The Second Book of Lankhmar

you asked me to keep particular watch on the stowage of cargo, since I was the only one who had done any long voyaging on Seahawk before this faring, and knew her behavior in different weathers. So I believe that I should report to you that there is a chest of fabrics — you know the one, I think — missing from the fore steerside storage. Its lashings lie all about, both those which roped it shut and those which tied it securely in place."
           (Ah-ha, the Mouser thought, he's guilty too and seeks to cover it by making swift report, however late. Never trust a bland expression. The lascivious villain!)
           With his lips he said, "Ah yes, the missing chest — we were just speaking of it. When do you suppose it became so? — I mean missing. In 'Brulsk?"
           Skor shook his head. "I saw to its lashing myself — and noted it still tied fast to the side as my eyes closed in sleep a league outside that port. I'm sure it's still on Seahawk. "
           (He admits it, the effrontrous rogue! the Mouser thought. I wonder he doesn't accuse Mikkidu of stealing it. Perhaps there's a little honor left 'mongst thieves and berserks.)
           Meanwhile the Mouser said, "Unless it has been dropped overboard — that is a distinct possibility, do you not think? Or mayhap we were boarded last night by soundless and invisible pirates while you both snored, who raped the chest away and nothing else. Or perchance a crafty and shipwise octopus, desirous of going richly clad and with arms skillful at tying and untying knots——"
           He broke off when he noted that both tall Skor and short Mikkidu were peering wide-eyed beyond him. He turned on his stool. A little more of Ississi showed above the blanket — to wit, a small patch of pale forehead and one large green silver-lashed eye peering unwinking through her long silvery hair.
           He turned back very deliberately and, after a sharp "Well?" to get their attention, asked in his blandest voice, "Whatever are you looking at so engrossedly?"
           "Uh — nothing at all," Mikkidu stammered, while Skor only shifted gaze to look at the Mouser steadily.
           "Nothing at all?" the Mouser questioned. "You don't perhaps see the chest somewhere in this cabin? Or perceive some clue to its present disposition?"
           Mikkidu shook his head, while after a moment Skor shrugged, eyeing the Mouser strangely.
           "Well, gentlemen," the Mouser said cheerily, "that sums it up. The chest must be aboard this ship, as you both say. So hunt for it! Scour Seahawk high and low — a chest that large can't be hid in a seaman's bag. And use your eyes, both of you!" He thumped the shrouded box once more for good measure. "And now —dismiss!"
           (They both know all about it, I'll be bound. The deceiving dogs! the Mouser thought. And yet ... I am not altogether satisfied of that.)
         5
           When they were gone (after several hesitant, uncertain backward glances), the Mouser stepped back to the bunk and, planting his hands to either side of the girl, stared down at her green eye, supporting himself on stiff arms. She rocked her head up and down a little and to either side, and so worked her entire face free of the blanket and her eyes of the silken hair veiling them and stared up at him expectantly.
           He put on an inquiring look and flirted his head toward the hatchway through which the men had departed, then directed the same look more particularly at her. It was strange, he mused, how he avoided speaking to her whenever he could except with pointings and gestured commands. Perhaps it was that the essence of power lay in getting your wishes gratified without ever having to speak them out, to put another through all his paces in utter silence, so that no god might overhear and know. Yes, that was part of it at least.
           He formed with his lips and barely breathed the question, "How did you really come aboard Seahawk ?"
           Her eyes widened and after a while her peach-down lips began to move, but he had to turn his head and lower it until they moistly and silkily brushed his best ear as they enunciated, before he could clearly hear what she was saying — in the same Low Lankhmarese as he and Mikkidu and Skor had spoken, but with a delicious lisping accent that was all little hisses and gasps and warblings. He recalled how her scent had seemed all sex in the