Swords and Ice Magic - By Fritz Leiber Page 0,41
Mouser and Fafhrd (now having, as captains, to control others) that they did not expostulate at this astounding and barely-tempered rebuff, but actually each dug a hand into his purse ― though they did look after the two strolling females somewhat wonderingly. So they saw Skor and Pshawri, who had been dazedly following the two apparitions of northernly delight, now approach these houris with the clear intent of establishing some sort of polite amorous familiarity.
Afreyt struck Skor aside in no uncertain fashion, but only after leaning her face close enough to his head to hiss a word or two into his ear and grasp his wrist in a way that would have permitted her to slip a token or note into his palm. Cif treated Pshawri's advances likewise.
Groniger, pleased at the way the two captains were now dragging gold pieces from their purses, nevertheless admonished them, “And see to it that your crewmen offer no affront to our Salthaven women, nor stray one step beyond the bounds of the traders' quarter.”
Paying up took the last of the Rime Isle gold that Cif had given them back at the Silver Eel in Lankhmar, while the Mouser had to piece out his seven with two Lankhmar rilks and a Sarheenmar dubloon.
Groniger's eyebrows rose as he scanned the take. “Rime Isle coinage! So you'd touched here before and knew our harbor rules and were only seeking to bargain? But what made you invent such an unbelievable story?”
Fafhrd shrugged and said shortly, “Not so. Had 'em off an Eastern trading galley in these waters,” while the Mouser only laughed.
Nevertheless, a thought struck Groniger, and he looked after the two Rime Isle councilwomen speculatively as he said shortly, “Now you may feed your men.”
The Mouser called toward Flotsam, “Ho, lads! Fetch your bowls, cups, and spoons. These most hostful Rime Islanders have provided a feast for you. Orderly now! Pshawri, attend me.”
While Fafhrd commanded likewise, adding, “Forget not they're our friends. Do 'em courtesies. A word with you, Skor.” Never do to show resentment, though that “tub” still rankled with the Mouser, despite it being a very fine description of the broad-beamed, sweep-propelled Flotsam.
When the Mouser and Fafhrd had seen all their men eating and served a measure of grog to celebrate safe arrival, they turned to their somewhat doleful lieutenants, who with only a show of reluctance yielded up the notes they'd been slipped ― as the Twain had surmised ― along with the words, “For your master!”
Unfolded, Afreyt's read, “Another faction controls the Rime Isle council, temporarily. You do not know me. At dusk tomorrow seek me at the Hill of the Eight-Legged Horse,” while Cif's message was, “Cold Khahkht has sowed dissension in our council. We never met ― play it that way. You'll find me tomorrow night at the Flame Den if you come alone.”
“So she does not speak with the voice of Rime Isle after all,” Fafhrd commented softly. “To what fiery female politicians have we joined our destinies?”
“Her gold was good,” the Mouser answered gruffly. “And now we've two new riddles to solve.”
“Flame Den and Eight-Legged Horse,” Fafhrd echoed.
“Tub, he called her,” the Mouser mused bitterly, his mind veering. “What godless literal-minded philosophers are we now supposed to succor in spite of themselves?”
“You're a godless man too,” Fafhrd reminded him.
“Not so, there was once Mog,” the Mouser protested with a touch of his old playful plaintiveness, referring to a youthful credulity, when he had briefly believed in the spider god to please a lover.
“Such questions can wait, along with the two riddles,” Fafhrd decided. “Now let's curry favor with the atheist fishermen while we can.”
And accompanied by the Mouser, he proceeded ceremoniously to offer Groniger white brandy fetched from Flotsam by old Ourph the renegade Mingol. The harbor master was prevailed upon to accept a drink, which he took in slow sips, and by way of talk of repair docks, watering, crew dormitories ashore, and the price of salt fish, the conversation became somewhat more general. With difficulty Fafhrd and the Mouser won license to venture outside the traders' quarter, but only by day, and not their men. Groniger refused a second drink.
* * * *
Inside Its icy sphere, which would have cramped a taller being, Khahkht roused, muttering. “Rime Isle's new gods are treacherous ― betray and re-betray ― yet stronger than I guessed.”
It began to study the dark map of the world of Nehwon depicted on the sphere's interior. Its attention moved to the northern tongue of