Gary Gygax: Saga of the Old City

The Wizard’s Hat was a place of considerable reputation, and it was filled with people. The tavern area was crowded with all sorts of men, while most of the tables in the main room were clustered with ladies and gentlemen eating and drinking, for it was but a bit past noon. A haughty Violet accosted the sweating proprietor and demanded a table near the front of the room. One look at her, and from her, and he hastened to comply. Who knew whose mistress she was or what influence she had? Anyway, a looker like that near the front of his place would encourage custom!

Once seated, Violet ordered a goblet of cooled green wine from Celene-a place Gord had never heard of. She waved him to a position off to one side, and the ostler brought him a small beer. While she dined on the finest provender of the establishment, Gord was served a sort of slumgullion that the serving maid identified as “raw goo.” Violet struggled to suppress a smile when he asked her what it was.

“It’s ragout,” she said quietly with a stern expression on her face. “That’s one word-a foreign way of saying it’s a thin stew with more vegetables and the like than real meat. Slumgullion’s better, but don’t say that here, Gord! Now hush, or they’ll cop wise as to where you’re from.”

Gord wrinkled up his nose and was about to whisper a reply when a shadow moved across the table. Violet fell immediately back into character.

“Get rid of that sullen face, boy,” she snapped, “or I shall have you take your fare in the kitchen with the lackeys there! Have you no appreciation for my generosity?” As she spoke, Violet seemed quite annoyed and very much in charge in a mistress-servant relationship.

Gord bit back his words and obeyed her, for as displeased as he was about their relative meals and her imperious manner, he understood that she was now up to something.

“Pardon, Good Lady, but I noted your courage in allowing a serving boy to sup with you. May I be so bold as to suggest that you do so for lack of a proper gentleman escort, and to, ahem, offer my company?” With that he made a courtly bow and flourish, adding, “The Honorable Master Ralph, Elder of Seven Mile Mill, at your service.”

Somehow, Violet managed to blush, lower her eyes, smile prettily, and stammer all at once. “Well, sir, or Honorable Master, I should say, I am at a disadvantage….”

“Pardon, m’lady, I shall take my leave then,” said Ralph.

Gord was quite pleased with that turn of events, but before the fellow could turn away Violet spoke quickly:

“Oh, nay! Good Master, I am most grateful for your kindness and courtesy. I crave your pardon if you felt otherwise. It is just that a proper lady shouldn’t converse with strangers, yet this knave is indeed unfitting company for one of breeding such as yourself….”

“Then perhaps our host will introduce us formally, I shall serve your Ladyship, and the boy can be sent to keep company with the scullions-he’d be more comfortable there, certainly. Why, look at him now-the picture of one ill at ease with superiors!”

Gord was indeed feeling out of place, and angry too, but there was neither word nor deed for him. He sat quietly as the gentleman gestured toward the ostler, who scurried over and performed his role in the ritual:

“Good sir, may I introduce Lady… aah… Penora” (after being informed by Violet) “…of… Dyvers,” (again, filled in by the fair lady) “and to you, my lady, may I have the pleasure of introducing…” Gord found all of this to be quite sickening, all the more so because Violet seemed to be really enjoying herself. But when the amenities were over, that was the end of it for Gord. With no further ado, the proprietor put him in the charge of a bustling wench who, in turn, took him to the kitchen. There he finished his beer and “raw goo” and slumped glumly, wondering what to do now.

The answer soon presented itself, for several of the scullions and stableboys were gathered near the rear door rolling knucklebones. Well paid they must be, for each had a scattering of iron drabs, brass bits, and bronze zees before him. The bronze coins surprised Gord: These were stakes worth his while! Forgetting about the handsome gallant and Violet for the moment, he moved toward the game.

Shuffling his feet and looking as stupid as he could, Gord asked what the boys were doing. Grinning, the leader asked if the inquirer had any money. If so, perhaps they’d be kind enough to teach him a wonderful new game-and give him a chance to win a fortune!

Gord bit at it perfectly, and soon he was being called by name while taking his turn at tossing the yellowish cubes. He lost more often than he won, but the proceeds he gleaned from his light-fingered work far outpaced the coins he gave up. As the game progressed, Gord worked at fumbling with coins so as to slip many of the growing number of zees into his pocket-away from the gaze of those being fleeced out of their wealth. The disappearance of the more valuable coinage was becoming apparent, and one of the stable boys started to ask a question about this, when a shriek came from the common room. Everyone from the kitchen rushed out to see what had happened. Gord joined the throng, but not before he managed to scoop up a good handful of the remaining coins. In the space of those few seconds, an uproar had come over the place.

The honorable gentleman from Seven Mile Mill had come staggering down the stairs from the upper floor, gasping and gesturing. As he stepped into the main room, someone saw a knife handle protruding from his upper back and screamed. Ralph turned a bluish hue and expired, falling face down. A babble of questions arose as Gord took in the scene. He heard the ostler shout for Lady Penora, while the wench who had shepherded Gord into the kitchen called out for her charges to find the lady’s servant. Gord got away in the confusion, made the street, and used his best skulking techniques to become an invisible boy. He turned east at the first lane, twisted his trail several times to be sure he wasn’t being followed, and as dusk fell made his way back to the rear of the pawnshop. In a matter of minutes thereafter, Gord, rag-wrapped and dirty, was reentering the headquarters of the Master of Beggars.

Gord found Furgo upstairs already questioning Violet, his face flushed with rage. It seemed that she had discovered the gentleman was no Town Elder at all, but a thief of no mean rate. Violet had found this out when she searched his purse. How did that come to pass? Well, the man, calling himself Ralph, had led her to dalliance upstairs, but instead of then falling asleep when she feigned slumber, he had slipped soundlessly out of bed, taken her purse, and was just about to do the same with her cheap jewels when Violet sat up and objected. At this, “Ralph” had drawn his dirk and threatened to carve a second mouth into her throat if she made a noise.

Violet had stayed silent after that, but when the thief came over to truss up his victim before escaping, she had done something foolish-pulled out a knife she had secreted beneath her pillow and plunged the weapon into the thief’s shoulder. The little blade was strongly poisoned, and the result was his death scene in front of dozens of witnesses. During the hubbub that ensued, Violet had gotten out a window and escaped, but in her haste she had taken the streets and entered the Old Town by a gate, so her progress could be traced at least that far. Furgo took her loot and ordered her to her quarters until she was sent for.

Then Furgo turned to Gord and got out of him what he knew. Gord also had to give up his hard-earned coins-all but a pair of silver nobles that he had hidden where only the most careful search would find them… and no such search was made.