From a vantage point across the street, he watched the Rhennee girl examining the contents of the gem merchant’s establishment. It appeared to be a fairly prosperous shop, although not the one he had hoped she would choose. Well, never mind-he would make the best of it. Adaz had been busy in the short time she’d been in the place, Gord noted, as he strolled closer. There were quite a few different stones on the counter, and Adaz was pointing to her earrings and gesturing disdainfully at the loose gems. She was probably demanding to see larger rubies to match those on her ears.
Gord turned partially away from the small glass panes of the shop window, pretending to watch the scattered traffic passing by, perhaps awaiting someone, but surveying the interior of the shop out of the corner of his eye. After another few minutes, Adaz thought she had created a sufficiently confused situation and acted. While she was decrying the terrible quality of the stones she had been shown, the girl used her hidden left hand to take a large spinel. The offended merchant didn’t notice immediately, for by then the two were exchanging rather vile insults. As she marched in mock outrage for the door, however, the man came to his senses and took an inventory with his eyes. Of course he noticed that the spinel was not there, and he voiced an angry shout.
Adaz broke into a run and was outside the place as its owner vaulted over the counter, shouting at the top of his lungs.
Because Gord stood to the right of the door, Adaz scooted left and away as fast as she could, not recognizing him in her haste to make good her theft and escape. Gord stayed planted as the shopkeeper came out and turned left in hot pursuit. It reminded him of his old days in the Slum Quarter, and he chuckled softly to himself. Then he stepped into the shop, drew his dagger, and vaulted the counter.
A large, brawny youth, probably the owner’s son or apprentice, was just coming through the curtain as Gord landed. The sound of Gord’s pommel striking the unsuspecting fellow’s head had a hollow sound, and the blow felled him like a steer at slaughter. Empty head or not, it would be sore for the next few days, thought Gord, but he’s alive. There was no time to fret about that anyway. Every second counted.
As Gord had assumed he would do, the man had taken time to scoop all of his precious merchandise into an iron strongbox and lock it. He had the key with him, of course. The sounds from the lane nearby were growing louder and more frenetic-all was well still, but he would have to hurry.
Gord took his weapon and thrust it against the hard metal of the lock. The point bit as if it were going into soft wood rather than cold iron. After a rapid succession of several such cuts, the lock was useless and the box open. Without bothering to select the better ones, Gord took as many stones as he could stuff into his shirt in a few seconds. Then he recrossed the counter and walked calmly out of the shop, heading away from the brawl going on a few doors down. It seemed that some fishmonger, passing this way on his journey home, had run squarely into the gem merchant. The outrage of the latter at losing the thief who had robbed him was matched by that of the fishmonger, who was demanding to know who would pay for his spilt catch. Passersby took sides, and a near riot was now in full swing. Shutters were being slammed and locked, doors barred. Calls for the Patrol were passing down the streets roundabout. Gord was gone from the turmoil in less than a minute.
He went to a tavern and enjoyed himself there. Then Gord headed for the “Down Quarter” of Radigast City, an area where few questions were asked. The previous day, he’d seen a place there he thought would be perfect for his purpose. When his recognition signal was returned, Gord broke into Thieves’ Cant, and soon the keeper of the place agreed to examine Gord’s merchandise.
The two retired toward a back room. Gord examined the entrance carefully before going in, and scrutinized the room itself even more thoroughly for secret doors or floor traps once he was inside, before settling down to the business at hand. All of this made the fence grin, for he appreciated professionalism in those he dealt with. They soon struck an agreeable price. Two of the man’s assistants fetched his money box, he paid Gord, and that was that. Gord had been careful to have the fellow retain a tithe for the local Guild. Whether he paid it or kept it was his business, but Gord would never be in trouble on that score. Guildmasters had a way of learning the truth, and they seldom used spells to gain such information….
With a fresh half-score of orbs, as well as assorted loose change to boot, Gord felt much better. Now he was solvent again! Time to get on with the rest of it. Whistling a merry tune, Gord went out the northernmost gate of the city, rather than the southeastern one, which led to Muddich. Just as darkness was falling he came upon a gypsy wagon, its driver lounging beside it. After a brief conversation, Gord clambered into the vehicle, the driver clucked the team of horses into motion, and the wagon rolled along the road on its way to who knew where.
One week and fifty leagues later, Gord and his new acquaintances were camped in the rich grasslands of the Artonsamay River Valley. These Rhennee-or Attloi, according to the prejudiced view of the bargefolk-were much the same as their lakefaring cousins, only a bit wilder and rougher. In fact, Gord would never have trusted such folk save for the fact that he was an adopted Rhennee, knew their speech, and actually looked similar to these people. Besides, he had paid them well in gems, although of the smallest and least valuable sort, for their help in his scheme and the subsequent conveyance of his person away from Radigast City.
Gord was frankly happy to be away from the water, but he was sore and stiff. Riding a horse was no simple thing, and his lessons were painful. These wagonborne Rhennee were horse breeders, among other occupations such as thievery, tinkering, and entertaining. This wilderness place was one of their grazing areas, and there were a hundred or so horses with the band. The foal crop had been good, and all the animals were in splendid condition. They would be moved to the Great Northern Bend area in another week, and selected horses would be sold at the annual fair and horse market there. That was where Gord planned to leave the gypsy train and seek his fortune elsewhere.
Meanwhile, however, he practiced his riding, played at fencing with the exceptionally able swordsmen of the group, and even learned the use of the crossbow. He had no intention of lugging around one of these small missile weapons favored by the wagonfolk, but Gord decided it would be useful if he knew how to operate a crossbow in a tight situation-such as when the barge had nearly been wrecked by the monstrous creature from the depths of Nyr Dyv.
The journey was unhurried, for they stopped at every village and hamlet to offer services, perform, trade, and occasionally make off with some unguarded livestock or goods. Gord noted that these Rhennee were most prudent in exercising thievery. Since this was a route they regularly traveled, the gypsies were careful to give the inhabitants of their stopping places no reason to feel hostility toward them. They tinkered, traded sharply, sold questionable remedies, and stole only small things. That made them exciting and dark visitors, not threatening ones. When they sang, danced, told fortunes, juggled, made their trained animals perform, and otherwise entertained, a bit of dishonesty could be forgiven. Each rustic felt that it was his or her business to be on guard against minor pilfering and poultry theft when the wagonfolk came. After all, they brought news, excitement, and a virtual carnival with them each time they passed through an area.