The Second Book of Lankhmar

was standing beanpole tall on his own two gold-sandaled feet, had adjusted a little the disordered folds of his toga, and straightened around his golden ringlets the string of limp vegetable matter which was all that was left of his pansy wreath.
    “Oh most glorious overlord,” Hisvin intoned solemnly, “I bring you the worst news"—Glipkerio paled and began again to shake—"and the best.” Glipkerio recovered somewhat. “The worst first. The star whose coming made the heavens right has winked out, like a candle puffed on by a black demon, its fires extinguished by the black swells of the ocean of the sky. In short, she's sunk without a trace and so I cannot speak my spell against the rats. Furthermore, it is my sad duty to inform you that the rats have already, for all practical purposes, conquered Lankhmar. All your soldiery is being decimated in the South Barracks. All the temples have been invaded and the very Gods of Lankhmar slain without warning in their dry, spicy beds. The rats only pause, out of a certain courtesy which I will explain, before capturing your palace over your head.”
    “Then all's lost,” Glipkerio quavered chalk-pale and turning his head added peevishly, “I told you so, Samanda! Naught remains for me but the last voyage. World, adieu! Nehwon, farewell! I seek a happier—”
    But this time his lunge toward the porch was stopped at once by his plump niece and stout palace mistress, hemming him close on either side.
    “Now hear the best,” Hisvin continued in livelier accents. “At great personal peril I have put myself in touch with the rats. It transpires that they have an excellent civilization, finer in many respects than man's—in fact, they have been secretly guiding the interests and growth of man for some time—oh ‘tis a cozy, sweet civilization these wise rodents enjoy and ‘twill delight your sense of fitness when you know it better! At all events the rats, now loving me well—ah, what fine diplomacies I've worked for you, dear master!—have entrusted me with their surrender terms, which are unexpectedly generous!”
    He snatched from his pouch one of the scrolls in it, and saying, “I'll summarize,” read: “...hostilities to cease at once ... by Glipkerio's command transmitted by his agents bearing his wands of authority ... Fires to be extinguished and damage to Lankhmar repaired by Lankhmarts under direction of ... et cetera. Damage to ratly tunnels, arcades, pleasances, privies, and other rooms to be repaired by humans. ‘Suitably reduced in size’ should go in there. All soldiers disarmed, bound, confined ... and so forth. All cats, dogs, ferrets, and other vermin ... well, naturally. All ships and all Lankhmarts abroad ... that's clear enough. Ah, here's the spot! Listen now. Thereafter each Lankhmart to go about his customary business, free in all his actions and possessions— free , you hear that?—subject only to the commands of his personal rat or rats, who shall crouch upon his shoulder or otherwise dispose themselves on or within his clothing, as they shall see fit, and share his bed. But your rats,” he went on swiftly, pointing to Glipkerio, who had gone very pale and whose body and limbs had begun again their twitchings and his features their tics, “ your rats shall, out of deference to your high position, not be rats at all!—but rather my daughter Hisvet and, temporarily, her maid Frix, who shall attend you day and night, watch and watch, granting your every wish on the trifling condition that you obey their every command. What could be fairer, my dear master?”
    But Glipkerio had already gone once more into his, “World, adieu! Nehwon, farewell! I seek a—” meanwhile straining toward the porch and convulsing up and down in his efforts to be free of Samanda's and Elakeria's restraining arms. Of a sudden, however, he stopped still, cried, “Of course I'll sign!” and grabbed for the parchment. Hisvin eagerly led him to his audience couch and the table, meanwhile readying his writing equipment.
    But here a difficulty developed. Glipkerio was shaking so that he could hardly hold pen, let alone write. His first effort with the quill sent a comet's tail of inkdrops across the clothing of those around him and Hisvin's leathery face. All efforts to guide his hand, first by gentleness, then by main force, failed.
    Hisvin snapped his fingers in desperate impatience, then pointed a sudden finger at his daughter. She produced a flute