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once more at least half the Mouser's doing, he was sure.
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 freelance thieving in the city, with miming as a cover.
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
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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," Ivrian protested. "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 Ivrian's wrist, "at
some time in any good party all the men who are really men simply
have to go out. It's extremely stupid, but it's their nature and can't be
dodged, believe me."
"But, Mouse, I'm scared. Fafhrd's tale frightened me. So did yours
-- I'll hear that big-headed, black, ratty familiar a-scratch at the shutters
when you're gone, I know I will!"
It seemed to Fafhrd she was not afraid at all, only taking pleasure
in frightening herself and in demonstrating her power over her beloved.
"Darlingest," 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
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Fafhrd's frigid specters or -- pardon me, my comrade, but it could be --
hallucinations admixed with coincidences. 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."
"The Eel's but a step, Lady Ivrian," Fafhrd said, "and you'll have
beside you my dear Vlana, who slew my chiefest enemy with a single
cast of that dagger she now wears."
With a glare at Fafhrd that lasted no longer than a wink, but
conveyed "What a way to reassure a frightened girl!" 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-fumy head to restless
foot."
So Ivrian let herself be persuaded and the Mouser and Fafhrd
slipped off, quickly shutting the door behind them to keep out the night-
smog. Their rather rapid steps down the stairs could clearly be heard
from within. There were faint creakings and groanings of the ancient
wood outside the wall, but no sound of another tread breaking or other
mishap.
Waiting for the four jugs to be brought up from the 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 Ivrian's notion that the small dark
creature with Slivikin and the other Guild-thief was a wizard's familiar,
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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 or to both?"
The Mouser laughed lightly. "You're building bugbears -- formless
baby ones unlicked by logic -- out of nothing, dear barbarian brother, if
I may say so. _Imprimis_, we don't really know the beastie was
connected with the Guild-thieves at all. May well have been a stray
catling or a big bold rat -- like this damned one!" He kicked again. "But,
_secundus_, granting it to be the creature of a wizard employed by
Krovas, how could it make useful report? I don't believe in animals that
talk -- except for parrots and such birds, which only ... parrot -- or ones
having an elaborate sign language men can share. Or perhaps you
envisage the beastie dipping its paddy paw in a jug of ink and writing
its report in big on a floor-spread parchment?
"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 meanwhile 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 could it tell them there? Only that something had gone
wrong with the burglary at Jengao's. Which they'd soon suspect in any
case from the delay in the thieves' and bravos' return."
Fafhrd frowned and muttered stubbornly, "The furry slinker might,
nevertheless, convey our appearances to the Guild masters, and they
might recognize us and come after us and attack us in our homes. Or
Slivikin and his fat pal, revived from their bumps, might do likewise."
"My dear friend," the Mouser said condolingly, "once more begging
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