"How much remains?" Gord asked weakly.
Lord Fizziak gestured dismissal, saying as he did so, "Oh, a handsome sum, I assure you, for one of your station — no less than a half-score golden orbs, as I recall, along with a considerable balance in luckies, nobles, and lesser coins."
Although Gord nearly fainted from the shock, he managed to stagger from the hall.
"What's wrong, Gord?" Chert asked as he noted his friend's condition.
"We’ve been elevated to Gentlemen," the young adventurer managed to reply. "It must be the joy of such an honor that makes me pale and reeling."
The hulking barbarian looked somewhat unconvinced but said no more.
Later that night, Boffiy and Phompton arrived at the chamber the two young men shared. "Give us the object needed to complete the test," the Good Priest of Fizziak said in resonant voice. "And then we will hear an explanation of all that occurred."
"Welcome to our humble quarters," Gord replied. He graciously showed the two to a pair of chairs, bowed, and then presented Good Priest Boffly with a small, carefully wrapped parcel. Disconcerted, Phompton looked on as his associate unwrapped the package. Chert, unable to extract any information concerning the status of their confiscated treasure, was in ill humor and glowered silently from a reclining position on one of the two cots in the room as the cleric tore the oiled parchment from the box.
The container that the wrapping had protected was a finery crafted little coffer of silver and mother-of-pearl inlaid in a variety of rich, mixed woods to form an object of great beauty. Good Priest Boflly was somewhat hesitant, but Phompton was eager. "Get it open, Boflly," he urged his fellow official.
"This doesn't fit the description," the cleric said with a small shrug. Puffing out his cheeks and then emitting a little sigh, he hesitated still. "How came you by this lovely little box?" he asked Gord.
"I was told there's a vellum square inside, good sir, that relates the whole matter. I am certain it will answer all your questions to the fullest," Gord told him with an ingratiating smile.
Phompton was getting impatient. "Don't be such a craven, Boflly. There is no fear of any danger here inside the castle — and these two are certainly incapable of harming either of us."
"Nevertheless, I am troubled," the priest retorted. "You detect for any enspellment, while I seek possible malign power surrounding this coffer." So saying, the cleric began to work a spell to find evil, while the court wizard resignedly went through the ritual for discovery of hidden dweomer. In a few moments both had finished their passes and stood rapuy concentrating on the box.
"Not a glimmer of magic," said Phompton.
"Nor do I find evil," admitted the priest. With that he opened the container and drew forth the sheet of vellum he found therein. As Boffly took the sheet out, there was a muffled whoosh, and a cloud of bright green dust was blown over the startled faces of both men. Boffly dropped the box, and it broke on the hard flags of the stone floor. Phompton, meanwhile, leaped backward, trying to brush the stuff from his visage. All he succeeded in doing was getting his hands stained vivid green so that they matched his face.
Chert began guffawing at the sight of the green-faced duo, while Gord did his best to appear amazed and shocked. "My good lords!" he exclaimed in mock horror. "What has happened here? Are you all right?"
Good Priest Boflly ignored all, peering intently at the sheet of parchment. "There's more than one way to skin a pair of old coots!" he said.
"What are you talking about?" the wizard demanded furiously, wondering if his associate had been unhinged by the shock of being stained in brilliant hue of purest vert.
"I am reading what is written here, you fool!" Boffly shot back to Phompton. "And it is signed 'Quodilde'," he added with a rising note of disbelief. "She's done it to us again!"
The court wizard and chief cleric of Fizziak turned in unison toward Gord, terrible things written plainly on their features. Just then there was a banging of halberds outside the door, and after a single knock the strutting Lord Preppyn entered and unknowingly interposed himself between Boffly and Phompton and the object of their revenge.
"On your feet! The Grand Count of Fizziak comes to honor you with his presence!" the popinjay proclaimed boldly. Then, as he turned slightly to be in better position to be noticed by all entering, he got a look at the green-faced pair. "Yow!" he squawked, trying to get his feet into running motion white holding himself erect by grasping the door.
"Be silent and stop trying to run awayl" the cleric commanded.
A now-speechless Preppyn still thrashed his feet wildly.
"Be still!" the cleric thundered.
Preppyn stood motionless, mouth open.
"You utter imbecile." Phompton said, forgetting in the heat of the moment just who the new object of his anger was. "I am Court Wizard Phompton, and this is Good Priest Botfly. Ignore the momentary discoloration that obscures our otherwise handsome features. And close that door immediately!"
Preppyn's mouth managed to open and shut several times. Then he stammered. "I cannot, Wizard Phompton and Good Priest Boflly. Lord Fizziak even now enters this room!"
With that, the grand count himself stepped into the chamber. "What is all this?" he asked, seeing the barbarian hillman collapsed in helpless mirth and Gord holding his sides with laughter. Then he got a look at his two grand officials and began chuckling. The whole was so infectious that even the stuffy little Preppyn was soon giggling too. Finally, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, Lord Fizziak said. "So this time Quodilde has definitely paid you back."
"It would appear so, on the face of it," Phompton admitted.
Boffly drew himself up and said haughtily, "I shall have this silly stuff removed in minutes, my lord, and then we shall see who has gotten whom!"
"Enough of your foolery! I am no longer amused with buffoonery and tricks of this sort. I command you both to set aside this petty squabble with Quodilde and prepare for our upcoming journey to Rel Mord and forget all lesser matters!"
"The capital? Why does my illustrious lord desire to go there?" Boffly said with a bit of remonstratlon evident in his questions.
"If you weren't so busy with your japes, cleric," the grand count said icily, "you would be aware that our beloved nephew, Lord Maheal, is betrothed to Lady Dulicia of Grimalkrnsham."
"Quodilde's brat!?" the cleric snapped before he could restrain himself.
"Your reference to Lady Dulicia, daughter of the Baroness of Grimalkin, is ill-advised." said Lord Fizziak with an icy stare. "I will not remind you again that her ladyship is not to be referred to as a brat — evert She unites the barony with Fizziak lands," the grand count added meaningfully.
"Of course, lord," the deflated priest said humbly. He allowed Phompton to steer him out then, without protest. As these two were making their hasty exit, Lord Preppyn shouted after them, "And never refer to me as an imbecile again! Really, Uncle, you must do something about the manners of your help!"
Lord Fizziak told the two adventurers to prepare for their audience and elevation on the morrow, then departed with Preppyn dithering in his Wake.
It was much like pulling teeth from unwilling monsters, but Gord eventually managed to get a full accounting of the fortune he and Chert had managed to gain, then lose here at Castle Fizziak. The steward presented Gord with a long sheet filled with writing and sums, shoving small stacks of gold, electrum, silver, copper, bronze, and even brass bits along with it. "This is exact and to the last coin." the official said smugly.