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ILL MET IN LANKHMAR

Fritz Leiber

Silent as specters, the tall and the fat thief edged past the
dead, noose-strangled watch-leopard, out the thick, lock-
picked door of Jengao the Gem Merchant, and strolled
east on Cash Street through the thin black night-smog of
Lankhmar.
East on Cash it had to be, for west at Cash and Silver
was a police post with unbribed guardsmen restlessly
grounding and rattling their pikes.
But tall, tight-lipped Slevyas, master thief candidate,
and fat, darting-eyed Fissif, thief second class, with a
rating of talented in double-dealing, were not in the least
worried. Everything was proceeding according to plan.
Each carried thonged in his pouch a smaller pouch of
jewels of the first water only, for Jengao, now breathing
stertoriously inside and senseless from the slugging he'd
suffered, must be allowed, nay, nursed and encouraged to
build his business again and so ripen it for another pluck-
ing. Almost the first law of the Thieves Guild was never
to kill the hen that laid eggs with a ruby in the yolk.
The two thieves also had the relief of knowing that
they were going straight home now, not to a wife. Arath
forbid! --or to parents and children, all gods forfend!
but to Thieves' House, headquarters and barracks of the
almighty Guild, which was father to them both and
mother too, though no woman was allowed inside its ever-
open portal on Cheap Street.
In addition there was the comforting knowledge that
although each was armed only with his regulation silver-
hilted thief's knife, they were nevertheless most strongly
convoyed by three reliable and lethal bravoes hired for
the evening from the Slayers' Brotherhood, one moving
well ahead of them as point, the other two well behind
as rear guard and chief striking force.
And if all that were not enough to make Slevyas and
Fissif feel safe and serene, there danced along soundlessly
beside them in the shadow of the north curb a small, mal-
formed or at any rate somewhat large-headed shape that
might have been a very small dog, a somewhat under-
sized cat, or a very big rat.
True, this last guard was not an absolutely unalloyed
reassurance. Fissif strained upward to whisper softly in
Slevyas' long-lobed ear, "Damned if I like being dogged
by that familiar of Hristomilo, no matter what security
he's supposed to afford us. Bad enough that Krovas did
employ or let himself be cowed into employing a sorcerer
of most dubious, if dire, reputation and aspect, but that"
"Shut your trap!" Slevyas hissed still more softly.
Fissif obeyed with a shrug and employed himself in
darting his gaze this way and that, but chiefly ahead.
Some distance in that direction, in fact just short of
Gold Street, Cash was bridged by an enclosed second-
story passageway connecting the two buildings which
made up the premises of .the famous stone-masons and
sculptors Rokkermas and Slaarg. The firm's buildings
themselves were fronted by very shallow porticoes sup-
ported by unnecessarily large pillars of varied shape and
decoration, advertisements more than structural members.
From just beyond the bridge came two low, brief whis-
tles, a signal from the point bravo that he had inspected
that area for ambushes and discovered nothing suspicious
and that Gold Street was clear.
Fissif was by no means entirely satisfied by the safety
signal. To tell the truth, the fat thief rather enjoyed being
apprehensive and even fearful, at least up to a point. So
he scanned most closely through the thin, sooty smog
the frontages and overhangs of Rokkermas and Slaarg.
On this side the bridge was pierced by four small win-
dows, between which were three large niches in which
stood another advertisement three life-size plaster stat-
ues, somewhat eroded by years of weather and dyed
varyingly tones 'of dark gray by as many years of smog.
Approaching Jengao's before the burglary, Fissif had
noted them. Now it seemed to him that 'the statue to the
right had indefinably changed. It was that of a man of
medium height wearing cloak and hood, who gazed down
with crossed arms and brooding aspect. No, not indefin-
ably quite the statue was a more uniform dark gray
now, he fancied, cloak, hood, and face; it seemed some-
what sharper featured, less eroded; and he would almost
swear it had grown shorter!
Just below the niches, moreover, there was a scattering
of gray and raw white rubble which he didn't recall hav-
ing been there earlier. He strained to remember if during
the excitement of the burglary, the unsleeping watch-
corner of his mind had recorded a distant crash, and now
he believed it had. His quick imagination pictured the
possibility of a hole behind each statue, through which it
might be given a strong push and so tumbled onto passers-
by, himself and Slevyas specifically, the right-hand statue
'having been crashed to test the device and then replaced
with a near twin.
He would keep close watch on all the statues as he
and Slevyas walked under. It would be easy to dodge if
he saw one start to over-balance. Should he yank Slevyas
out of harm's way when that happened? It was something
to think about.
His restless attention fixed next on the porticoes and
pillars. The latter, thick and almost three yards tail, were
placed at irregular intervals as well as being irregularly
shaped and fluted, for Rokkermas and Slaarg were most
modern and emphasized the unfinished look, randomness,
and the unexpected.
Nevertheless it seemed to Fissif, that there was an in-
tensification of unexpectedness, specifically that there was
one more pillar under the porticoes than when he had
last passed by. He couldn't be sure which pillar was the
newcomer, but he was almost certain there was one.
The enclosed bridge was close now. Fissif glanced up
at the right-hand statue and noted other differences from
the one he'd recalled. Although shorter, it seemed to hold
itself more strainingly erect, while the frown carved in its
dark gray face was not so much one of philosophic brood-
ing as sneering contempt, self-conscious cleverness, and
conceit.
Still, none of the three statues toppled forward as he
and Slevyas walked under the bridge. However, something
else happened to Fissif at that moment.
One of the pillars winked at him.
The Gray Mouser turned round in the right-hand niche,
leaped up and caught hold of the cornice, silently vaulted
to the flat roof, and crossed it precisely in time to see the
two thieves emerge below.
Without hesitation he leaped forward and down, his
body straight as a crossbow bolt, the soles of his ratskin
boots aimed at the shorter thief's fat-buried shoulder
blades, though leading him a little to allow for the yard
he'd walk while the Mouser hurtled toward him.
la 'the instant that he leaped, the tall thief glanced up
over-shoulder and whipped out a knife, 'though making
no move to push or pull Fissif out of the way of the
human projectile speeding toward him.
More swiftly than one would have thought he could
manage, Fissif whirled round then and thinly screamed,
"Slivikin!"
The ratskin boots took him high in the belly. It was like
landing on a big cushion. Writhing aside from Slevyas'
thrust, the Mouser somersaulted forward, and as the fat
thief's skull hit a cobble with a dull bang he came to his
feet with dirk in hand, ready to take 'on the tall one.
But there was no need. Slevyas, ibis eyes glazed, was
toppling too.
One of the pillars had .sprung forward, trailing a vol-
uminous robe. A big hood had fallen back from a youthful
face and long-haired head. Brawny arms had emerged
from the long, loose sleeves that had been the pillar's
topmost section. While the big fist ending one of the 'arms
had dealt Slevyas a shrewd knockout punch on 'the chin.
Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser faced each other across
the two thieves sprawled senseless. They were poised for
attack, yet for 'the moment neither moved.
Fafhrd said, "Our motives for being here seem identi-
cal."
"Seem? Surely must be!" 'the Mouser answered curtly,
fiercely eyeing this potential new foe, who was taller by a
head than the tall thief.
"You said?"
"I said, 'Seem? Surely must be!' "
"How civilized of you!" Fafhrd commented in pleased
tones.
"Civilized?" the Mauser demanded suspiciously, grip-
ping his dirk tighter.
"To care, in the eye of action, exactly what's said,"
Fafhrd explained. Without letting the Mouser out of his
vision, he glanced down. His gaze traveled from the pouch
of one fallen thief to that of 'the other. Then he looked up
at the Mouser with a broad, ingenuous smile.
"Fifty-fifty?" he suggested.
The Mouser hesitated, sheathed his dirk, 'and rapped
out, "A deal!" He knelt abruptly, his fingers on the draw-
strings of Fissif's pouch. "Loot you Slivikin," he directed.
It was natural to suppose that the fat thief 'had been
crying his companion's name at 'the end.
Without looking up from where he knelt, Fafhrd re-
marked, "That . . . ferret they had with them. Where did
it go?"
"Ferret?" the Mouser answered briefly. "It was a mar-
moset!"
'   "Marmoset," Fafhrd mused. "That's a small 'tropical
monkey, isn't it? Well, might have been--I've never been
south--but I got the impression that"
The silent, two pronged rush which almost over-
whelmed them at that instant really surprised neither of
them. Each had unconsciously been expecting it.
The 'three bravoes racing down upon them in concerted
attack, all with swords poised to thrust, had assumed that
the two highjackers would be armed at most with knives
and as timid in weapons-combat as the general run of
thieves and counter-thieves. So it was they who were
thrown into confusion when with the lightning speed of
youth the Mouser and Fafhrd sprang up, whipped out
fearsomely long swords, 'and faced them back to back.
The Mouser made a very small parry in carte so that the
thrust of the bravo from the east went past his left side
by only a hair's breadth. He instantly riposted. His ad-
versary, desperately springing back, parried in turn in
carte. Hardly slowing, the tip of the Mouser's long, slim
sword dropped under that parry with the delicacy of a
princess curtsying and then leaped forward 'and a little
upward and went between two scales of the brave's
armored jerkin and between 'his ribs and through his heart
and out 'his back. as if all were .angel food cake.
Meanwhile Fafhrd, facing die two bravoes from the
west, swept aside their low thrusts with 'somewhat larger,
down-sweeping parries in seconds and low prime, then
flipped up his sword, as long as the Mouser's but heavier,
so that it slashed through the neck of his right-hand
adversary, half decapitating 'him. Then dropping back a
swift step, he readied a thrust for 'the other.
But there was no need. A narrow ribbon of bloodied
steel, followed by a gray glove  and 'arm,  flashed past
him from behind and transfixed the last bravo with 'the
identical thrust 'the Mouser had used on the first.
The two young men wiped their swords. Fafhrd brushed
the palm of his open right hand down his robe and held
it out.  The Mouser pulled  off his right-hand gray glove
and shook it. Without word exchanged, they knelt and
finished looting the two unconscious thieves, securing the
small bags of jewels. With an oily .towel and then a dry
one, the Mouser sketchily wiped from his face the greasy
ash-soot mixture which had darkened it.
Then, after only a questioning eye-twitch east on the
Mouser's part and a nod from Fafhrd, they swiftly walked
on in the direction Slevyas and Fissif 'and their escort had
been going.
After reconnoitering Gold Street, they crossed it and
continued east on Cash at Fafhrd's gestured proposal.
"My woman's at the Golden Lamprey," he explained.
"Let's pick her up and take her home to meet my girl,"
the Mouser suggested.
"Home?" Fafhrd inquired politely.
"Dim Lane," the Mouser volunteered.
"Silver Eel?"
"Behind it. We'll have some drinks."
"I'll pick up a jug. Never have too much juice."
"True. I'll let you."
Fafhrd stopped, again wiped right hand 'on robe, and
held it out. "Name's Fafhrd."
Again the Mouser shook it. "Gray Mouser," he said a
touch defiantly, as if challenging anyone to laugh at the
sobriquet.
"Gray Mouser, eh?" Fafhrd remarked. "Well, you killed
yourself a couple of rats tonight."
"That I did." The Mouser's chest swelled and he threw
back his head. Then with a comic twitch of his nose and
a sidewise half-grin he .admitted, "You'd have got your
second man easily enough. I stole 'him from you to dem-
onstrate my speed. Besides, I was excited."
Fafhrd chuckled. "You're telling me? How do you sup-
pose I was feeling?"
Once more the Mouser found himself grinning. What
the deuce did this big fellow have that kept him from
putting on his usual sneers?
Fafhrd was asking himself a similar question. All his
life he'd mistrusted small men, knowing his height awak-
ened their instant jealousy. But this clever little chap was
somehow an exception. He prayed to Kos that Vlana
would like him.
On the northeast corner of Cash and Whore a slow-
burning torch shaded, by a broad, 'gilded spiral cast a
cone of light up into the thickening black night-smog and
another cone down on the cobbles before the tavern door.
Out of the shadows into the second cone stepped Vlana,
handsome in a narrow black velvet dress and 'red stock-
ings, her only ornaments a silver-hilted dagger in a silver
sheath and a silver-worked black pouch, both on a plain
black belt.
Fafhrd introduced the Gray Mouser, who behaved with
an almost fawning courtesy. Vlana 'studied him 'boldly,
then gave him a tentative smile.
Fafhrd opened under 'the torch the small pouch he'd
taken off the tail thief. Vlana looked down into it. She
put her arms around Fafhrd, bugged him tight and kissed
him soundly. Then she thrust the jewels into the pouch on
her belt.
When that was done, he said, "Look, I'm going to buy
a jug. You tell her what happened, Mouser."
When he came out of the Golden Lamprey he was car-
rying four jugs in the crook of his left arm and wiping his
lips on the back of his right hand. Vlana frowned. He
grinned at her. The Mouser smacked his lips at the jugs.
They continued east on Cash. Fafhrd realized that the
frown was for more than the jugs and the prospect of
stupidly  drunken  male  revelry.  The  Mouser  tactfully
walked ahead.
When his figure was little more than a blob in the thick-
ening smog, Vlana whispered harshly, "You had two
members of the Thieves' Guild knocked out cold and you
didn't cut their throats?"
"We slew three bravoes," Fafhrd protested by way of
excuse.
"My quarrel is not with the Slayers' Brotherhood, but
that abominable guild. You swore to me that whenever
you had the chance"
"Vlana! I couldn't have the Gray Mouser thinking I
was an amateur counter-thief consumed by hysteria and
blood lust."
"Well, he told me that he'd have slit their throats in a
wink, if he'd known I wanted it that way."
"He was only playing up to you from courtesy."
"Perhaps and perhaps not. But you knew and you
didn't"
"Vlana, shut up!"
Her frown became a rageful glare, then suddenly she
laughed widely, smiled twitchingly as if she were about to
cry, mastered herself and smiled more lovingly. "Pardon
me, darling," she said. "Sometimes you must 'think I'm
going mad and sometimes I believe I am."
"Well, don't," he told her shortly. "Think of the jewels
we've won instead. And behave yourself with our new
friends. Get some wine inside you and relax. I mean to
enjoy myself tonight. I've earned it."
She nodded and clutched his arm in agreement and for
comfort and sanity. They hurried to catch up with the dim
figure ahead.
The Mouser, turning left, led them a half square north
on Cheap Street to where a narrower way went east again.
The black mist in it looked solid.
"Dim Lane," the Mouser explained.
Vlana said, "Dim's too weak too transparent a word
for it tonight," with an uneven laugh in which there were
still traces of hysteria and which ended in a fit 'of stran-
gled coughing.
She gasped 'out, "Damn Lankhmar's night-smog! What
a hell of a city!"
"It's the nearness here of the Great Salt Marsh," Fafhrd
explained.
And he did indeed have part of the answer. Lying low
betwixt the Marsh, the Inner Sea, the River Hlal, and the
southern grain fields watered by canals fed by the Hlal,
Lankhmar with its innumerable smokes was the prey of
fogs and sooty smogs.
About halfway to Carter Street, a tavern on the north
side of the lane emerged from the murk. A gape-jawed
serpentine shape of pale metal crested with soot hung 'high
for a sign. Beneath it they passed a door curtained with
begrimed leather, the slit in which spilled out noise,
pulsing torchlight, and the reek of liquor.
Just beyond the Silver Eel the -Mouser led them through
an inky passageway outside the tavern's east wall. They
had to go single file, feeling their way along rough, slimily
bemisted brick.
"Mind the puddle," the Mouser warned. "It's deep as
the Outer Sea."
The passageway widened. Reflected torchlight filtering
down through the dark mist allowed them to make out
only the most general shape of their surroundings. Crowd-
ing close to the back of the Silver Eel rose a dismal,
rickety building of darkened brick and blackened, ancient
wood. From the fourth story attic under the ragged-
guttered roof, faint lines of yellow light shone around and
through three tightly latticed windows. Beyond was a nar-
row alley.
"Bones Alley," the Mouser told them.
By now Vlana and Fafhrd could see a long, narrow
wooden outside stairway, steep yet sagging and without a
rail, leading up to the lighted .attic. The Mouser relieved
Fafhrd of the jugs and went up it quite swiftly.
"Follow me when I've reached the top," he called back.
"I think it'll take your weight, Fafhrd, but beat one of you
at a time."
Fafhrd gently pushed Vlana 'ahead. She mounted to the
Mouser where he now stood in an open doorway, from
which streamed yellow light that died swiftly in the night-
smog. He was lightly resting a hand on a big, empty,
wrought-iron lamp-hook firmly set in a stone section of
the outside wall. He bowed aside, and she went in.
Fafhrd followed, placing his feet as close as he could
to the wall, his hands ready to grab for 'support. The
whole stairs creaked ominously and each step gave a
little as he shifted his weight onto it. Near the top, one
step gave way with the muted crack of half-rotted wood.
Gently as he could, he sprawled himself hand and knee
on as many steps as he could get, to distribute his weight,
and cursed sulphurously.
"Don't fret, the jugs are safe," the Mouser called down
gayly.
Fafhrd crawled the rest of the way and did not get to
his feet until he was inside the doorway. When he had
done so, he almost gasped with surprise.
It was like rubbing the verdigris from a cheap brass
ring and revealing a rainbow-fired diamond of the first
water. Rich drapes, some twinkling with embroidery of
silver and gold, covered the walls except where the shut-
tered windows were and the shutters of those were
gilded. Similar but darker fabrics hid the low ceiling,
making a gorgeous canopy in which the flecks of gold
and silver were like stars. Scattered about were plump
cushions and low tables, on which burned a multitude of
candles. On shelves against the walls were neatly stacked
like small logs a vast reserve of candles, numerous scrolls,
jugs, bottles, and enameled boxes. In a large fireplace was
set a small metal stove, neatly blacked, with an ornate
firepot. Also set beside the stove was a tidy pyramid of
thin, resinous torches with frayed ends fire-kindlers and
other pyramids of small, short logs and gleamingly black
coal.
On a low dais by the fireplace was a couch covered
with cloth of gold. On it sat a thin, pale-faced, delicately
handsome girl clad in a dress of thick violet silk worked
with silver and belted with a silver chain. Silver pins
headed with amethysts held in place her high-piled black
hair. Round her shoulders was drawn a wrap of snow-
white serpent fur. She was leaning forward with uneasy-
seeming graciousness and extending a narrow white hand
which shook a little to Vlana, who knelt before her and
now" gently took the proffered hand 'and bowed her head
over it, her own glossy, 'straight, dark-brown hair making a
canopy, and pressed its back to her lips.
Fafhrd was happy to see his woman playing up prop-
erly to this definitely odd, though delightful situation.
Then looking at  Vlana's long,  red-stockinged leg
stretched far behind her as she knelt on the other, he
noted that the floor was everywhere strewn to the point
of double, treble, and quadruple overlaps--with thick-
piled, close-woven, many-hued rugs of the finest quality
imported from the Eastern Lands. Before 'he knew it, his
thumb had shot toward the Gray Mouser.
"You're the Rug Robber!" he proclaimed. "You're the
Carpet Crimp! and the Candle Corsair too!" he con-
tinued, referring to two series of unsolved thefts which had
been on the lips of all Lankhmar when he and Vlana 'had
arrived a moon ago.
The Mouser shrugged impassive-faced at Fafhrd, then
suddenly grinned, his slitted eyes a-twinkle, and broke
into an impromptu dance which carried him whirling and
jigging around the room and left him behind Fafhrd,
where he deftly reached down the hooded and long-
sleeved huge robe from the latter's stooping shoulders,
shook it out, carefully folded it, and set it on a pillow.
The girl in violet nervously patted with her free hand
the cloth of gold beside her, and Vlana seated herself
there, carefully not too close, and the two women spoke
together in low voices, Vlana taking the lead.
The Mouser took off his own gray, hooded cloak and
laid it beside Fafhrd's. Then they unbelted their swords,
and the Mouser set them atop folded robes and cloak.
Without those weapons and bulking garments, the 'two
men looked suddenly like youths, both with clear, close-
shaven faces, both slender despite 'the swelling muscles of
Fafhrd's arms and calves, he with long red-gold hair fall-
ing down his back and about his shoulders, the Mouser
with dark hair cut in bangs, 'the one in brown leather
tunic worked with copper wire, the other in jerkin of
coarsely woven gray silk.
They smiled at each other. The feeling each had of
having turned boy all at once made their smiles embar-
rassed. The Mouser cleared his 'throat and, bowing a
little,  but  looking  still  at  Fafhrd,  extended  a  loosely
spread-fingered arm toward the golden couch and said
with a preliminary stammer, though otherwise smoothly
enough, "Fafhrd, my good friend, permit me to introduce
you to my princess, Ivrian, my dear, receive Fafhrd gra-
ciously if you please, for tonight he 'and I fought back to
back against three and we conquered."
Fafhrd advanced, stooping a little, the crown of his
red-gold hair brushing the he-starred canopy, and knelt
before lvrian exactly as Vlana had. The slender hand ex-
tended to him looked steady now, but was still quiveringly
a-tremble, he discovered as soon as he touched it. He
handled it as if it were silk woven of the white spider's
gossamer, barely brushing it with his lips, and still felt
nervous as he mumbled some compliments.
He did not sense that the Mouser was quite as nervous
as he, if not more so, praying hard that lvrian would not
overdo her princess part and snub their guests, or collapse
in trembling or tears, for Fafhrd and Vlana were literally
the first beings that he had brought into 'the luxurious nest
he had created for his aristocratic beloved save the two
love birds that twittered in a silver cage hanging to the
other side of the fireplace from the dais.
Despite his 'shrewdness and cynicism, it never occurred
to the Mouser that it was chiefly his charming but pre-
posterous coddling of lvrian that was making her doll-like.
But now as lvrian smiled at last, the Mouser relaxed
with relief, fetched two silver cups and two silver mugs,
carefully selected a bottle of violet wine, then with a grin
at Fafhrd uncorked instead one of the jugs the North-
erner had brought, and near-brimmed the four gleaming
vessels and served them all four.
With no trace of stammer this time, he toasted, "To my
greatest theft to date in Lankhmar, which willy-nilly I
must share fifty-fifty with" He couldn't resist the sudden
impulse" with this great, long-haired, barbarian lout '
here!" And he downed a quarter of his mug of pleasantly
burning wine fortified with brandy.
Fafhrd quaffed off .half of his, then toasted back, "To
the most boastful and finical little civilized chap I've ever
deigned to share loot with," quaffed off the rest, and
with a great smile that showed white teeth, held out his
empty mug.
The Mouser gave him a refill, topped off his own, then
set that down to go to lvrian and pour into her lap from
their small pouch the gems he'd filched from Fissif. They
gleamed in their new, enviable location like a small puddle
of rainbow-hued quicksilver.
lvrian jerked back a-tremble, 'almost spilling them, but
Vlana gently caught her arm, steadying it. At lvrian's di-
rection, Vlana fetched a blue-enameled box inlaid with
silver, and the two of them transferred the jewels from
lvrian's lap into its blue velvet interior. Then they chatted
on.
As he worked through his second mug in smaller gulps,
Fafhrd relaxed and began to get a deeper feeling of 'his
surroundings. The dazzling wonder of the first glimpse of
this throne room in a  slum faded, and  he began to note
the ricketiness and rot under the grand overlay.
Black, rotten wood .showed here 'and there between the
drapes and loosed its sick, ancient stinks. The whole floor
sagged under the rugs, as much as a span at the center
of the room. Threads of night-smog were coming through
the shutters, making evanescent black arabesques against
the gilt. The stones of the large fireplace had been scrubbed
and varnished, yet most of the mortar was gone from
between them; some sagged, others were missing alto-
gether.
The Mouser had been building a fire there in the stove.
Now he pushed in all the way the yellow-flaring kindler
he'd lit from the fire-pot, hooked the little black door shut
over the mounting flames, and turned back into the room.
As if he'd read Fafhrd's mind, he took up several cones
of incense, set their peaks 'a-smolder at the fire-pot, and
placed them about the room in gloaming, shallow brass
bowls. Then he stuffed silken rags in the widest shutter-
cracks, took up his silver mug again, and for 'a moment
gave Fafhrd a very hard look.
Next moment he was smiling 'and lifting his mug to
Fafhrd, who was doing the same. Need of refills brought
them close together. Hardly moving his lips, the Mouser
explained, "lvrian's father was a duke. I slew him. A most
cruel man, cruel to his daughter too, yet a duke, so that
lvrian is wholly unused to fending for herself. I pride
myself that I maintain her in grander state than her
father did with all his servants."
Fafhrd nodded and said amiably, "Surely you've thieved
together a charming little place."
From the couch Vlana called in her husky contralto,
"Gray Mouser, your Princess would hear an account of
tonight's adventure. And might we have more wine?"
lvrian called, "Yes, please, Mauser."
The Mauser looked to Fafhrd for the go-ahead, got the
nod, and launched into his story. But first he served the
girls wine.  There wasn't enough for their cups,  so he
opened another jug and after a moment of thought un-
corked all three, setting one by the couch, one by Fafhrd
Where he sprawled now on the pillowy carpet, and re-
serving one for himself, lvrian looked apprehensive at this
signal of heavy drinking ahead, Vlana cynical.
The Mouser told the tale of counter-thievery well,
acting it out in part, and with only the most artistic of
embellishments the ferret-marmoset before escaping ran
up his body and tried to scratch out his eyes and he was
interrupted only twice.
When he said, "And so with a whish and a snick I
bared Scalpel" Fafhrd remarked, "Oh, so you've nick-
named your sword as well as yourself?"
The Mauser drew himself up. "Yes, and I call my dirk
Cat's Claw. Any objections? Seem childish to you?"
"Not at all. I call my own sword Graywand. Pray con-
tinue."
And when he mentioned the beastie of uncertain nature
that had gamboled along with the thieves (and attacked
his eyes!), lvrian paled and .said with a shudder, "Mouser!
That sounds like a witch's familiar!"
"Wizard's," Vlana corrected. "Those gutless Guild-
villains have no truck with women, except as fee'd or
forced vehicles for their, lust. But Krovas, their current
king, is noted for taking all precautions, and might well
have a warlock in his service."
"That seems most likely; it harrows me with dread,"
the Mouser agreed with ominous gaze and sinister voice,
eagerly accepting any and all atmospheric enhancements
of his performance.
When he was dome, the girls, eyes flashing and fond,
toasted him and Fafhrd for their cunning and bravery.
The Mouser bowed and eye-twinklingly smiled about,
then sprawled him down with a weary sigh, wiping 'his
forehead with a silken cloth and downing a large drink.
After asking Vlana's leave, Fafhrd told the adventurous
tale of their escape from Cold Corner he from his clan,
she from an acting troupe and of their progress to
Lankhmar, where they lodged now in an actors' tene-
ment near the Plaza of Dark Delights, lvrian bugged her-
self to Vlana and shivered large-eyed at the witchy parts
of his tale.
The only proper matter he omitted from his account
was Vlana's fixed intent to get a monstrous revenge on
the Thieves' Guild for torturing to death her accomplices
and harrying her out of Lankhmar when she'd tried free-
lance thieving in the city before they met. Nor of course
did he mention his own promise foolish, he thought
now to help her in this bloody business.
After he'd done and got his applause, he found his
throat dry despite his skald's training, but when he sought
to wet it, he discovered that his mug was empty and his
jug too, though he didn't feel in the least drunk--he had
talked all the liquor out of 'him, he told himself, a little
of the stuff escaping in each glowing word he'd spoken.
The Mouser was in like plight and not drunk either
though inclined to pause mysteriously and peer toward
infinity before answering question or making remark. This
time he suggested, after a particularly long infinity-gaze,
that Fafhrd accompany him to the Eel while he purchased
a fresh supply.
"But we've a lot of wine left in our jug," lvrian pro-
tested. "Or at least a little," she amended. It did sound
empty when Vlana shook it. "Besides, you've wine of 'all
sorts here."
"Not this sort, dearest, and first rule is never mix 'em,"
the Mouser explained, wagging a finger. "That way lies
unhealth, aye, and madness."
"My dear," Vlana said, sympathetically patting her
wrist, "at some time in any good party all the men who
are really men simply have to go out. It's extremely stu-
pid, but it's their nature and can't be dodged, believe me."
"But, Mouser, I'm scared. Fafhrd's tale frightened me.
So did yours-I'll hear that familiar a-scratch at the shut-
ters when you're gone, I know I will!"
"Darlings," the Mouser said with a small hiccup,
"there is all the Inner Sea, all the Land of the Eight
Cities, and to boot all the Trollstep Mountains in their
sky-scraping grandeur between you and Fafhrd's Cold
Corner and its silly sorcerers. As for familiars, pish!
they've never in the world been anything but the loathy,
all-too-natural pets of stinking old women and womanish
old men."
Vlana said merrily, "Let the sillies go, my dear. Twill
give us chance for a private chat, during which we'll take
'em apart from wine-fumey head to restless foot."
So lvrian let herself be persuaded, and the Mouser and
Fafhrd slipped off, quickly shutting the door behind them
to keep out the night-smog, and the girls heard their light
steps down-the stairs.
Waiting for the four jugs to be brought up from the
Eel's cellar, the two newly met comrades ordered a mug
each of the same fortified wine, or one near enough, and
ensconced themselves at the least noisy end of the long
serving counter in the tumultuous tavern. The Mouser
deftly kicked a rat that thrust black head and shoulders
from his hole.
After  each  had  enthusiastically  complimented the
other on his girl, Fafhrd said diffidently, "Just between
ourselves, do you -think there might be anything to your
sweet lvrian's notion that the small dark creature with
Slivikin and the other Guild-thief was a wizard's familiar,
or at any rate the cunning pet of a sorcerer, trained to
'act as go-between and report disasters to his master or to
Krovas?"
The Mouser laughed lightly. "You're building bug-
bears--formless baby ones unlicked by logic--out of
nothing, dear barbarian brother, if I may say so. How
could that vermin make useful report? I don't believe in
animals that talk--except for parrots and such birds,
which only . . . parrot.
"Ho, there, you back 'of the counter! Where are my
jugs? Rats eaten the boy who went for them days ago?
Or he simply starved to death while on his cellar quest?
Well, tell him to get a swifter move on and brim us again!
"No, Fafhrd, .even granting the beastie to be directly
or indirectly a creature of Krovas, and that it raced back
to Thieves' House after our affray, what would that tell
them there? Only that something had gone wrong with
the burglary at Jengao's."
Fafhrd frowned and muttered stubbornly, "The furry
slinker might, nevertheless, somehow convey our appear-
ances to the Guild masters, and they might recognize us
and come after us and attack us in our homes."
"My dear friend," the Mouser said condolingly, "once
more begging your indulgence, I fear this potent wine is
addling your wits. If the Guild knew our looks or where
we lodged, they'd have been nastily on our necks days,
weeks, nay, months ago. Or conceivably you don't know
that their penalty for freelance thieving within the walls
of Lankhmar is nothing less than death, after torture, if
happily that can be acheived."
"I know all about that, and my plight is worse even
than yours," Fafhrd retorted, and after pledging the
Mauser to secrecy, told him the tale of Vlana's vendetta
against the Guild and her deadly serious dreams of an
all-encompassing revenge.
During his story the four jugs came up from the cel-
lar, but the Mouser only ordered that 'their earthenware
mugs be refilled.
Fafhrd finished, "And so, in consequence of a promise
given by an infatuated and unschooled boy in a southern
angle of the Cold Waste, I find myself now as a sober
well, at other times--man being constantly asked to make
war on a power as great as that of Lankhmar's overlord,
for as you may know the Guild has locals in all other
cities and major towns of this land. I love Vlana dearly
and she is an experienced thief herself, but on this one
topic she has a kink in her brains, a hard knot neither
logic nor persuasion can even begin to loosen."
"Certes t'would be insanity to assault the Guild direct,
your wisdom's perfect there," the Mouser commented. "If
you cannot break your most handsome girl of this mad
notion, or coax her from it, then you must stoutly refuse
e'en her least request in that direction."
"Certes I must," Fafhrd agreed with great emphasis
and conviction. "I'd be an idiot taking on the Guild. Of
course, if they should catch me, .they'd kill me in any case
for freelancing and highjacking. But wantonly to assault
the Guild direct, kill one Guild-thief needlessly lunacy
entire!"
"You'd not only be a drunken, drooling idiot, you'd
questionless be stinking in three nights at most from
that emperor of diseases. Death. Malicious attacks on
her person, blows directed at the organization, the Guild
requites tenfold what she does other rule-breaking, free-
lancing included. So, no least giving-in to Vlana in this
one matter."
"Agreed!" Fafhrd said loudly, shaking the Mouser's
iron-thewed hand in a near crusher grip.
"And now we should be getting back to the girls,"
.the Mouser said.
"After one more drink while we settle .the 'score. Ho,
boy!"
"Suits."
Vlana and lvrian, deep in excited talk, 'both started at
the pounding rush of footsteps up the stairs. Racing be-
hemoths could hardly have made more noise. The creak-
ing and groaning were prodigious, and there were the
crashes of 'two treads breaking. The door flew open and
their two men rushed in through a great mushroom top
of night-smog which was neatly sliced off its black stem
by the slam of the door.
"I told you we'd be back in a wink," the Mouser cried
gayly to lvrian, while Fafhrd strode forward, unmindful
of 'the creaking floor, crying, "Dearest heart, I've missed
you sorely," and caught up Vlana despite her voiced
protest?  and  pushing-off and  kissed  and 'bugged  her
soundly before setting her back on the couch again.
Oddly, it was lvrian who appeared to be angry at
Fafhrd then, rather than Vlana, who was smiling fondly
if somewhat dazedly.
"Fafhrd, sir," she said boldly, her little fists set on
her narrow hips, her tapered chin held high, her dark
eyes blazing, "my beloved Vlana has been telling me
about the unspeakably atrocious things the Thieves'
Guild did to her and to her dearest friends. Pardon my
frank speaking to one I've only met, but I think it quite
unmanly of you to refuse her the just revenge she desires
and fully deserves. And that goes for you too, Mouser,
who boasted to Vlana of what you would have done had
you but known, all the while intending only empty in-
gratiation. You who in like case did not scruple to slay
my very own father!"
It  was  clear  to  Fafhrd  that  while  he  and  the  Gray
Mouser had idly boozed in the Eel, Vlana had been
giving lvrian a doubtless empurpled account of her griev-
ances against the Guild and playing mercilessly on the
naive girl's bookish, romantic sympathies and high con-
cept of knightly honor. It was also clear to him that
lvrian was more than a little drunk. A three-quarters
empty flask of violet wine of far Kiraay sat on the low
table next the couch.
Yet he could think of nothing to do but spread his
big hands helplessly and- bow his head, more than the
low ceiling made necessary, under lvrian's glare, now re-
inforced by that of Vlana. After all, they were in the
right. He had promised.
So it was the Mouser who first tried to rebut.
"Come now, pet," he cried lightly as he danced about
the room, silk-stuffing more cracks against the thickening
night-smog and stirring up and feeding the fire in the
stove, "and you too, beauteous Lady Vlana. For the past
month Fafhrd has by his highjackings been hitting the
Guild-thieves where it hurts them most in their purses
a-dangle between their legs. Come, drink we up all."
Under his handling, one of the new jugs came uncorked
with a pop, and he darted about brimming silver cups
and mugs.
"A merchant's revenge!" lvrian retorted with scorn,
not one whit appeased, but rather endangered anew. "At
the least you and Fafhrd must bring Vlana the head of
Krovas!"
"What would she do with it? What good would it be
except to spot the carpets?" the Mouser plaintively in-
quired, while Fafhrd, gathering his wits at last and going
down on one knee, said slowly, "Most respected Lady
lvrian, it is true I solemnly promised my beloved Vlana
I would help her in her revenge, but if Mouser and
I should bring Vlana the head of Krovas, she and I would
have to flee Lankhmar on the instant, every man's hand
against us. While you infallibly would lose this fairyland
Mouser has created for love 'of you and 'be farced to do
likewise, be with him a beggar on the run for the rest of
your natural lives."
While Fafhrd spoke, lvrian snatched up her new-filled
cup and drained it. Now she stood up straight as a
soldier, her pale face flushed, and said scathingly, "You
count the cost! You speak to me of things" She waved
at the many hued splendor around her, "of mere prop-
erty, however costly when honor is at stake. You gave
Vlana your word. Oh, is knighthood wholly dead?"
Fafhrd could only shrug again and writhe inside and
gulp a little easement from 'his silver mug.
In a master stroke, Vlana tried gently to draw lvrian
down to her golden seat again. "Softly, dearest," she
pled. "You have spoken nobly for me and my cause,
and believe me, I am most grateful. Your words revived
in me great, fine feelings dead these many years. But of
us here, only you are truly an aristocrat attuned to the
highest proprieties. We other three are naught but thieves.
Is at any wonder some of us put safety above honor and
word-keeping,  and most prudently  avoid risking our
lives? Yes, we are three thieves and I am outvoted. So
please speak no more  of honor and rash,  dauntless
bravery, but sit you down and"
"You mean, they're both afraid to challenge the Thieves'
Guild, don't you?" lvrian said, eyes wide and face twisted
by loathing. "I always thought my Mauser was a noble-
man first and a thief second. Thieving's nothing. My
father lived by cruel thievery done on rich wayfarers
and neighbors less powerful than he, yet he was an aristo-
crat. Oh, you're cowards, both of you! Poltroons!" she
finished, turning her eyes flashing with cold scorn first on
the Mouser, then on Fafhrd.
The latter could stand it no longer. He 'sprang to his
feet, face flushed, fists clenched at his sides, quite un-
mindful of his down-clattered mug and the ominous
creak his sudden action drew from the sagging floor.
"I am not a coward!" he cried.  "I'll dare Thieves'
House and fetch you Krovas' head and toss it with blood
a-drip at Vlana's feet. I swear that by my sword Gray-
wand here at my side!"
He slapped his left hip, found nothing there but his
tunic, and had to content himself with pointing tremble-
armed at his belt and scabbarded sword where they lay
atop his neatly folded robe--and then picking up, refilling
splashily, and draining 'his mug.
The Gray Mouser 'began to laugh in high, delighted,
tuneful peals. All stared at him. He came dancing up
beside Fafhrd, and still smiling widely, asked, "Why not?
Who speaks of fearing the Guild-thieves? Who becomes
upset at the prospect of this ridiculously easy exploit, when
all of us know that all of them, even Krovas and 'his ruling
clique, are but pygmies in mind and skill compared to me
or Fafhrd here? A wondrously simple, foolproof scheme
has just occurred to me for penetrating Thieves' House,
every closet and cranny. Stout Fafhrd and I will put it
into effect at once. Are you with me, Northerner?"
"Of course I am," Fafhrd responded gruffly, at the
same time frantically wandering what madness had gripped
the little fellow.
"Give me a few heartbeats to gather needed props,
and we're off!" the Mouser cried. He snatched from shelf
and unfolded a stout sack, then raced about, thrusting
into it coiled ropes, bandage rolls, rags, jars of ointment
and unction and unguent, and other oddments.
"But you can't go tonight," lvrian protested, suddenly
grown pale and uncertain-voiced. "You're both . . . in
no condition to."
"You're both drunk," Vlana said harshly. "Silly drunk
and that way you'll get naught in Thieves' House but
your deaths. Fafhrd! Control yourself!"
"Oh, no," Fafhrd told her as he buckled on his sword.
"You wanted the head of Krovas heaved at your feet in
a great splatter of blood, and that's what you're going to
get, like it or not!"
"Softly, Fafhrd," the Mouser interjected, coming to a
sudden stop and drawing tight the sack's mouth by its
strings. "And softly you too. Lady Vlana, and my dear
princess. Tonight I intend but a scouting expedition. No
risks run, only the information gained needful for planning
our murderous strike tomorrow or the day after. So no
head-choppings whatsoever tonight. Fafhrd, you hear me?
Whatever may hap, hist's the word. And don your hooded
robe."
Fafhrd shrugged, nodded, and obeyed.
lvrian seemed somewhat relieved. Vlana too, though
she 'said, "Just 'the same you're both drunk."
"All to the good!" the Mouser assured her with a mad
smile. "Drink may slow a man's sword-arm and soften
his blows a bit, but it sets 'his wits ablaze and fires his
imagination, and those are the qualities we'll need to-
night."
Vlana eyed him dubiously.
Under cover of 'this confab Fafhrd made quietly yet
swiftly to fill once more his and the Mouser's mugs, but
Vlana noted it and gave him such a glare that he set
down mugs and uncorked jug so swiftly 'his robe swirled.
The Mouser shouldered his sack and drew open the
door. With a casual wave at the girls, but no word
spoken, Fafhrd stepped out on the tiny porch. The night-
smog had grown so thick he was almost lost to view.
The Mouser waved four fingers at lvrian, then followed
Fafhrd.
"Good fortune go with you," Vlana called heartily.
"Oh, be careful, Mouser," lvrian gasped.
The Mouser, his figure slight against the loom of
Fafhrd's, silently drew shut the door.
Their arms automatically gone around each other, the
girls waited for the inevitable creaking and groaning of
the stairs. It delayed and delayed. The night-smog that
bad entered the room dissipated and still the silence was
unbroken.
"What can they be doing out .there?" lvrian whispered.
"Plotting their course?"
Vlana impatiently shook her head, then disentangled
herself, tiptoed to the door, opened it, descended softly
a few steps, which creaked most dolefully, then returned,
shutting the door behind her.
"They're gone," she said in wander.
"I'm frightened!" lvrian breathed and sped across the
room to embrace the taller girl.
Vlana bugged her tight, then disengaged an aim to
shoot the door's three heavy bolts.
In Bones Alley the Mouser 'returned to his pouch the
knotted line by which they'd descended from the lamp
hook. He suggested, "How about stopping at the Silver
Eel?"
"You mean and just tell the girls we've been to Thieves'
House?" Fafhrd asked.
"Oh, no," the Mouser protested. "But you missed your
stirrup cup upstairs and so did 1."
With a crafty smile Fafhrd drew from his robe two
full jugs.
"Palmed 'em, as 'twere, when I set down the mugs.
Vlana sees a lot, but not all."
"You're a prudent, far-sighted fellow," the Mouser said
admiringly. "I'm proud to call you comrade."
Each lmoorked and drank a hearty slug. Then 'the
Mouser led them west, they veering and stumbling only
a little, and then north into an even narrower and more
noisome alley.
"Plague Court," the Mouser said.
After several preliminary peepings 'and peerings, 'they
staggered swiftly across wide, empty Crafts Street and
into Plague Court again. For a wonder it was growing
a little lighter. Looking upward, they saw stars. Yet there
was no wind blowing from the north. The air was deathly
still.
In their drunken preoccupation with the project 'at
hand and mere locomotion, they did not look behind
them. There the night-smog was thicker than ever. A
high-circling nighthawk would have seen the stuff con-
verging from all sections of Lankhmar in swift-moving
black rivers and rivulets, heaping, eddying, swirling, dark
and reeking essence 'of Lankhmar from its branding irons,
braziers, bonfires, kitchen fires and warmth fires, kilns,
forges, breweries, distilleries, junk and garbage fires in-
numerable, sweating alchemist's and sorcerers' dens, cre-
matoriums, charcoal burners' turfed mounds, all those
and many more . . . converging purposefully on Dim
Lane and particularly on the Silver Eel and the rickety
house behind it. The closer to that center it got, the more
substantial the smog became,  eddy-strands  and  swirl-
tatters tearing off and clinging like black cobwebs to rough
stone corners and scraggly surfaced brick.
But the Mouser and Fafhrd merely exclaimed in mild,
muted amazement at the stars and cautiously zigzagging
across the Street of the Thinkers, called Atheist Avenue
by moralists, continued up Plague Court until it forked.
The Mouser chose the left branch, which trended north-
west.
"Death Alley."
After a curve and recurve. Cheap Street 'swung into
sight about thirty paces ahead. The Mouser stopped at
once and lightly threw his arm against Fafhrd's chest.
Clearly in view across Cheap Street was the wide, low,
open doorway of Thieves' House, framed by grimy stone
blocks. There led up to it two steps hollowed by the
treading of centuries. Orange-yellow light spilled out from
bracketed torches inside. There was no porter or guard
in sight, not even a watchdog on a chain. The effect was
ominous.
"Now how do we get into the damn place?" Fafhrd
demanded in a hoarse whisper. "That doorway stinks of
traps."
The Mouser answered, scornful at last, "Why, we'll walk
straight through 'that doorway you fear." He frowned.
"Tap and hobble, rather. Come on, while I prepare us."
As he drew the skeptically grimacing Fafhrd back down
Death Alley untill all Cheap Street was again cut off from
view, he explained, "We'll pretend to be beggars, mem-
bers of their guild, which is but a branch of the Thieves'
Guild and reports in to the Beggannasters at Thieves'
House. We'll be new members, who've gone out by day,
so it'll not be expected that the Night Beggarmaster will
know 'our looks."
"But we don't look like beggars," Fafhrd protested.
"Beggars have awful sores and limbs all a-twist or lacking
altogether."
"That's just what I'm going to take care 'of now," 'the
Mouser chuckled, drawing Scalpel. Ignoring Fafhrd's
backward step and wary glance, the Mauser gazed puz-
zledly at the long tapering strip of steel he'd bared, 'then
with a happy nod unclipped from his belt Scalpel's
scabbard furbished with ratskin, sheathed the sword and
swiftly wrapped it up, hilt and all, spirally, with 'the wide
ribbon of a bandage roll dug from ibis sack.
"There!" he said, knotting .the bandage ends. "Now I've
a tapping cane."
"What's that? Fafhrd demanded. "And why?"
The Mouser laid a flimsy black rag across his own
eyes and tied it fast behind his head.
"Because I'll .be blind, that's why." He took a few
shuffling steps, 'tapping the cobbles ahead with wrapped
sword--gripping it by the quillons, or cross guard, so that
the grip and pommel were up his sleeve--and groping
ahead with his other hand. "That look all right to you?"
he asked Fafhrd as he 'turned back. "Feels perfect to me.
Bat-blind!--eh? Oh, don't fret, Fafhrd the rag's but
gauze. I can see through it fairly well. Besides, I don't
have to convince anyone inside Thieves' House I'm actu-
ally blind. Most Guild-beggars fake it, as you must know.
Now what to do with you? Can't have you blind also too
obvious, might wake suspicion." He uncorked his jug and
sucked inspiration. Fafhrd copied this action, on principle.
The Mouser smacked his lips and said, "I've got it!
Fafhrd, stand on your right leg and double up your left
behind you at the knee. Hold! don't fall on me! Avaunt!
But steady, yourself by my shoulder. That's right. Now
get .that left foot higher. We'll disguise your sword like
mine, for a crutch cane--it's thicker and'll look just right.
You can also steady yourself with your other 'hand on my
shoulder as you hop--the halt leading the blind. But
higher with that left foot! No, it just doesn't come off
I'll have to rope it. But first unclip  your scabbard."
Soon the Mouser had Graywand and its scabbard in
'the  same  state  as  Scalpel  and  was  tying Fafhrd's  left
ankle to his thigh, drawing the rope cruelly tight, though
Fafhrd's wine-numbed nerves hardly registered it. Bal-
ancing himself with his steel-cored crutch cane as 'the
Mouser worked, he swigged from his jug and pandered
deeply.
Brilliant as .the Mouser's plan undoubtedly was, there
did seem to be drawbacks to it.
"Mouser," he said, "I don't know as I like having our
swords tied up, so we can't draw 'cm in emergency."
"We can still use 'em as clubs," the Mouser countered,
his breath hissing between his teeth as he drew the last
knot hard. "Besides, we'll have our knives. Say, pull your
belt around until your knife is behind your back, so your
robe will hide it sure. 111 do the same with Cat's Claw.
Beggars don't carry weapons, at least in view. Stop drink-
ing now, you've had enough. I myself need only a couple
swallows more to reach my finest pitch."
"And I don't know as I like going hobbled into that den
of cutthroats. I can hop amazingly fast, it's true, but not
as fast as I can run. Is it really wise, think you?"
"You can slash yourself loose in an instant," the Mouser
hissed with a touch of impatience and anger. "Aren't you
willing to make the least sacrifice for art's sake?"
"Oh, very well," Fafhrd said, draining his jug and toss-
mg it aside. "Yes, of course I am."
"Your complexion's too hale," the Mouser said, inspect-
ing him critically. He touched up Fafhrd's features and
hands with pale gray grease paint, 'then added wrinkles
with dark. "And your garb's too tidy." He scooped dirt
from between the cobbles and smeared it on Fafhrd's
robe, then tried to put a rip in it, but the material re-
sisted. He shrugged and tucked his lightened sack under
his belt.
"So's yours," Fafhrd observed, and crouching on his
right leg got a good handful of muck himself. Heaving
himself up with a mighty effort, he wiped the stuff off on
the Mouser's cloak and gray silken jerkin too.
The small man cursed, but, "Dramatic consistency,"
Fafhrd reminded him. "Now come on, while our fires and
our stinks are still high." And grasping hold of the
Mouser's shoulder, he propelled himself rapidly toward
Cheap Street, setting his bandaged sword between cobbles
well 'ahead and taking mighty hops.
"Slow down, idiot," the Mouser cried softly, shuffling
along with the speed almost of a skater to keep up, while
tapping his (sword) cane like mad. "A cripple's supposed
to be feeble--that's what draws the sympathy."
Fafhrd nodded wisely and slowed somewhat. The omi-
nous empty doorway slid again into view. The Mouser
tilted his jug to get the last of his wine, swallowed awhile,
then choked sputteringly. Fafhrd snatched and drained
the jug, then tossed it over shoulder to shatter noisily.
They hop-shuffled across Cheap Street and without
pause up the two worn steps and .through the doorway,
past the exceptionally thick wall. Ahead was a long,
straight, high-ceilinged corridor ending in a stairs and
with doors spilling light at intervals and wall-set torches
adding their flare, but empty all its length.
They had just got through the doorway when cold
steel chilled the neck and pricked a shoulder of each of
them. From just above, two voices commanded in unison,
"Halt!"
Although fired--and fuddled--by fortified wine, they
each had wit enough to freeze and then very cautiously
look upward.
Two gaunt, scarred, exceptionally ugly faces, each
topped by a gaudy scarf binding back hair, looked down
at 'them from a big, deep niche just above the doorway.
Two bent, gnarly arms thrust down the swords that still.
pricked them.
"Gone out with the noon beggar-batch, eh?" one of
them observed. "Well, you'd better have a 'high take to
justify your tardy return. The Night Beggarmaster's on a
Whore Street furlough. Report above to Krovas. Gods,
you stink! Better clean up first, or Krovas will have you
bathed in live steam. Begone!"
The Mouser and Fafhrd shuffled and hobbled forward
at 'their most authentic. One niche-guard cried after them,
"Relax, boys! You don't have to put it on here."
"Practice makes perfect," the Mouser called back in a
quavering voice. Fafhrd's fingerends dug his shoulder
warningly. They moved along somewhat more naturally,
so far as Fafhrd's tied-up leg allowed. Truly, thought
Fafhrd, Kos of the Dooms seemed to be leading him direct
to Krovas and perhaps head-chopping would be the order
of 'the night. And now he and the Mouser began to hear
voices, mostly curt and clipped ones, and other noises.
They passed some doorways 'they'd liked to have
paused at, yet the most they dared do was slow down a
bit more.
Very interesting were some of those activities. In one
room young boys were being trained to pick pouches and
slit purses.  They'd  approach from behind  an instructor,
and if he heard scuff of bare foot or felt touch of dipping
hand--or, worst, heard clunk of dropped leaden mockcoin
that 'boy would be thwacked.
In a second room, older student thieves were doing
laboratory work in lock picking. One group was being
lectured by a grimy-handed graybeard, who was taking
apart a most complex lock piece by weighty piece.
In a third, thieves were eating at long tables. The
odors were tempting, even to men full of booze. The
Guild did well by its members.
In a fourth, the floor was padded in part and instruc-
tion was going on in slipping, dodging, ducking, tumbling,
tripping, and otherwise foiling pursuit. A voice like a
sergeant-major's rasped, "Nah, nah, nah! You couldn't
give your crippled grandmother the slip. I said duck, not
genuflect to holy Arth. Now this 'time"
By 'that time the Mouser and Fafhrd were halfway up
the end stairs, Fafhrd vaulting somewhat laboriously as
he grasped curving banister and swaddled sword.
The second floor duplicated .the first, but was as luxuri-
ous as the other had been bare. Down the long corridor
lamps and filagreed incense pots pendent from the ceil-
ing alternated, diffusing a mild light and spicy smell. The
walls were richly draped, the floor .thick-carpeted. Yet
this corridor was empty too and, moreover, completely
silent. After a glance at each other, they started off boldly.
The first door, wide open, showed an untenanted room
full 'of racks of garments, rich and plain, spotless and
filthy, also wig stands, shelves of beards and such. A dis-
guising room, clearly.
The Mouser darted in and out to snatch up a large
green flask from the nearest table. He unstoppered and
sniffed it. A rotten-sweet gardenia-reek contended with
the nose-sting of spirits of wine. The Mouser sloshed his
and Fafhrd's fronts with this dubious perfume.
"Antidote to muck," he explained with 'the pomp of a
physician, stoppering the flask. "Don't want to be par-
boiled by Krovas. No, no, no."
Two figures appeared at the far end of the corridor and
came toward 'them. The Mouser hid the flask under his
cloak, holding it between elbow and side, and he and
Fafhrd continued boldly onward.
The next three doorways they passed were shut by
heavy doors. As they neared the fifth, the two approach-
ing figures, coming on arm-in-arm, became distinct. Their
clothing was that of noblemen, but their faces those of
thieves.  They were frowning with indignation and sus-
picion, too, at the Mouser and Fafhrd.
Just then, from somewhere between the 'two man-pairs,
a voice began to speak words in a strange tongue, using
the rapid monotone priests employ in a routine service,
or some sorcerers in their incantations.
The two richly clad thieves slowed at the seventh door-
way and looked in. Their progress ceased altogether.
Their necks strained, their eyes widened. They paled.
Then of a sudden they hastened onward, almost running,
and by-passed Fafhrd and the Mouser as if they were
furniture.  The incantatory voice drummed on without
missing a beat.
The fifth doorway was shut, but the sixth was open. The
Mouser peeked in with one eye, his nose brushing the
jamb. Then he stepped forward and gazed inside with
entranced expression, pushing the black rag onto his
forehead for better vision. Fafhrd joined him.
It was a large room, empty so far as could be told of hub-
man and animal life, but filled with most interesting
' things. From knee-high up, the entire far wall was a map
of the city of Lankhmar.  Every building and street
seemed depicted, down to the meanest hovel and narrow-
est court. There were signs of recent erasure and redraw-
ing at many spots, and here and there little colored hiero-
glyphs of mysterious import.
The floor was marble, the ceiling blue as lapis lazuli.
The side walls were thickly hung, the one with all man-
ner of thieves' tools, from a huge, thick, pry-bar that
looked as if it could unseat the universe, to a rod so
slim it might be an elf-queen's wand and seemingly de-
signed to telescope out and fish from a distance for pre-
cious  gauds  on milady's  spindle-legged,  ivory-topped
vanity table. The other wall had padlocked to it all sorts
of quaint, gold-gleaming and jewel-flashing objects, evi-
dently mementos chosen for their oddity from the spoils
of memorable burglaries, from a female mask of thin
gold, breathlessly beautiful in its features and contours
but thickly set with rubies simulating the spots of the pox
in its fever stage, to a knife whose blade was wedged-
shaped diamonds set side by side and this diamond cat-
ting-edge looking razor-sharp.
In the center of the room was a bare round table of
ebony and ivory squares. About it were set seven straight-
backed but well-padded chairs, the one facing the map
and 'away from the Mouser and Fafhrd being higher
backed and wider armed than the others chiefs chair,
likely that of Krovas.
The Mouser tiptoed forward, irresistibly drawn, but
Fafhrd's left hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Scowling his disapproval, the Northerner brushed down
the black rag over the Mouser's eyes again and with his
crutch-hand 'thumbed ahead, then set off in that direction
in most carefully calculated, silent hops. With a shrug
of disappointment the Mouser followed.
As soon as they had turned away from the doorway, a
neatly black-bearded, crop-haired head came like a ser-
pent's around the side of the highest-backed chair and
gazed after them from deep-sunken yet glinting eyes. Next
a snake-supple, long hand followed the head out, crossed
thin lips with ophidian forefinger for silence, and 'then
finger-beckoned the two pairs of dark-tunicked men who
were standing to either side of the doorway, their backs
to the corridor wall, each of the four gripping a curvy
knife in one hand and a dark leather, lead-weighted
bludgeon in the 'other.
When Fafhrd was halfway to the seventh doorway,
from which the monotonous yet sinister recitation contin-
ued to well, there shot out through it a slender, whey-
faced youth, his narrow hands clapped over his mouth,
under terror-wide 'eyes, as if to shut in 'screams 'or vomit,
and with a broom clamped in an armpit, so that he
seemed a hit like a young warlock about to take to the
air. He dashed past Fafhrd and the Mouser 'and away,
his racing footsteps sounding rapid-dull 'on the carpeting
and hollow-sharp 'on the 'stairs before dying away.
Fafhrd gazed back at the Mouser with a grimace and
shrug, then squatting one-legged until the knee of his
bound-up leg touched the floor, .advanced half 'his face
past the doorjamb. After a bit, without otherwise chang-
ing position, he beckoned the Mouser to approach. The
latter slowly thrust half his face past the jamb, just above
Fafhrd's.
What they saw was a room somewhat smaller than that
of 'the great map and lit by central lamps that burnt
blue-white instead of customary yellow. The floor was
marble, darkly colorful and complexly whorled. The dark
walls were hung with astrological and anthropomantic
charts and instruments of magic and shelved with crypti-
cally labeled porcelain jars and also with vitreous flasks
and glass pipes of the oddest shapes, some filled with
colored fluids, but many gleamingly empty. At the foot
of the walls, where the shadows were thickest, broken and
discarded stuff was irregularly heaped, as if swept out of
the way and forgot, and here and 'there opened a large
rathole.
In the center 'of the room and brightly illuminated by
contrast was a long table with thick top and many stout
legs. The Mouser thought fleetingly of a centipede and
then of 'the bar at the Eel, for the table top was densely
stained and scarred by many a spilt elixir and many a
deep black burn by fire or acid or both.
In the midst of the table an alembic was working. The
lamp's flame deep blue, this one kept a-~oil in the large
crystal cucurbit a dark, viscid fluid with here and there
diamond glints. From out of the thick, .seething stuff,
strands of a darker vapor streamed upward to crowd
through the cucurbit's narrow mouth and stain--oddly,
with bright scarlet--the transparent head and then, dead
black now, flow down the narrow pipe from the head into
a spherical crystal receiver, larger even than the cucurbit,
and there curl and weave about like so many coils of
living black cord--an endless, skinny, ebon serpent.
Behind the left end of the table stood a tall, yet hunch-
backed man in black robe and hood, which shadowed
more than hid a face of which 'the most prominent features
were a long, thick, pointed nose with out-jutting, almost
chinless mouth. His complexion was  sallow-gray like
sandy clay. A short-haired, bristly, gray beard grew high
on his wide cheeks. From under a receding forehead and
bushy gray brows, wide-set eyes looked intently down at
an age-browned scroll, which his disgustingly small club-
hands, knuckles big, short backs gray-bristled, ceaselessly
unrolled and rolled up again. The only move his eyes
ever made, besides the short side-to-side one as he read
the lines he was rapidly intoning, was an occasional glance
at the alembic.
On the other end of the table, beady eyes darting from
the sorcerer to the alembic and back again, crouched a
small black beast, the first glimpse of which made Fafhrd
dig fingers painfully into the Mouser's shoulder and the
latter almost gasp, but not from the pain. It was most
like a rat, yet it had a higher forehead and closer-set
eyes, while its forepaws, which it constantly rubbed to-
gether in what seemed restless glee, looked like tiny
copies of the sorcerer's clubhands.
Simultaneously  yet  independently,  Fafhrd  and the
Mouser each became certain it was the beast which had
gutter-escorted Slivikin and his mate, then fled, and each
recalled what lvrian had said about a witch's familiar
and Vlana about the likelihood of Krovas employing a
warlock.
The tempo of 'the incantation quickened; the blue-white
flames brightened and hissed audibly; the fluid in 'the
cucurbit grew thick as lava; great bubbles formed and
loudly broke; the black rope in the receiver writhed like a
nest of snakes; there was an increasing sense of invisible
presences; the supernatural tension grew almost unendur-
able, and Fafhrd and the Mouser were hard put to keep
silent  the  open-mouthed  gapes  by  which  they  now
breathed, and each feared his heartbeat could be heard
yards away.
Abruptly the incantation peaked and broke off, like a
drum struck very hard, then instantly silenced by palm
and fingers outspread against the head. With a bright
flash and dull explosion, cracks innumerable appeared in
the cucurbit; its crystal became white and opaque, yet
it did not shatter or drip. The head lifted a span, hung
there, fell back. While two black nooses appeared among
the coils in the receiver and suddenly narrowed until
they were only two big black knots.
The sorcerer grinned, let the end of the parchment roll
up with a snap, and shifted his gaze from the receiver to
his familiar, while the latter chittered shrilly and 'bounded
up and down in rapture.
"Silence, Slivikin! Comes now your time to race and
strain and sweat," the sorcerer cried, speaking pidgin
Lankhmarese now, but so rapidly and in so squeakingly
high-pitched a voice that Fafhrd and the Mauser could
barely follow him. They did, however, both realize they
had been completely mistaken as to 'the identity of Slivi-
kin. In moment of disaster, 'the fat thief had called to
the witch-beast for help rather than to his human com-
rade.
"Yes, master," Slivikin squeaked back no less clearly, in
an 'instant revising the Mouser's opinions about talking
animals. He continued in .the same fife-like, fawning tones,
"Harkening in obedience, Hristomilo."
Hristomilo ordered m whiplash pipings, "To your ap-
pointed work! See to lit you summon an ample sufficiency
of feasters!-I want the bodies stripped to skeletons, so
the bruises of the enchanted smog and all evidence of
death by suffocation will be vanished utterly. But forget
not the loot! On your mission, now--depart!"
Slivikin, who at every command had bobbed his head
in manner reminiscent of his bouncing, now squealed,
"I'll see it done!" and gray lightning-like, leaped a long
leap to the floor and down an inky rathole.
Hristomilo, rubbing together his disgusting clubhands
much as Slivikin had his, cried chucklingly, "What Slev-
yas lost, my magic has re-won!"
Fafhrd and the Mouser drew back out of the doorway,
partly for fear of being seen, partly in revulsion from
what they had seen and heard, and in poignant if useless
pity for Slevyas, whoever he might be, and for the other
unknown victims of the rat-like and conceivably rat-re-
lated sorcerer's deathspells, poor strangers already dead
and due to have their flesh eaten from their bones.
Fafhrd wrested the green bottle from the Mouser and,
though almost-gagging on the rotten-flowery reek, gulped
a large, stinging mouthful. The Mouser couldn't quite
bring himself to do the same, but was comforted by the
spirits of wine he inhaled.
Then he saw, beyond Fafhrd, standing before the door-
way to the map room, a richly clad man with gold-hilted
knife jewel-scabbarded at his side. His sunken-eyed face
was prematurely wrinkled by responsibility, overwork, and
authority, and framed by neatly cropped black bail and
beard. Smiling, he silently beckoned them with a serpen-
tine gesture.
The Mouser and Fafhrd obeyed, the latter returning the
green bottle to the former, who recapped it and thrust
it under his left elbow with well-concealed irritation.
Each guessed their summoner was Krovas, the Guild's
Grandmaster. Once again Fafhrd marveled, as he hob-
bledehoyed along, reeling and belching, how Kos or the
Fates were guiding him to his target tonight. The Mouser,
more alert and more apprehensive too, was reminding
himself that they had been directed by the niche-guards
to report to Krovas, so that the situation, if not develop-
ing quite in accord with his own misty plans, was still
not deviating disastrously.
Yet not even his alertness, nor Fafhrd's primeval in-
stincts, gave them forewarning as they followed Krovas
into the map room.
Two steps inside, each of them was shoulder-grabbed
and bludgeon-menaced by a pair of ruffians further armed
with knives tucked in their belts.
"All secure. Grandmaster," one of the ruffians rapped
out.
Krovas swung the highest-backed chair around and sat
down, eyeing them coolly.
"What brings two stinking, drunken beggar-guildsmen
into the top-restricted precincts of the masters?" he asked
quietly.
The Mouser felt the sweat of relief bead his forehead.
The disguises he bad brilliantly conceived were still work-
ing, taking in even the head man, though he had spotted
Fafhrd's tipsiness. Resuming his blind-man manner, he
quavered, "We were directed by the guard above the
Cheap Street door to report to you in person, great
Krovas, the Night Beggarmaster being on furlough for
reasons of sexual hygiene. Tonight we've made good haul!"
And fumbling in .his purse, ignoring as far as possible the
tightened grip on his shoulders, he brought out a golden
coin and displayed it tremble-handed.
"Spare me your inexpert acting," Krovas said sharply.
"I'm not one of your marks. And take that rag off your
eyes."
The Mouser obeyed and stood to attention again inso-
far as his pinioning would permit, and smiling the more
seeming carefree because of his reawakening uncertain-
ties. Conceivably he wasn't doing quite as brilliantly as
he'd 'thought.
Krovas leaned forward and said placidly yet piercingly,
"Granted you were so ordered, why were you spying into
a room beyond this one when I spotted you?"
"We saw brave thieves flee from that room," the Mouser
answered pat. "Fearing that some danger threatened the
Guild, my comrade and I investigated, ready to scotch
it."
"But what we saw and heard only perplexed us, great
sir," Fafhrd appended quite smoothly.
"I didn't ask you, sot. Speak when you're spoken to,"
Krovas snapped at him. Then, to the Mouser, "You're an
overweening rogue, most presumptuous for your rank.
Beggars claim to protect thieves indeed! I'm of a mind
to have you both flogged for your spying, and again for
your drunkenness, aye, and once more for your lies."
In a flash the Mouser decided that further insolence
and lying, too--rather than fawning, was what the situa-
tion required. "I am a most presumptuous rogue indeed,
sir," he said smugly. Then he set his face solemn. "But
now I see the time has come when I must speak darkest
troth entire. The Day Beggarmaster suspects a plot against
your own life, sir, by one of your highest and closest
lieutenants--one you trust so well you'd not believe it,
sir. He told us that! So he set me and my comrade secretly
to guard you and sniff out the verminous villain."
"More and clumsier lies!" Krovas snarled, but the
Mouser saw his face grow pale. The Grandmaster half
rose from his seat. "Which lieutenant?"
The Mouser grinned and relaxed. His two captors
gazed sideways at him curiously, losing their grip a little.
Fafhrd's pair seemed likewise intrigued.
The Mouser then asked coolly, "Are you questioning me
as a trusty spy or a pinioned liar? If the latter, I'll not
insult you with one more word."
Krovas' face darkened. "Boy!" he called. Through the
curtains of an inner doorway, a youth with the dark com-
plexion of a Kleshite and clad only in a black loincloth
sprang to kneel before Krovas, who ordered, "Summon
first my  sorcerer,  next the  thieves  Slevyas  and Fissif,"
whereupon the dark youth dashed into the corridor.
Krovas hesitated a moment in thought, then shot a
hand toward Fafhrd. "What do you know of this, drunk-
ard? Do you support your mate's crazy tale?"
Fafhrd merely sneered his face and folded his aims,
the still-slack grip of his captors permitting it, his sword-
crutch hanging against his body from his 'lightly 'gripping
band. Then he scowled as there came a sudden shooting
pain in 'his numbed, bound-up left leg, which he had
forgotten.
Krovas raised a clenched fist and himself wholly from
his chair, in prelude to some fearsome command--likely
that Fafhrd and the Mouser be tortured, but at that
moment Hristomilo came gliding into the room, his feet
presumably taking 'swift, but very short steps--at any rate
his black robe hung undisturbed to the marble floor
despite his slithering speed.
There was a shock 'at his entrance. All eyes in the map
room followed him, breaths were held, and the Mouser
and Fafhrd felt the horny hands that gripped them shake
just a little. Even Krovas' tense expression became also
guardedly uneasy.
Outwardly oblivious to this reaction to his appearance,
Hristomilo, smiling thin-lipped, halted close to one side of
Krovas' chair and inclined his hood-shadowed rodent face
in the ghost of a bow.
Krovas 'asked sharply yet nervously, gesturing toward
the Mouser and Fafhrd, "Do you know these two?"
Hristomilo nodded decisively. "They just now peered
a befuddled eye each at me," he said, "whilst I was about
that business we spoke of. I'd have shooed them off, re-
parted them, save such action would have broken my
spell, put my words out of time with the alembic's work-
ings. The one's a Northerner, the other's features have a
southern cast--from Tovilyis or near, most like. Both
younger than their now-looks. Freelance bravoes, I'd
judge 'cm, the sort the Brotherhood hires as extras when
they get at once several big guard and escort jobs. Clum-
sily disguised now, of course, as beggars."
Fafhrd by yawning, the Mouser by pitying headshake
tried to convey that all this was so much poor guesswork.
The Mauser even added a warning glare, brief as light-
ning, to suggest to Krovas that the conspiring lieutenant
might be the Grandmaster's own sorcerer.
"That's all I can tell you without reading their minds,"
Hristomilo concluded. "Shall I fetch my lights and mir-
rors?"
"Not yet." Krovas faced the Mouser and said, "Now
speak truth, or have it magicked from you and then be
whipped to death. Which of my lieutenants were you
set to spy on by the Day Beggarmaster? But you're lying
about that commission, I believe?"
"Oh, no," the Mouser denied it guilelessly. "We re-
ported our every act to the Day Beggarmaster and he
approved them, told us to spy our best and gather every
scrap of fact and rumor we could about the conspiracy."
"And he told me not a word about it!" Krovas rapped
out. "If true, I'll have Bannat's head for this! But you're
lying, aren't you?"
As the Mouser gazed with wounded eyes 'at Krovas, a
portly man limped past the doorway with help of a
gilded staff. He moved with silence and aplomb.
But Krovas saw him. "Night Beggarmaster!" he called
sharply. The limping man stopped, turned, came crippling
majestically through the door. Krovas stabbed a finger
at the Mouser, then Fafhrd. "Do you know these two,
Flim?"
The Night Beggarmaster unhurriedly studied each for
a space, then shook his head with its turban of cloth of
gold. "Never seen either before. What are they? Fink beg-
gars?"
"But Flim wouldn't know us," the Mouser explained
desperately, feeling everything collapsing in on him and
Fafhrd. "All our contacts were with Bannat alone."
Flim said quietly, "Bannat's been abed with the swamp
ague this past ten-day. Meanwhile I have been Day Beg-
garmaster as well as Night."
At that moment Slevyas and Fissif came hurrying in
behind Flim. The tall thief bore on his jaw a bluish lump.
The fat thief's head was bandaged above his darting eyes.
He pointed quickly at Fafhrd and the Mouser and cried,
"There are the two that slugged us, took our Jengao loot,
and slew our escort."
The Mouser lifted his elbow and the green bottle
crashed to shards at his feet on the hard marble. Gar-
denia-reek sprang swiftly 'through the air.
But more swiftly still the Mouser, shaking off the care-
less hold of his startled guards, sprang toward Krovas,
clubbing his wrapped-up sword.
With startling speed Flim thrust out 'his gilded staff,
tripping the Mouser, who went heels over head, midway
seeking to change his involuntary somersault into a volun-
tary one.
Meanwhile Fafhrd lurched heavily against his left-
hand captor, at the same time swinging bandaged Gray-
wand strongly upward to strike his right-hand captor un-
der the jaw. Regaining his one-legged balance with a
mighty contortion, he hopped for the loot-wall behind
him.
Slevyas made for the wall of thieves' tools, and with a
muscle-cracking effort wrenched the great pry-bar from
its padlocked ring.
Scrambling to his feet after a poor landing in front of
Krovas' chair, the Mouser found it empty and the Thief
King in a half-crouch behind it, gold-hilted dagger drawn,
deep-sunk eyes coldly battle-wild. Spinning around, he
saw Fafhrd's guards on the floor, the one sprawled sense-
less, the other starting to scramble up,  while the great
Northerner, his back against the wall of weird jewelry,
menaced the whole room with wrapped-up Graywand
and with his long knife, jerked from its scabbard behind
him.
Likewise drawing Cat's Claw, the Mouser cried in
trumpet-voice of battle, "Stand aside, all! He's gone mad!
I'll hamstring his good leg for you!" And racing through
the press and between his own two guards, who still ap-
peared to hold him in some awe, he launched himself
with flashing dirk at Fafhrd, praying that the Norther-
ner, drunk now with battle as well as wine and poisonous
perfume, would recognize him and guess his stratagem.
Graywand slashed well above his ducking head. His
new friend not only guessed, but was playing up--and
not just missing by accident, the Mouser hoped. Stoop-
ing low by the wall, he cut the lashings on Fafhrd's left
leg. Graywand and Fafhrd's long knife continued to spare
him. Springing up, he headed for the corridor, crying
overshouldered to Fafhrd, "Come on!"
Hristomilo stood well out of his way, quietly observing.
Fissif scuttled toward safety. Krovas stayed behind 'his
chair, shouting, "Stop them! Head 'them off!"
The three remaining ruffian guards, at last beginning
to recover 'their fighting-wits,  gathered to oppose the
Mouser. But menacing them with swift feints of his dirk,
he slowed them and darted between--and then just in the
nick of time knocked aside with a downsweep of wrapped-
up Scalpel Flim's gilded staff, 'thrust once again to trip
him.
All this 'gave Slevyas time to return from the tools-wall
and aim at the Mauser a great swinging blow with the
massive pry-bar. But even as that blow started, a very
long, bandaged and scabbarded sword on a very long
arm thrust over the Mouser's shoulder and solidly and
heavily poked Slevyas high 'on the chest, jolting Mm back-
wards, so that the pry-bar's swing was short and sang
past harmlessly.
Then the Mouser found himself in the corridor and
Fafhrd beside him, though for some weird reason still
only hopping. The Mouser pointed toward the stairs.
Fafhrd nodded, but delayed to reach high, still 'on one
leg only, and rip off the nearest wall a dozen yards of
heavy drapes, which he threw across 'the corridor to
baffle pursuit.
They reached the stairs and started up the next flight,
the Mauser in advance. There were cries 'behind, some
muffled.
"Stop hopping, Fafhrd!" the Mauser ordered queru-
lously. "You've got two legs again."
"Yes, and the other's still dead," Fafhrd complained.
"Ahh! Now feeling begins to return to it."
A thrown knife whished between them and duly
clinked as it hit the wall point-first and stone powder
flew. Then they were around the bend.
Two more empty corridors, two more curving flights,
and then they saw above them on the last landing a
stout ladder mounting to a dark, 'square hole in the
roof. A thief with hair bound back by a colorful "hand-
kerchief--it appeared to be the door guards' identifica-
tion--menaced the Mouser with drawn sword, but when
he saw there were two of them, both charging him de-
terminedly with shining knives and strange staves or clubs,
he turned and ran down the last empty corridor.
The Mouser, followed closely by Fafhrd, rapidly
mounted the ladder and vaulted up through the hatch into
the star-crusted night.
He found himself near the unrailed edge of-a slate
roof which slanted enough to have made lit look most
fearsome to a novice roof-walker, but safe as houses to
a veteran.
Turning back at a bumping sound, he saw Fafhrd
prudently hoisting the ladder. Just as he got it free, a
knife flashed up close past him out of the hatch.
It clattered down near them and slid off the roof. The
Mouser loped south across the slates and was halfway
from the hatch to that end of the roof when the faint
chink came of the knife striking the cobbles of Murder
Alley.
Fafhrd followed more slowly, in part perhaps from a
lesser experience of roofs, in part because he still limped
a bit to favor his left leg, and in part because he was
carrying the heavy ladder balanced on his right shoulder.
"We won't need that," the Mouser called back.
Without hesitation Fafhrd heaved it joyously over the
edge. By the time it crashed in Murder Alley, the Mouser
was leaping down two yards and .across ,a gap of one
to the next roof, of apposite and lesser pitch. Fafhrd
landed beside him.                               >
The Mouser led them at almost a run through a sooty
forest of chimneys, chimney pots, ventilators with tails
that 'made  them  always face the wind, black-legged
cisterns, hatch covers, bird houses, and pigeon traps across
five roofs, until they reached the Street of the Thinkers at
a point where it was crossed by a roofed passageway
much like the one at Rokkermas and Slaarg's.
While they crossed it at a crouching lope, something
hissed close past them and clattered ahead. As they leaped
down from the roof of the bridge, three more somethings
hissed over their heads to clatter beyond. One rebounded
from a square chimney almost to the Mouser's feet. He
picked it up, expecting a stone, and was surprised by the
greater weight of a leaden ball big as two doubled-up
fingers.
"They," he said, jerking thumb overshoulder, "lost no
time in getting slingers on the roof. When roused, they're
good."
Southeast then through another black chimney-forest
toward a point on Cheap Street where upper stories over-
hung the street so much on either side that it would be
easy to leap the gap. During this roof-traverse, an ad-
vancing front of night-smog, dense enough to make them
cough and wheeze, engulfed them and for perhaps sixty
heartbeats the Mouser had to slow to a shuffle and feel
his way, Fafhrd's hand on his shoulder. Just short of
Cheap Street they came abruptly and completely out of
the smog and saw the stars again, while .the black front
rolled off northward behind them.
"Now what the devil was that?" Fafhrd asked and the
Mouser shrugged.
A nighthawk would have seen a vast thick hoop of
black night-smog blowing out in all directions from a
center near the Silver Eel.
East of Cheap Street the two comrades soon made .their
way to the ground, landing back in Plague Court.
Then at last .they looked at each other and their
trammeled swards and their filthy faces and clothing
made dirtier still by roof-soot, and they laughed and
laughed and laughed, Fafhrd roaring still as he bent over
to massage his left leg above and below knee. This hooting
self-mockery continued while they unwrapped .their swords
the Mouser as if his were a surprise package--and
clipped their scabbards once more to their belts. Their
exertions had burnt out of them the last mote and atomy
of strong wine and even stronger stenchful perfume, but
they felt no desire whatever for more drink, only the urge
to get home and eat hugely and guzzle hot, bitter gahveh,
and tell their lovely girls at length the tale of their mad
adventure.
They loped on side by side.
Free of night-smog and drizzled with starlight, then-
cramped surroundings seemed much less stinking and
oppressive than when they had set out. Even Bones Alley
had a freshness to it.
They hastened up the long, creaking, broken-treaded
stairs with an easy carefulness, and when they were both
on the porch, the Mauser shoved at the door to open it
with surprise-swiftness.
It did not budge.
"Bolted," he said to Fafhrd shortly. He noted now there
was hardly any light at all coming through the cracks
around the door, nor had any been noticeable through
the lattices--at most, a faint orange-red glow. Then with
sentimental grin and in fond voice in which only the
ghost of uneasiness lurked, he said, "They've gone to
sleep,  the  unworrying  wenches!"  He  knocked  loudly
thrice and then cupping his lips called softly at the door
crack, "Hola, lvrian! I'm home safe. Hail, Vlana! Your
man's done you proud, felling Guild-thieves innumerable
with one foot tied behind his back!"
There was no sound whatever from inside--that is, if
one discounted a rustling so faint it was impossible to be
sure of it.
Fafhrd was wrinkling his nostrils. "I smell vermin."
The Mouser banged on the door again. Still no response.
Fafhrd motioned him out of the way, hunching Ms big
shoulder to crash 'the portal.
The Mouser shook his head and with a deft tap, slide,
and a tug removed a brick that a moment before had
looked to be a firm-set part of the wall beside the door.
He reached in all his arm. There was the scrape of a
bolt being withdrawn, 'then another, then a third. He
swiftly recovered his arm and the door .swung fully in-
ward at touch.
But neither he nor Fafhrd rushed in at once, as both
had intended to, for the indefinable scent of danger and
the unknown came puffing out along with an increased
reek of filthy beast and a slight, sickening sweet scent that
though female was no decent female perfume.
They could see the room faintly by the orange glow
coming from 'the small oblong of the open door of the
little,  well-blacked  stove.  Yet  the  oblong  did  not  sit
properly upright but was unnaturally a-tilt--clearly the
stove had been half overset and now leaned against a side
wall of tile fireplace, its small door fallen open in 'that
direction.
By itself alone, that unnatural angle conveyed the entire
impact of a universe overturned.
The orange glow showed the carpets oddly rucked up
with 'here and there ragged black circles a palm's breadth
across, the neatly stacked candles scattered about below
their shelves along with some of the jars and enameled
boxes, and--above all--two black, low, irregular, longish
heaps, the one by the fireplace, the other half on the
golden couch, half at its foot.
From each heap there stared at the Mouser and Fafhrd
innumerable pairs of tiny, rather widely set, furnace-red
eyes.
On the thickly carpeted floor on the other side of the
fireplace was a silver cobweb--a fallen silver cage, but
no love birds sang from it.
There was the faint scrape of metal as Fafhrd made
sure Graywand was loose in his scabbard.
As if that tiny sound had beforehand been chosen as
the signal for attack, each instantly whipped out sword
and they advanced side by side into the room, warily at
first, testing the floor with each step.
At the screech of the swords being drawn, the tiny
furnace-red eyes had winked and shifted restlessly, and
now with the two men's approach they swiftly scattered
pattering, pair by red pair, each pair at the forward end
. of a small, low, slender, hairless-stalled black body, and
each making for one of the black circles in the rugs,
where they vanished.
Indubitably the black  circles  were ratholes newly
gnawed up through 'the floor and rugs, while the red-eyed
creatures were black rats.
Fafhrd and the Mouser sprang forward, slashing and
chopping at them in a frenzy, cursing and human-snarling
besides.
They sundered few. The rats fled with preternatural
swiftness, most of 'them disappearing down holes near the
walls and the fireplace.
Also Fafhrd's first frantic chop went through the floor
and on his third step, with an ominous crack and splinter-
ing, his leg plunged through the floor to his hip-. The
Mauser darted past him, unmindful of further crackings,.
Fafhrd heaved out his .trapped leg, not even noting
the  splinter-scratches it got and as unmindful as the
Mouser of the continuing creakings. "The rats were gone.
He lunged after his comrade, who had thrust a bunch of
kindlers into the stove, to make more light.
The horror was that, although the rats were all gone,
the  two  longish  heaps remained,  although  considerably
'diminished and, as now shown clearly by the yellow
flames leaping from the tilled black door, changed in hue
no longer were the heaps red-beaded black, but a
mixture of gloaming black and dark brown, a sickening
purple-blue, violet and velvet black and snow-serpent
white, and the reds of stockings and blood and bloody
flesh and bone.
Although hands and feet had been gnawed bone-naked,
and bodies tunneled heart-deep, the .two faces had been
spared. But that was not good, for they were purple-blue
from death by strangulation, lips drawn back, eyes bulg-
ing, all features contorted in agony. Only the black and
very dark brown hair gleamed unchanged--that and the
white, white teeth.
As each man stared down at his love, unable to look
away despite the waves of horror and grief and rage
washing 'higher and higher in him, each saw a tiny black
strand uncurl from the black depression ringing each
throat and drift off, dissipating, toward the open door
behind them--two strands of night-smog.
With a crescendo of cracklings the floor sagged three
spans more in the center before arriving at a new tem-
porary stability.
Edges of centrally tortured minds noted details: That
Vlana's silver-hilted dagger skewered to the floor a rat,
which, likely enough, overeager had approached too close-
ly before the night-smog had done its magic work. That
her belt and pouch were gone. That the blue-enameled
box inlaid with silver, in which lvrian had put the
Mouser's share of the highjacked jewels, was gone too.
The Mouser and Fafhrd lifted to each other white,
drawn faces, which were quite mad, yet completely joined
in understanding and purpose. No need for Fafhrd to
explain why he stripped off his robe and hood, or why he
jerked up Vlana's dagger, snapped the rat off it with a
wrist-flick, and 'thrust it in his belt. No need for the
Mouser to tell why he searched out a half dozen jars of
oil and after smashing three 'of them in front of the flam-
ing stove, paused, thought, and stuck the other three in
the sack at his waist, adding to them the remaining kin-
diers and the fire-pot, brimmed with red coal?, its top
lashed down tight.
Then, still without word exchanged, the Mauser reached
into the fireplace and without a wince at the burning
metal's touch, deliberately tipped .the flaming stove for-
ward, so that lit fell door-down on oil-soaked rugs. Yellow
flames sprang up around him.
They turned and raced for the door. With louder
crackings than any before, the floor collapsed. They
desperately scrambled their way up a steep hill of .sliding
carpets and reached door and porch just before all behind
them gave way and the flaming rugs and stove and all the
firewood and candles and the golden couch and all the
little  tables  and  boxes  and  jars--and  the  unthinkably
mutilated bodies of their first loves--cascaded into the
dry, dusty, cobweb-choked room below, and the 'great
flames of a cleansing or at least obliterating cremation
began to flare upward.
They plunged 'down the .stairs, which tore away from
the wall and collapsed in the dark as they. reached the
ground. They had to fight their way over the wreckage
to get to Bones Alley.
By then the flames were darting their bright lizard-
tongues out of .the shuttered attic windows and the
boarded-up ones m the story just 'below. By the time they
reached Plague Court, running side by side 'at top speed,
the Silver Eel's fire alarm was clanging cacophonously
behind .them.
They were still sprinting when .they took the Death
Alley fork. Then the Mouser grappled Fafhrd and forced
him to a halt. The big man struck out, cursing insanely,
and only desisted--his white face still a lunatic's--when
the Mauser cried panting, "Only tea heartbeats to aim
us!"
He pulled the sack from 'his belt and keeping, tight
hold of its neck, crashed it on the cobbles-hard -enough
to smash mot only the bottles of oil, but .also the fire-pot,
for the sack was soon flaming at its base.
Then he drew gleaming Scalpel and Fafhrd Graywand,
and they raced on, the Mouser swinging his sack in a
great circle beside him to fan its flames. It was a veritable
ball of fire burning his left hand as they dashed across
Cheap Street and into Thieves' House, and the Mouser,
leaping high, swung it up into the great niche above the
doorway and let go of it.        "
The niche-guards screeched in surprise and pain at the
fiery invader of their hidey-hole.
Student thieves poured out of the door ahead at the
screeching and foot-pounding, and then poured back as
they saw the fierce point of flames and the two demon-
faced on-comers brandishing their long, shining swords.
One skinny little apprentice--he could hardly have
been ten years old--lingered too long. Graywand .thrust
him pitilessly through, as his big eyes bulged and his
small mouth gaped in horror and plea to Fafhrd for
mercy.
Now from ahead ,of them there came a weird, wailing
call, hollow and hair-raising,  and doors began to thud
shut instead of spewing forth the armed guards Fafhrd
and the Mouser prayed would appear to be skewered
by their swords. Also, despite the long, bracketed torches
looking newly renewed, the corridor was darkening.
The reason for .this last became clear as they plunged
op the stairs. Strands of night-smog appeared in the stair-
well, materializing from nothing, or the air.
The strands grew longer and more tangible. They
touched and clung nastily. In the corridor above they were
farming from wall to wall and from ceiling to floor, like a
gigantic cobweb, and were .becoming so substantial that
the Mouser and Fafhrd had to .slash .them to get through,
or so their two maniac minds believed. The black web
muffled a little a repetition of the eerie, wailing call, which
came from the seventh door ahead and this .time ended in
a gleeful chittering and cackling as insane as the emotions
of the two attackers.
Here, too, doors were thudding shut. In an ephemeral
flash of rationality, it occurred to the Mouser that it was
not he and Fafhrd the thieves feared, for they had not
been seen yet, but rather Hristomilo and his magic, even
though working in defense of Thieves' House.
Even the map room, whence counterattack would most
likely erupt, was closed off by a huge 'oaken, iron-studded
door.
They were now twice slashing the black, clinging, rope-
thick spider web for every single step they drove them-
selves forward. While midway between the map and magic
rooms, there was forming on the inky web, ghostly at first
but swiftly growing more substantial, a black spider as
big as a wolf.
The Mauser slashed heavy cobweb before it, dropped
back two steps, then buried himself at it in 'a high leap.
Scalpel thrust through it, striking amidst its eight new-
formed jet eyes, and it collapsed like a daggered bladder,
loosing a vile stink.
Then he and Fafhrd were looking into the magic room,
the 'alchemist's chamber. It was much as they had seen it
before, except some things were doubled, or multiplied
even further.
On the long table two blue-boiled cucurbits bubbled
and roiled, their heads shooting out a solid, writhing rope
more swiftly than moves the black swamp-cobra, which
can run down a man and not into twin receivers, but
into the open air of the room (if any of the air in Thieves'
House could have been called open then) to weave a
barrier between their swords and Hristomilo, who once
more stood tall though hunch-backed over his sorcerous,
brown parchment, though this time his exultant gaze was
chiefly fixed on Fafhrd and the Mouser, with only an
occasional downward glance at the text of the spell he
drummingly intoned.
While at the other end of the table, in web-free space,
there bounced not only Slivikin, but also a huge rat match-
ing him in size in all members except the head.
From the ratholes at the foot of the walls, red eyes
glittered 'and gleamed in pairs.
With a bellow of rage Fafhrd began slashing at the
black barrier, but the ropes were replaced from the
cucurbit heads as swiftly as he sliced them, while the cut
ends, instead of drooping slackly, now 'began to strain
hungrily toward him like constrictive snakes or strangle-
vines.
He suddenly shifted Graywand to his left hand, drew
his long knife and buried it at the sorcerer. Flashing
toward its mark, it cut through three strands, was de-
flected and slowed by a fourth and fifth, almost halted by
a sixth, and ended hanging futilely in the curled grip of a
seventh.
Hristomilo laughed cacklingly--and grinned, showing his
huge upper incisors, while Slivikin chittered in ecstasy
and bounded the higher.
"The Mouser hurled Cat's Claw with no better result
worse, indeed, since his action gave two darting smog-
strands time to curl hamperingly around his sword-hand
and stranglingly around his neck. Black rats came racing
out of the big holes at the cluttered base of the walls.
Meanwhile other strands snaked around Fafhrd's ankles,
knees and left arm, almost toppling him. But even as he
fought for balance, he jerked Vlana's dagger from his belt
and raised it over his shoulder, its silver hilt glowing, its
blade brown with dried rat's-blood.
The grin left Hristomilo's face as he saw it. The sor-
cerer screamed strangely and importuningly then, and
drew back from his parchment and .the table, and raised
clawed clubhands to ward off doom.
Vlana's dagger sped unimpeded through the black web
its strands even seemed to part for it and betwixt the
sorcerer's warding hands, to bury itself to the hilt in his
right eye.
He screamed thinly in dire agony and clawed 'at his
face.
The black web writhed as if in death spasm.
The cucurbits shattered as one, spilling their lava on
the scarred table, putting out the blue flames even as the
thick wood of the table began to smoke a little at the
lava's edge. Lava dropped 'with plops on the dark marble
floor.
With a faint, final scream Hristomilo pitched forward,
hands clutched to 'his eyes above 'his jutting nose, silver
dagger-hilt protruding between his fingers.
The web grew faint, like wet ink washed with a gush
of clear water.
The Mouser raced forward and transfixed Slivikin and
the huge rat with one thrust of Scalpel before the beasts
knew what was happening. They too died swiftly with
thin screams, while all the other rats turned tail and fled
back down their holes swift almost as black lightning.
Then the last trace of night-smog or sorcery-smoke
vanished, and Fafhrd and the Mouser found themselves
standing alone with three dead bodies amidst a profound
silence .that seemed to fill not only this room but all
Thieves' House. Even the cucurbit-lava had ceased to
move, was hardening, -and the wood of the table no longer
smoked.
Their madness was gone and all their rage, too--vented
to the last red atomy and glutted to more 'than satiety.
They had no more urge to kill Krovas or any other thieves
than to swat flies. With horrified inner-eye Fafhrd saw
the pitiful  face  of the  child-thief he'd  skewered in his
lunatic anger.
Only their grief remained with them, diminished not
one whit, but rather growing greater--that and an ever
more swiftly growing revulsion from all that was around
them: the dead, the disordered magic room, all Thieves'
House, all of the city of Lankhmar to its last stinking
alleyway.
With a hiss of disgust the Mouser jerked Scalpel from
the rodent cadavers, wiped it on the nearest cloth, and
returned it to its scabbard. Fafrid likewise sketchily
cleansed and sheathed Graywand. Then the two men
picked up their knife and dirk from where they'd dropped
to the floor when the web had dematerialized, though
neither glanced at Vlana's dagger where it was buried.
But on the sorcerer's table they did notice Vlana's black
velvet, silver-worked pouch and belt, and lvrian's blue-
enameled box inlaid with silver. These they took.
With no more word than they had exchanged back at
the Mouser's burnt nest behind the Eel, but with a con-
tinuing sense of their unity of purpose, their identity of
intent, and of their comradeship, they made their way
with shoulders bowed and with slow, weary steps which
only very gradually quickened out of the magic room and
down the thick-carpeted corridor, past the map room's
wide door now barred with oak and iron, and past all the
other shut, silent doors, down the echoing stairs, their
footsteps speeding a little; down the bare-floored lower
corridor past its closed, quiet doors, their footsteps re-
sounding loudly no matter how softly they sought to
tread; under the deserted, black-scorched guard-niche,
and .so out into Cheap Street, turning left and north be-
cause that was the nearest way to the Street of .the Gods,
and there turning right and east--not a waking soul in
the wide street except for one skinny, bent-backed ap-
prentice lad unhappily swabbing the flagstones in front of
a wine shop in the dim pink light beginning to seep from
the east, although there were many forms asleep, a-snore
and a-dream in the gutters and under the dark porticoes
yes, turning right and east down the Street of the Gods,
for that way was the Marsh Gate, leading to Causey Road
across the Great Salt Marsh; and the Marsh Gate was the
nearest way out of the great and glamorous city that was
now loathsome to them, a city of beloved, unfaceable
ghosts--indeed, not to be endured for one more stabbing,
leaden heartbeat than was necessary.