"No reason, no reason at all — other than to describe the finer services and accommodations that we at the Hostel of Ineffable Comfort offer!" The fellow then described the drinks and meals available, clothes-cleaning and tailoring services offered while guests took their repose, and various and sundry other offices that the hostel could provide.
"What are these Gedrusian Exotic Dancers?" Chert asked as they approached the door that led to their quarters.
"Never mind," Gord said sternly to the lanky fellow. "My friend tends to be overzealous. but we are tired and have a full day on the morrow. Simply show us our chambers."
"Here you are." the fellow said, ushering Gord and the glum-faced barbarian into a large parlour. There is only one bed," he continued as he led the pair into the adjoining room. "But notice how large it is."
"I care not for a bedstead of heavy iron," Chert said, eyeing the thing distrustfully and shaking his head.
"Ah, but notice the fine feather mattress and down pillows. Do you know that this device — bed, that is, was created by the renowned Procrustes himself?"
"No. We don't like this suite at all," Chert replied over the protests of their tall, thin host. "Be so good as to show us another, or we will take our custom elsewhere."
"Well, I have a very fine set of chambers, what we call the Burke and Hare Suite, but it is quite expensive."
"Bugger the cost!" Chert said forcefully. "Show us that place now."
Gord disliked the thick, padded canopies of the beds in the Burke and Hare Suite, and neither adventurer cared much for the cramped suite the proprietor identified as the Bates complex. Finally, after much muttering and exasperation, the lanky fellow settled them in a large, ordinary room. The bed was smallish, but each took his turn sleeping while the other kept vigil. Neither Gord nor Chert felt at ease in the hostel despite the claims and services offered. An hour before dawn. Gord detected a faint draft. Grasping the pommel of his enchanted blade, he peered around the room, using the dweomer of the sword to see in the pitch blackness as if it were a normally lit place. The room remained pitch dark to any who did not hold the enchanted blade.
Yagbo stood in a newly revealed opening in the wall near the head of the bed. With him was another man who, if anything, was less savory than the rascally porter. Each had a cloth tied over his face and a wad of lint clasped in hand. Yagbo was unstopper-ing a flask, bent on pouring its contents into the wad of lint each held. Gord could see fumes rising as the stuff issued from the bottle. Yagbo worked with swiftness, and as soon as both balls of stuff were soaked, he and his villainous associate pitched them onto the bed where Chert's head was, and where Gord's should have been. Chert groaned softly, tossed, and then began to breathe most heavily and unnaturally.
That does for ‘em!" whispered the porter with an evil chuckle. "Light the candle and we'll tie 'em up nice and tight for Plincourt's supper!"
Holding his breath, Gord stepped to the bed and skewered the nearest ball of lint on the point of his shortsword. He flicked it through the air with unerring aim. The wet, fuming clump of fiber took Yagbo full in the face and hung for a heartbeat before dropping. As the soggy mass slid down to gravity's will, Yagbo's eyes bulged, his hands clutched at his throat, and he wheezed forth a croaking cry of agonized defeat.
"Wazzamatter?" the other would-be killer whispered as he looked up from the sputtering stub of candle he held. "Youse trussin' ‘em already, Yagbo?"
The needle-sharp point at his throat, pressed just hard enough to cause a bead of crimson to drip forth, answered his query. "If you move so much as an eyelid, I’ll put this point through your neck!" Gord said. "Now, kneel — slowly!"
The trembling scoundrel complied without a sound, crumbling to the floor, and Gord soon had him flat upon his stomach, hands folded behind his neck, chin set so that the fellow's eyes were upon him, allowing Gord to move to the bed to ascertain his friend's condition. Chert was evidently in a comatose slumber, for he made no response to a sharp pinch upon the earlobe.
"What is the effect of the drug you and Yagbo administered?" Gord demanded.
The prone man started to move as he replied, then felt the tip of Gord's blade at the base of his spine. "It causes drugged sleep for at least an hour, maybe two," he said in a strained whisper.
"What were you going to do after tying us?"
"Tie youse guys? Naw, we was just gonna— "
The pressure of the weapon caused him to gasp in pain, but Gord ignored that. "If you lie to me once more, I'll sever your spine, then work on the upper part of you for good measure — but slowly! What was your plan?"
"Hang ya up fer da vampire. He'd have us dump youse down da old cistern when he'd finished wid ya. Da trunk goes to Plincourt, too."
"Plincourt? Who is that?"
"Plincourt's da guy who runs dis place at night. He hires us to get greenies and pays us a nifty thirty nobles each to do dat."
"Who are the friends of this Plincourt?" Gord asked, leaning a little on his sword as he said it.
"Ow! Easy. easy. I'm tellin youse the truth! Plincourt hangs 'round wid joe and a se'edy trollop called Fritzie - dat's about it."
"Joe? is that the merchant?" Gord saw the man nod vigorously, so he went on. "What about the owner of this place? is he in on the scam?"
"Shaz, no! if Huskons knew what was goin’ on, he'd have all of our arses!"
"So it shall be," Gord murmured softly as he jammed the still damp wad of lint under the prone man's nose. A surprised gasp, a cough, and the fellow was out. Gord proceeded to tear the linen from the bed into long strips with which he bound both criminals, making the ties as tight and uncomfortable as possible. Taking water from the ewer on the stand, the young thief then splashed it generously on Chert's face. But the cold liquid had no effect on the slumbering barbarian. Nor did pinching, poking, slapping or punching. "Guess I'm just going to have to tend to matters myself," Gord grumbled.
It took some doing, but the slender rogue finally managed to drag the sleeping killers into the secret passage. The candle showed the space to be about three feet wide and several yards long. At its end was a narrow stone stair that descended into a tight spiral. Being quiet but none too gentle, the adventurer managed to get his burdens to the bottom of the flight without undue noise. Gord found that he and his sleeping nuisances were in the cellar of the hostel. After very little exploration he entered an ordinary storeroom through the hinged back of an old cupboard.
There is where they dispose of the corpses," Gord said to himself upon spotting a large, open shaft in the center of the chamber. The cover had been moved aside in anticipation of the duo's demise. Gord shuddered. He dragged the bodies of his would-be assassins through the deceptive cupboard door and over to the edge of the cistern. "Now isn't this convenient?" he asked his sleeping prisoners. "Youse guys were considerate enough to leave me some rope with which to hang you." And with that the two unconscious thugs were trussed and suspended over the gaping cistern. "Have a nice sleep, guys, because you're going to wake up to a hell of a nightmare!" Gord chuckled and gave the hanging bodies a shove.
By the time the young thief returned to the room he shared with his friend, the groggy hillman was just beginning to come around. "One more time," Gord said as he tossed more water on the surprised fellow's head.
"What the hell?" Chert jumped to his feet but quickly fell back on the bed. "Who's been messing with my brain?" he asked, holding his head in both hands. His friend resisted the urge to reply sarcastically and, instead, briefly related the past hour's events. Although he was still somewhat lightheaded from the drug, the hillman readily agreed with Gord's suggestion that the two immediately pay Plincourt a visit.