Chapter 2: The Guildhouse

Earthday, month of Wealsun, 591 CY

I had a bad, bad feeling about this.

I had no real idea what this was all about, however, so I didn't know how to prepare. As well, it was best not to keep anyone at the guildhouse waiting too long. They all had nasty tempers.

I shimmied my way down from Merreck's cubbyhole, using the wooden legholds I had memorized on my way up. A perfect memory is a very useful thing indeed, and I was thinking about what resources I had.

I was not fool enough to keep any coins or valuables in my own cubbyhole, which I shared with three other apprentice thieves. It used to be four, until Hayli made the mistake of picking a Rhennee fellow's pocket. Or trying to, rather. The guild hadn't even attempted an evening of scores - apprentice thieves just aren't worth the bother.

But I did keep a few worthless things there, toys and scraps. So they'd have something to look through, whoever 'they' were... and I also kept one thing that only seemed worthless, my one magical treasure.

A pitted, seemingly bent knife of tarnished copper was openly driven into the wood by my blanket. I knew the others had tried to take it, despite its appearance, but it seemed stuck into the wood. It was not.

Amazingly enough, I'd actually found it in a garbage heap, a couple of years ago. It took me awhile to gather up enough courage to approach, since it shown so brightly with power to my senses that I could not quite see well enough to tell what it was. It took even longer to muster the will to actually appropriate it, since I had trouble believe that such an item of power would lie abandoned. But it was, and I did.

The runes on the metal were faint with the passage of ages, the intelligence I felt in my first touch upon the cool metal slumbering. Alive, yet dreaming. My touch awakened it, but the spirit seemed to have lost much of its mental voice. Kallahast recited the powers it held in a thready, grandfatherly voice, acknowledged me as its new mistress, and fell right back to sleep.

I'd never felt pity for an inanimate object before, or for the elderly. The first felt no pain, or so I had supposed, and the second had at the very least managed to survive. For such a tiny thing, a curved green-flecked copper knife scarcely the length of both my open hands, Kallahast could do so much. I could have uttered a word, and it would have appeared in my hand, but I didn't want to attract attention - or make it to the guildhouse any sooner than I truly had to.

Now that I had it in my hands, I felt much better. I swept greasy, ash stained fingers through my short, equally filthy black locks, and was on my way.

Everyone knows that the thieves' guildhouse, "City Hall" as it is known only half in jest, lies in the Old City Great Hall, where Greyhawk's government once resided. It is a most impressive building, presenting a grand facade, rebuilt as it was after the fire of 584, and no common urchin would be granted access - or at least not openly. There were surely many secret entrances, but I only knew of one.

The sewers, how else. The actual sewers beneath the building and in a few other select places were sternly guarded. The workers, the filthiest and smelliest bunch of dwarves and gnomes in the Flanaess, whispered that dark things slithered there. If those nasty brutes, who could give a drunken troll a real contest where it came to bad breath, ill temper and ready fists, were afraid, there was surely something to fear.

The sewer adjunct I used was old and crumbling, and not in general use. Perfit, who'd introduced me to it long ago, claimed that an old time robber baron had bribed one of the architects in charge of rebuilding the original sewers, back in the time of Zagyg the mad, to adjust things a bit. At the time, the official map kept in the Great Citadel bore only a marked semblance of the true layout. These days, the mayor being a thief, that was doubtless no longer true.

It was an unusually clement day for low summer. The threatening clouds had vanished, and the sunshine warmed my skin. The crowds were not so bad, as I chose to avoid the petit bazaar, not wishing to be seen at 'work'. Passing the Black Gate to the thieves' quarter, I paid my common and signed the usual X. There was sufficient traffic that no one paid any real attention to a child who wasn't obviously carrying anything.

A derelict figure huddled near the sewer egress, watching the few passersby from beneath hooded eyes, a begging bowl before him. Renaulf was a refugee from the wild coast, and had picked up a filthy wound from the orcs. Unlike some of the beggars, he really had lost the use of an arm.

I'd always tried to keep on their good side. The beggars see everything and remember most of it.

"Hey there," I smiled and tossed a tarnished silver noble into his bowl, to keep company with the three commons there. It was customary the pay the gatekeeper, and I wanted something extra.

"Say," I leaned forward and toned down my voice, "you know anything about a fellow Dirk, I believe they call him the Greeter?"

"That'll cost you somewhat, princess," Ranaulf grated out. A closer look showed bloodshot eyes and all the signs of a serious afterdrunk.

"Come now, be serious, Ran," I protested. "I'm a bleeding apprentice. You think I'd carry coin into the guild, of all places? You know I'm good for it."

He seemed to consider it, a trifle too slowly for the knots in my stomach.

"Oright," he murmured, "I heard ye be a good sort. But don't think I'd forget!"

Riding right over my protest, he carried on.

"Now then, this fellow is right nasty, I hear. A mite too close to the assassins. He an' that Turin fellow were thought to keep company. Word is the Dirk has deep pockets, a pretty girl, and a small residence up in the Garden. Shouldn't rightly be visiting the thief's quarter. He is, ain't he? You wouldn't be in a hurry otherwise. I'd bet ye'd clean up nice," he leered.

"But you're a bit young, and he ain't got that rep. It means big money, girlie, I'd bet you a bottle of dragon's breath on it, if I had one. You won't forget poor Ranaulf when you're rich, right, princess?"

I sneered right back. "When I'm rich, surely! You've been drinking way too much, your brains have curdled, that's certain. You really think anything'd trickle down my way, assuming I ain't the bait that gets chewed up? But don't you worry. I forget nothing. Rudd's luck to you!"

I'd been watching the alley, and the way was clear. I darted away and pressed the lever, leaping blindly into the darkness. I must have been fast enough, or Ranaulf chose not to bother with a rejoinder, and the opening closed behind me with a low clicking noise.

It might have been blind dark, but that didn't bother me at all. Night was no bar to my sight. I grabbed the ladder, not bothering with the hidden recess that held lantern, tindertwig and oil, and climbed down.

Rudd? She's my choice of a goddess, the lady of fair fortune, self reliance and skill. A mortal risen to divinity, I deemed her suitable for someone who must beat the odds, such as myself.

Dirk the Greeter's name was met with nods from the lanky, teenaged pair of visible guards, who were almost swollen with self importance. Their swords were so big, they probably wouldn't be able to take more than a swing or three before collapsing from sheer exhaustion.

The silly gits were kind enough to offer me vague directions, "he's one of the masters," the pimply one told me something I already knew, "and yer to find him on the second floor, on the left from the grand staircase."