There the Gibbelins lived and discreditably fed. Alderic, Knight of
the Order of the City and the Assault, hereditary Guardian of the
King's Peace of Mind, a man not unremembered among makers of myth,
pondered so long upon the Gibbelins' hoard that by now he deemed it
his. Alas that I should say of so perilous a venture, undertaken at
dead of night by a valourous man, that its motive was sheer avarice!
Yet upon avarice only the Gibbelins relied to keep their larders full,
and once in every hundred years sent spies into the cities of men to
see how avarice did, and always the spies returned again to the tower
saying that all was well.

It may be thought that, as the years went on and men came by fearful
ends on that tower's wall, fewer and fewer would come to the
Gibbelins' table: but the Gibbelins found otherwise.

Not in the folly and frivolity of his youth did Alderic come to the
tower, but he studied carefully for several years the manner in which
burglars met their doom when they went in search of the treasure that
he considered his. _In every case they had entered by the door_.

He consulted those who gave advice on this quest; he noted every
detail and cheerfully paid their fees, and determined to do nothing
that they advised, for what were their clients now? No more than
examples of the savoury art, and mere half-forgotten memories of a
meal; and many, perhaps, no longer even that.

These were the requisites for the quest that these men used to advise:
a horse, a boat, mail armour, and at least three men-at-arms. Some
said, "Blow the horn at the tower door"; others said, "Do not touch
it."