"Asleep, Basil? And dreaming sweet dreams? It is time to awaken!" There was no response. Gord crept up the steps and searched the first storey, then went one floor higher. In a lavishly furnished bedroom on the second floor, he saw his quarry lying in a huge bed.

"All right, Basil, time to get up!" the young thief said, rudely shaking the foul little man. When Basil failed to even twitch, Gord understood immediately. Basil was not asleep at all — he was dead. A quick check found him cold and stiffening. Gord first examined the man's mouth for any residue of poison, but found no such evidence. Then he pulled back the collar of Basil's nightshirt and knew right away that his death was by garrote. Basil probably never woke up to know he was being slain.

This death was no coincidence, Gord thought as he began to conduct a careful search of the chamber. If the dead fence kept anything of special value, it would be somewhere near his bed for constant guarding. Gord found a strongbox and began to work on its triple locks carefully, knowing that some mechanical or magical traps would be included by such a man as Basil had been. He was nearly through with the task when he heard the noise below.

"Upstairs, quick!" The voice was loud, and there were footsteps to match the words. From the sounds, Gord judged there were a half-dozen men, and Gord was trapped in a room with a barred window and a door leading to the stairway. It would be useless to attempt to flee, so the young man simply stood and waited.

Two armed men wearing the black and gold of Greyhawk's Praefecture of Magisterial Enforcement entered the bedroom. When they saw Gord standing with folded arms near the bed, one leveled a crossbow, aiming it directly at his chest. The other man checked Basil's still and lifeless body.

"He's dead, as we suspected," one man announced to those who were still outside the room.

"Here, I have the killer!" the other called loudly.

A gold-chained magistrate and a silver-chained inspector joined the two warders, and in a moment the party grew by the entrance of yet another pair of men. Gord said to all, "You have me, no doubt but you do not have the killer of Basil the Lock. He was stone cold dead when I arrived here ten minutes ago."

"Who are you?" demanded the magistrate. Before Gord could open his mouth, the inspector volunteered. "I have seen him around, sir. He's called Gord, and we suspect him of many crimes — including unlicensed thievery."

Guarding and policing the city was the province of The Watch. The black uniforms with white trim were a common enough sight, for the city was divided into nine regular sectors, each with a Captain of the Watch, various officers and men, and bailiffs. Only the university district had its own protectors, a group commanded by a Master of Arms and composed of men who were tinder Greyhawk's direction only in time of war. High, Garden, Low, River, and Foreign Quarters were sectors, as were the Longtrade District. The Halls and Clerksburg, the Craft District, and the sprawled warren of Old City. For one such as Gord, The Watch was inconsequential. Most of its members could be duped, bribed, or dealt with in other ways. The Praefecture was another matter.

Greyhawk maintained a small, standing army. The Bastion housed one portion, the Citadel the other. The soldiers of the city wore the reversed colors of the battle flag of Greyhawk, dark gray with a bright red hawk on chest and shield. Their police, and the special police of the city too, were the Praefecture. In addition to schooling and training the young of the city's officials and recruits for its soldiery, they enforced the laws which were specially decreed and kept rebellious plots down. Unlicensed murder was a capital oflense. This would be the crime they would accuse Gord of, and when they brought that before the Tribunal, there would certainly be some accusations about his various activities as a burglar and gambler, and his having engaged in nonguild thievery. The Praefectors, as these enforcers were called, didn't accept bribes. They were tough and capable. This was a terrible situation indeed for the young thief.

The silver-chained official came from his inspection of Basil's corpse. Gord thought it time to play his only card. "I am innocent, and Basil can clear me. Have him resurrected."

"Inspector Hone thinks otherwise," the magistrate replied, dryly. He motioned the regulars away, drawing Gord to a corner before continuing. "This place has been gone through thoroughly. Why did you linger here so long?"

"I have been here minutes. Basil was killed hours ago. I need say no more."

Shrugging, the magistrate ordered his men to escort Gord to the Citadel. As they began to depart, however, the official had second thoughts. "Wait a moment. I will see to this matter personally, for if what you say is true, he is a man of unusual abilities, shall we say. Hone, come with me."

As the trio reached the ground floor, the magistrate halted by the rear door. He smiled for a moment, looked directly at Gord, and then said. "What is your opinion, Hone?"

"The murder of Basil was done by the same person or persons who have been responsible for five unsolved killings in the last seven weeks, sir."

Gord was stunned by this — would he now be accused of multiple murders? — and repeated his earlier suggestion. "If resurrection fails, it is a small matter to have a cleric converse with the corpse. The last impressions before death remain."

"Have you heard of Vatman before?" the magistrate inquired, still smiling blandly at Gord.

"Who hasn't heard of him? That ferret has laid more crimes and plots before the oligarchs than . . . You're Vatman?"

"Magistrate Vatman, now, and about to lose repute and office unless this string of murders is solved. Fortunately, we now have you."

Hone frowned, and Gord was stunned. "Me? This is insane! I demand a clerical reading. In fact, I shall even pay for the spell"

"Tough luck, youngster," the grizzled inspector said solemnly. "Whatever else is done in killing the victims, some dweomer is used as well. Nothing — and I do mean nothing — remains in the body for detection through raising from the dead or speaking with the essential memory that lingers. The bodies have all been as empty as if drained by all the Lords of the Hells together."

"So I am the patsy. I take the fall, and you save your job."

Vatman shrugged. "If we hold you a long time before trial and conviction, there'll be no more killings for some time."

Hone smiled, and Gord looked confused. The inspector clucked at the young thief. Tsk. tsk, my boy! Do you take the magistrate — or me, for that matter — to be fools? The intelligence so fortuitously received that enabled us to catch you at the scene of the crime is far too timely to be coincidence. You might well be guilty of many things for which we could arrest and convict you. Of murdering Basil, though, or the other five, you are as blameless as I."

"Then set me free now!"

"Not so fast, thief," Magistrate Vatman said coldly. "I intend to solve this affair one way or the other. One way is to arrest and convict you, allowing the guilty party or parties to think I actually have been duped, and watch for them to grow careless in the future."

"But I’ll be dead then!"

"What's wrong with having one less thief in Greyhawk?" Hone asked earnestly.

"My assistant is right, of course," Vatman said with his everpresent smile, "but I have a second reason for handling the matter thusly. Don't relax. It falls squarely onto your shoulders. I'm going to allow you to slip away in a moment. You will have exactly three days— "

"Three days!"

"—to find out who set you up for the little game where you finally slew Xestrazy — yes, we know about that. I think whoever was behind that scam had a larger motive than getting rich from your efforts, Gord. Find the one who set you up there, and we'll have the one who has been committing these murders!"