The Second Book of Lankhmar

Cif," Groniger intoned. "We are honored by their presence."
           They approached with queenly smiles and looks of amiable curiosity.
           "Tell them, Lady Afreyt," said Fafhrd courteously to the one in blue, "how you commissioned me to bring Rime Isle twelve — " Suppressing the word "berserk," he smoothly made it, " — stout northern fighters of the fiercest temper."
           "And I twelve ... nimble and dextrous Lankhmar sworders and slingers, sweet Lady Cif," the Mouser chimed in airily, avoiding the word "thief."
           Afreyt and Cif looked at them blankly. Then their gazes became at once anxious and solicitous.
           Afreyt commented, "They've been tempest-tossed, poor lads, and doubtless it has disordered their memories. Our little northern gales come as a surprise to southerners. They seem gentle. Use them well, Groniger." Looking intently at Fafhrd, she lifted her hand to adjust her hair and in lowering it hesitated a finger for a moment crosswise to her tightly shut long lips.
           Cif added, "Doubtless privation has temporarily addled their wits. Their ships have seen hard use. But what a tale! I wonder who they are? Nourish them with hot soup — after they've paid, of course." And she winked at the Mouser a green dark-lashed eye on the side away from Groniger. Then the two ladies wandered on.
           It is a testimony to the fundamental levelheadedness and growing self-control of the 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