The Second Book of Lankhmar

laughed as the furred murderers fried!”
    “Just so,” Slinoor said with finality. “And what, in your judgment, Commander Lukeen, should we do now?”
    “Sink the white archfiends in their cages,” Lukeen answered instantly, “before they order the rape of more ships, or our sailors go mad with fear.”
    This brought an instant icy retort from Hisvet. “You'll have to sink me first, silver-weighted, oh Commander!"
    Lukeen's gaze moved past her to a scatter of big-eared silver unguent jars and several looped heavy silver chains on a shelf by the bed. “That too is not impossible, Demoiselle,” he said, smiling hardly.
    “There's not one shred of proof against her!” Fafhrd exploded. “Little Mistress, the man is mad.”
    “No proof?” Lukeen roared. “There were twelve white rats yesterday. Now there are eleven.” He waved a hand at the stacked cages and their blue-eyed haughty occupants. “You've all counted them. Who else but this devilish Demoiselle sent the white officer to direct the sharp-toothed gnawers and killers that destroyed Clam ? What more proof do you want?”
    “Yes, indeed!” the Mouser interjected in a high vibrant voice that commanded attention. “There is proof aplenty... if there were twelve rats in the four cages yesterday.” Then he added casually but very clearly, “It is my recollection that there were eleven.”
    Slinoor stared at the Mouser as though he couldn't believe his ears. “You lie!” he said. “What's more, you lie senselessly. Why, you and Fafhrd and I all spoke of there being twelve white rats!”
    The Mouser shook his head. “Fafhrd and I said no word about the exact number of rats. You said there were a dozen,” he informed Slinoor. “Not twelve, but ... a dozen. I assumed you were using the expression as a round number, an approximation.” The Mouser snapped his fingers. “Now I remember that when you said a dozen I became idly curious and counted the rats. And got eleven. But it seemed to me too trifling a matter to dispute.”
    “No, there were twelve rats yesterday,” Slinoor asserted solemnly and with great conviction. “You're mistaken, Gray Mouser.”
    “I'll believe my friend Slinoor before a dozen of you,” Lukeen put in.
    “True, friends should stick together,” the Mouser said with an approving smile. “Yesterday I counted Glipkerio's gift-rats and got eleven. Ship's Master Slinoor, any man may be mistaken in his recollections from time to time. Let's analyze this. Twelve white rats divided by four silver cages equals three to a cage. Now let me see ... I have it! There was a time yesterday when between us, we surely counted the rats—when we carried them down to this cabin. How many were in the cage you carried, Slinoor?”
    “Three,” the latter said instantly.
    “And three in mine,” the Mouser said.
    “And three in each of the other two,” Lukeen put in impatiently. “We waste time!”
    “We certainly do,” Slinoor agreed strongly, nodding.
    “Wait!” said the Mouser, lifting a point-fingered hand. “There was a moment when all of us must have noticed how many rats there were in one of the cages Fafhrd carried—when he first lifted it up, speaking the while to Hisvet. Visualize it. He lifted it like this.” The Mouser touched his thumb to his third finger. “How many rats were in that cage, Slinoor?”
    Slinoor frowned deeply. “Two,” he said, adding instantly, “and four in the other.”
    “You said three in each just now,” the Mouser reminded him.
    “I did not!” Slinoor denied. “Lukeen said that, not I.”
    “Yes, but you nodded, agreeing with him,” the Mouser said, his raised eyebrows the very emblem of innocent truth-seeking.
    “I agreed with him only that we wasted time,” Slinoor said. “And we do.” Just the same a little of the frown lingered between his eyes and his voice had lost its edge of utter certainty.
    “I see,” the Mouser said doubtfully. By stages he had begun to play the part of an attorney elucidating a case in court, striding about and frowning most professionally. Now he shot a sudden question: “Fafhrd, how many rats did you carry?”
    “Five,” boldly answered the Northerner, whose mathematics were not of the sharpest, but who'd had plenty time to count surreptitiously on his fingers and to think about what the Mouser was up to. “Two in one cage, three in the other.”
    “A feeble falsehood!” Lukeen scoffed. “The base barbarian would swear to anything