I am no follower of your god, sir, just an inquiring student seeking something.”

  “If you seek knowledge of Fharlanghn, then this is certainly the place. If there is something other than such knowledge which you expect to find in this chapel, I fear I cannot help.” The priest looked steadily at the boy.

  “I am here to ask if it is possible to obtain an item which your clerics are known to fashion with your powers,” Gord said plainly, looking the tall man in the eye as he spoke, returning the priest’s gaze without blinking, but with a friendly expression. This was not difficult, for the cleric seemed a good fellow.

  “Then perhaps I’ll be able to serve after all, young scholar. What manner of thing do you seek?”

  “A
light of the sort you priests enspell on things. The kind that the gentry encompass in stout cages and employ to make yards well-lighted and their homes as bright as day.”

  The tall priest smiled. “So, the demands of your studies require much reading and scribery at night, do they?”

  “Well…”

  “Never mind the reason, boy. I am able to provide such an object as you wish—a small stone, smooth and regular, with the powers granted to me from my service to Fharlanghn employed according to his desire so as to make the stone glow as bright as day, and for a long time too. That is possible, if that is what you wish.”

  “Yes,” said Gord with a sigh of gratitude, and his relief evident on his countenance. “Please give me one of those stones you just described, and I shall give you whatever coin you require for the favor.”

  At that the cleric actually gave a gentle laugh. “Of some of the students at the university I could believe it—but that you’d be able to simply reach into your purse and count out the money is doubtful. You are no rich young noble, that is evident. You are likely the son of a merchant or a military officer from the look of you, boy. Where would you get so large a sum as three thousand zees to pay for the item?” The fellow chuckled again, but in a kindly way.

  Gord resisted the urge to reach into the secret place in his belt and take out three of the gold coins he had there. The tall cleric was right. A lad such as he would have no business possessing that sum of money. “Perhaps I could give you some now, and then pay the rest in weekly installments until the whole were delivered.”

  “What? And have your irate father down upon me? Not likely. I think you had better settle for candles and lamps, boy. They are bothersome and have to be replaced, but you can purchase many of them for the cost of the lightstone you seek.”

  The priest was about to leave, but Gord was by no means ready to admit defeat. “Wait, sir!… Ahh… Please, good priest, may I have yet one further word with you?”

  “Be brief,” the fellow said politely but firmly.

  “If I became a student of… Fharlanghn, studied the teachings you profess, and became a member of your faith, would you then perhaps make the light-stone available at a price less than that you named before?”

  Now the cleric stopped and assessed the boy before him more carefully. There was more to the lad than he first thought. This boy wanted the thing as more than a novelty, for some other reason than a light to study by.

  “Perhaps you and I should go into my personal apartment and have a chat. If you explain to me exactly why you have need of the lightstone, we may be able to strike a bargain. What say you… ?”

  “Gord, sir,” he supplied without thinking. “I have my reasons, and I’ll be honored to speak further with you, but I don’t think I will actually be able to explain fully.”

  The tall man smiled again, taking a closer look at the lad. “Well, Gord, you are certainly honest in your statements. Perhaps I won’t have to hear a full explanation. Still, let’s you and I have a chat to see about this matter.” With that the priest led the way to the rear of the place where various administrative offices and lodgings were located.

  After perhaps an hour the two emerged again, the boy talking as they did so. “… and you see, sir, that I have reason to search out this thing because of need!”

  “It is a foolish undertaking—typical of youth!”

  “With or without your help. I will do it.” Gord’s voice was firm, his face a study in determination, but he was neither wheedling nor imploring. The youngster simply stated fact.

  The cleric was a good judge of character, and he read Gord easily.

  The lad had admitted no details, but did tell the cleric that he planned to seek treasure in a place where difficulty, not danger, was the major obstacle. Wise in the ways of the world, the tall cleric knew that where one factor was present, the other would likely be encountered as well. Still, he was not inclined to belabor that point. And there was something about this boy….

  “You shall have my help,” the cleric said after a brief pause, “in the form of a lightstone and a blessing too. Give your contribution over for those in need, and both will I then bestow. When you return with your treasure, you will pay the agreed-to fee and also again contribute to the needy.”

  Gord presented his hand. The cleric noted ink stains, a sure sign of bookish pursuits. He also found the hand calloused and hard. The lad did physical work as well! There was certainly more to the small student than first met the eye.

  “Happily agreed, good priest!” Gord said heartily.

  The tall man smiled. “And gladly done, Gord. May all be well with you.”

  The boy waved farewell. “In two days I’ll be back to see you. You are truly a fine man to understand this matter so well!”

  The cleric smiled wryly at that. He doubted that his decision would meet with approval from on high, but he was subject to mortal weaknesses too. The lad had him caught up in adventurous nonsense.

  As promised, Gord appeared in two days, and the lightstone was ready.

  Chapter 13

  He entered the sewers from the Moat Stream Canal, where a narrow strip of warehouses and shops existed between the waterway and the wall that separated Old City from New Town.

  Gord chose a place where he would come under the beggars’ section of the ancient portion of Grey-hawk, rather than farther south where the passages would take him under the Thieves Quarter. The reasoning was simple. The more southerly sewers would be heavily trafficked by thieves, while those to the north, where the beggars held sway, would be virtually unused—particularly now that the business of stealing was the sole province of the thieves. Because of his training, Gord was able to detect the secret signs of both thiggers and thieves. Any concealed adits would be marked, and Gord needed to find some means of getting lower in the subterranean maze.

  He had used his mechanical skills, those gained at locksmithing principally, to fashion a small case for the enspelled stone. It was a tight cube of sheet tin, each of its six faces only a few inches square. The lightstone was tightly wedged between the top and bottom of the box so that it would not move or even rattle. One of the side faces was solidly and permanently fastened to the top and bottom for added rigidity, and a handle affixed to it, so that half of the sides of the cube were set. Each of the other three faces was flanged at the top and fasteners were placed there to allow locking. Along the bottom each side had a hinge. Flip the hook, shove the flange with thumb or finger, and the face would drop away to allow light to spill out.

  The face opposite the handle was, by definition, the front of the lantern—the gadget, for all its distinctiveness, was actually nothing more than that, all in all. Gord had made a small hole there and added a flat piece of tin that could be slid aside to uncover the aperture. That allowed the light-box to send forth a thin, bright beam of light without illuminating all the space ahead or nearly around him, as was the case when all three sides of the device were allowed to drop open.

  He was pleased with his work, even though he had been unable to keep the cube from emitting any light at all when he closed it. Try as he might, Gord could not stop the bright light from being visible along the cracks where the moving faces met the frame. Finally he decided to use the side-face openings only in an emergency and plugged the light leaks there with beeswax blackened with soot. Because there was no help for the other glimmerings, from where the front face met its four neighbors, Gord carried the box inside a baggy jacket where he could easily conceal its illumination by the cloaking effect of the dark, thick cloth.

  He wore a long cloak over his other garments as he walked northward to arrive at the place where he planned to enter the sewers. Having set out just as the sun was sinking, Gord timed his arrival so it was just fully dark when he came to his destination. The boy was small enough to be able to slip through the side opening in the grate that covered the entrance, and being familiar with such places enabled him to find the iron rungs of
the ladder leading down without using any illumination.

  At the bottom of this first shaft, some fifteen feet below street level, Gord blinked and looked around. His eyesight was excellent, his night vision superb according to those who knew about such things. The faint light from above was sufficient to enable Gord to discern the walls and the places where the vaulted drains ran from the conjoining point of the shaft. After orienting himself, Gord chose the one going north and carefully proceeded up the tunnel for several yards. Then he took out his magical lantern and allowed a little light to spill out from the hole in the front face.

  “Just a trickle,” he said aloud, satisfaction evident in his tone, as he viewed what was before him. The old drain had a concave bed in which a small stream of waste ran. The stuff was mostly water, and it was flowing in the same direction the boy was headed. Gord stood on a narrow ledge some three feet above the channel. The stones were enslimed and worn, dangerous unless one was careful. The odor was nauseating, but not so horrible as to make breathing painful.

  “It could be worse,” Gord said as he slipped a wrapping of black cloth up from around his neck to mask his nose and mouth. At the last minute he had thought of this added bit of gear, as well as a small flask of vinegar to douse it with, but that would be used only if the air got really foul. Off came the cloak, and in a trice he had it rolled, slung, and tied over his right shoulder.

  Pacing carefully ahead, Gord found no secret sign to indicate that there was any concealed means of egress from the sewer. Coming to another junction point, he decided to turn right, into the system that ran under the center of the Beggars Quarter. This tunnel was about a foot above the north-south one, so he had to step up. The concave drain on the floor in this conduit was absolutely dry. There were heavy webs and a few scurrying beetles, but nothing else. The existence of the webs confirmed his judgment. The sewer he had been in was not one that had been used by anyone coming from Old City, else these webs would have been mangled and torn down before now.