The Second Book of Lankhmar

tousle-pated head and distracted eyes between the curtains. The Mouser beckoned him in, saying in a soft brandy-smoothed voice, "Ah, Master Mikkidu, I'm glad your duties, which no doubt must be pressing, at last permit you to visit me, because I do believe I ordered that you come at once."
           "Oh, Captain, sir," the latter replied rapidly, "there's a chest missing from the stowage forward. I saw that it was gone as soon as Trenchi wakened me and gave me your command. I only paused to rouse my mates and question them before I hurried here."
           (Ah-ha, the Mouser thought, he knows about Ississi, I'm sure of it, he's much too agitated, he had a hand in smuggling her aboard. But he doesn't know what's happened to her now —suspects everything and everyone, no doubt — and seeks to clear himself with me of all suspicion by reporting to me the missing chest, the wretch!)
           "A chest? Which chest?" the Mouser meanwhile asked blandly. "What did it contain? Spices? Spicy things?"
           "Fabrics for Lady Cif, I do believe," Mikkidu answered.
           "Just fabrics for the Lady Cif and nothing else?" the Mouser inquired, eyeing him keenly. "Weren't there some other things? Something of yours, perhaps?"
           "No, sir, nothing of mine," Mikkidu denied quickly.
           "Are you sure of that?" the Mouser pressed. "Sometimes one will tuck something of one's own inside another's chest — for safekeeping, as it were, or perchance to smuggle it across a border."
           "Nothing of mine at all," Mikkidu maintained. "Perhaps there were some fabrics also for the other lady ... and, well, just fabrics, sir and — oh, yes — some rolls of ribbon."
           "Nothing but fabrics and ribbon?" the Mouser went on, prodding him. "No fabrics made into garments, eh? — such as a short silvery tunic of some lacy stuff, for instance?"
           Mikkidu shook his head, his eyebrows rising.
           "Well, well," the Mouser said smoothly, "what's happened to this chest, do you suppose? It must be still on the ship — unless someone has dropped it overboard. Or was it perhaps stolen back in 'Brulsk?"
           "I'm sure it was safe aboard when we sailed," Mikkidu asserted. Then he frowned. "I think it was, that is." His brow cleared. "Its lashings lay beside it, loose on the deck!"
           "Well, I'm glad you found something of it," the Mouser said. "Where on the ship do you suppose it can be? Think, man, where can it be?" For emphasis, he pounded the muffled chest he sat at.
           Mikkidu shook his head helplessly. His gaze wandered about, past the Mouser.
           (Oh-ho, the latter thought, does he begin to get a glimmering at last of what has happened to his smuggled girl? Whose plaything she is now? This might become rather amusing.)
           He recalled his lieutenant's attention by asking, "What were your men able to tell you about the runaway chest?"
           "Nothing, sir. They were as puzzled as I am. I'm sure they know nothing. I think. "
           "Hmm. What did the Mingols have to say about it?"
           "They're on watch, sir. Besides, they answer only to Ourph — or yourself, of course, sir."
           (You can trust a Mingol, the Mouser thought, at least where it's a matter of keeping silent.)
           "What about Skor, then?" he asked. "Did Captain Fafhrd's man know anything about the chest's vanishment?"
           Mikkidu's expression became a shade sulky. "Lieutenant Skor is not under my command," he said. "Besides that, he sleeps very soundly."
           There was a thuddingly loud double knock at the hatchway.
           "Come in," the Mouser called testily, "and next time don't try to pound the ship to pieces."
           Fafhrd's chief lieutenant thrust bent head with receding reddish hair through the curtains and followed after. He had to bend both back and knees to keep from bumping his naked pate on the beams. (So Fafhrd too would have had to go about stooping when occupying his own cabin, the Mouser thought. Ah, the discomforts of size.)
           Skor eyed the Mouser coolly and took note of Mikkidu's presence. He had trimmed his russet beard, which gave it a patchy appearance. Save for his broken nose, he rather resembled a Fafhrd five years younger.
           "Well?" the Mouser said peremptorily.
           "Your pardon, Captain Mouser," the other replied, "but