The Second Book of Lankhmar

such should be, employ your tongue somewhat more freely. Be adventurous, girl."
           Wide-eyed Threesie gasped, "Excuse me, demoiselle, but was that kiss, for which I thank you most humbly, the something you said you wished to show me privately?"
           "No, it was not," Hisvet informed her, thrusting a hand deep into a side pocket of her wrap. "That is a different matter, rather sadder for you." Pulling Threesie's head down again, this time by the neck of her black tunic, she brought a fist out of the pocket, opened it under Threesie's eyes, displaying on her cupped palm a globular black opal traveled with silver lines and pocked here and there with small, pale, glittering dots. "What do you suppose this is?" she asked.
           "It appears to be the Opener of the Way, dear demoiselle." Threesie faltered. "But how — "
           "Quite right, girl. I took it earlier from the chest myself and just now remembered. So Foursie could hardly have swallowed it, could she? Or even taken it from the chest, for that matter."
           "No, demoiselle," the dark maid agreed reluctantly. "But Foursie's only a servant of the lowest rank, little better than a slave. It was natural to suspect her. Moreover, you yourself must have known — "
           "I told you I only now remembered!" Hisvet reminded her in dangerous tones. She raised her voice. "Foursie!"
           "Yes, demoiselle?" came the swift reply.
           "Threesie is to be punished for bearing false witness against a fellow servant. Since you're the party who would have been injured, I think it's most appropriate that you administer the chastisement. Moreover, you are conveniently at hand and have my whip. Do you know how to use it?"
           "I think I do, demoiselle," Foursie answered evenly. "When I was a child down on the farm I used to ride a mule."
           "That's nice to know," Hisvet called. "Wait for directions."
           As Threesie quite involuntarily started to move away, Hisvet rotated the fist grasping her tunic so that it tightened around Threesie's neck and Hisvet's knuckles dug into the maid's throat.
           "Listen," she hissed, "if you so much as move a step or flex your knees during what's coming, I'll have my father put a geas on you. And not a relatively nice and easy one like Frix. She merely had to serve me faithfully and cheerfully as slave until she'd thrice saved my life at risk of her own. Straighten those knees now!"
           Threesie complied. She had seen old Hisvin send a berserk cook into mortal convulsions, so he died in his tracks with mouth exuding greenish foam, merely by staring at him fixedly.
           Hisvet eased her grip on the top of Threesie's tunic. She scowled in thought. Then her face broke into a smile. She called, "Foursie, here's how. Time your blows to the splashes of the waterclock, one for one, nothing in between — don't let yourself get carried away. Start with the third plash after the next. I'll call the first of those so you get it right."
           Hisvet's hand on the neck of the black tunic became busy, undoing the three top big white buttons rapidly.
           The waterclock plashed, sounding unnaturally loud. Hisvet called, "Ready!" Tension took hold.
           Though pendant, the dark maid's breasts were quite as small and firm as the fair one's, with thicker nipples the rosy hue of fresh scrubbed copper. Hisvet fondled them.
           "How many blows, demoiselle?" Threesie asked in a small, fearfully anxious voice. "In all?"
           "Hush! I haven't decided yet. You're supposed to be enjoying this. And you really are, I can tell, for your nipples are hardening despite your terrors. And your aureoles are all goose bumps. You should indicate pleasure at my squeezings and finger-dancing across your tits by sighing and moaning."
           The waterclock plashed. "One!" Hisvet called, then ominously for Threesie's benefit, "You've started to bend your legs again," and taking the hand away from the maid's bosom, reached out and gave each of her knees a firm shove.
           In his retreat the Mouser spared a glance for the ripples spreading and reflecting in the clock's pool. A shiver of genuine fear surprised him at the thought that he seemed to be just too well placed for watching for it all to be a matter of chance. Had Hisvet arranged it so? Did she somehow know that he, or at least some spirit, was