The First Book of Lankhmar

Drink we up! I take it you escaped from Nemia's divan whole and sound in organs and limbs  —  as far as you yet know. But the jewels?"
           "They came through too," Fafhrd answered, swinging the pouch lightly out of his sleeve and then back in again. "And I get my money tomorrow night ... the full amount of my asking price, just like you."
           As he named those coincidences, his eyes went thoughtful.
           They stayed that way while he took two large swallows of wine. The Mouser watched him curiously.
           "At one point," Fafhrd finally mused, "I thought she was trying the old trick of substituting for mine an identical but worthlessly filled pouch. Since she'd seen the pouch at our first meeting, she could have had a similar one made up, complete with chain and bracelet."
           "But was she — ?" the Mouser asked.
           "Oh no, it turned out to be something entirely different," Fafhrd said lightly, though some thought kept two slight vertical furrows in his forehead. "That's odd," the Mouser remarked. "At one point  —  just one, mind you  —  the Eyes of Ogo, if she'd been extremely swift, deft, and silent, might have been able to switch boxes on me."
           Fafhrd lifted his eyebrows.
           The Mouser went on rapidly, "That is, if my box had been closed. But it was open, in darkness, and there'd have been no way to reproduce the varicolored twinkling of the gems. Phosphorus or glow-wood? Too dim. Hot coals? No, I'd have felt the heat. Besides, how get that way a diamond's pure white glow? Quite impossible."
           Fafhrd nodded agreement but continued to gaze over the Mouser's shoulder.
           The Mouser started to reach toward his box, but instead with a small self-contemptuous chuckle picked up the jug and began to pour himself another drink in a careful small stream.
           Fafhrd shrugged at last, used the back of his forefingers to push over his own pewter cup for a refill, and yawned mightily, leaning back a little and at the same time pushing his spread-fingered hands to either side across the table, as if pushing away from him all small doubts and wonderings.
           The fingers of his left hand touched the Mouser's box.
           His face went blank. He looked down his arm at the box.
           Then to the great puzzlement of the Mouser, who had just begun to fill Fafhrd's cup, the Northerner leaned forward and placed his head ear-down on the box.
           "Mouser," he said in a small voice, "your box is buzzing."
           Fafhrd's cup was full, but the Mouser kept on pouring.
           Heavily fragrant wine puddled and began to run toward the glowing brazier.
           "When I touched the box, I felt vibration," Fafhrd went on bemusedly. "It's buzzing. It's still buzzing."
           With a low snarl, the Mouser slammed down the jug and snatched the box from under Fafhrd's ear. The wine reached the brazier's hot bottom and hissed. He tore the box open, opened also its mesh top, and he and Fafhrd peered in.
           The candlelight dimmed, but by no means extinguished the yellow, violet, reddish, and white twinkling glows rising from various points on the black velvet bottom.
           But the candlelight was quite bright enough also to show, at each such point, matching the colors listed, a firebeetle, glowwasp, nightbee, or diamondfly, each insect alive but delicately affixed to the floor of the box with fine silver wire. From time to time the wings or wingcases of some buzzed.
           Without hesitation, Fafhrd unclasped the browned-iron bracelet from his wrist, unchained the pouch, and dumped it on the table.
           Jewels of various sizes, all beautifully cut, made a fair heap.
           But they were all dead black.
           Fafhrd picked up a big one, tried it with his fingernail, then whipped out his hunting knife and with its edge easily scored the gem.
           He carefully dropped it in the brazier's glowing center. After a bit it flamed up yellow and blue.
           "Coal," Fafhrd said.
           The Mouser clawed his hands over his faintly twinkling box, as if about to pick it up and hurl it through the wall and across the Inner Sea.
           Instead he unclawed his hands and hung them decorously at his sides.
           "I am going away," he announced quietly, but very clearly, and did so.
           Fafhrd did not look up. He was dropping a second black gem in the