The Second Book of Lankhmar

shone down from low in the south.
           Mouser (indicating the shallow mound of dug earth near where they stood): Mikkidu tells me there's talk of renaming Goddess Hill (formerly Gallows Hill), Mount Mouser.
           Fafhrd (a shade resentfully): That's losing no time.
           Mouser: Should I suggest Mount Faf-Mou?
           Fafhrd: Forget it. I must say, you're looking remarkably fit after your incredibly long sojourn buried.
           Mouser: I don't feel that way. I died down there so many times, I doubt I'll ever trust life again.
           Fafhrd: For every time you died, you were reborn. Contrariwise, I think you have become Death's dearest friend.
           Mouser: That's a most dubious distinction. I'm tired of killing.
           Fafhrd: Agreed. Fingers is a joy. She came along barely in time to rescue me from boredom.
           Mouser: I'm doubly fortunate — to have been able to instruct my son before I knew he was one.
           Fafhrd: I think we can expect more of these strays.
           Mouser: Perish the thought!
         29
           That day the chief topic of gossip in Godsland was the mysterious vanishment of the troublesome stranger divinity Loki. One of the few deities to know the true explanation was the spider-god Mog.
           On a whim Death had sought Mog out to inform him of the continued survival of his chief worshipper, the Gray Mouser, who'd been under Loki's curse, and to boast a bit of the trickery by which he'd managed this, for even Death is vain.
           "Actually," Death confided, "the one to consign Loki firmly to the lava lake was none other than the Gray Mouser's son, who promises also to become a very useful character to me."
           "I've good news too of my man Fafhrd, my lapsed Lankhmar acolyte," limp-wristed Issek, who'd been listening along with Kos, Fafhrd's barbarian father-god, interrupted impudently. "He's had himself shaved entire — in my honor, I presume, as once befell him in Lankhmar."
           "Faugh on such effeminate practices," Kos pronounced.
           "Wherever has Death got to?" Issek asked, looking about.
           Mog answered, pointing, "I fancy he caught sign of his sister Pain approaching and slipped back to the Shadowland. He's much ashamed of the way she parades about naked, preening herself upon her conquests and inflictions."
           And this may very well have been the case, for Death is never cruel or uncouth.
         30
           A fortnight later Captain Mouser's and Fafhrd's officers threw them a barracks party, without asking permission, on the strength of one of them now being a blood relative and close member of the inner family.
           Haste was needful because next morning Sergeant Skullick was sailing on a fast Sarheenmar smuggler bound for Ilthmar, on a mission for Fafhrd to Fingers's mother Friska after first determining if she were still a free agent and not a brainwashed tool of old Quarmal once more.
           "Fingers's memories have grown uncertain again," the Captain informed his humorous sergeant. "Besides, from now on we must keep a watchful eye on that cunningest wizard. He's sure to be seeking revenge, ever since Captain Mouser so cleverly foiled his try on my own life."
           Also aboard the early-sailing smuggler Ghost would be Snee, the most knowledgeable of the Mouser's thieves turned sailor, to bear a message from Pshawri to his mother Freg in Lankhmar and gather information of interest on the Thieves Guild, the Overlord's court, and the Grain Merchant's Cartel, which meant chiefly Hisvin and his daughter Hisvet.
           A third passenger aboard Ghost would be Rill, dispatched by Cif and Afreyt to contact witch covens in Ilthmar, Lankhmar, and (if possible) Tovilyis to get news of Friska and Freg.
           "It behooves us," Cif told her friend, "to keep our own tabs on our husbands' previous bedmates."
           Afreyt emphatically agreed.
           Fafhrd commented, "I confess I find it strange and somewhat distasteful to be forever sending other men on adventures, rather than setting forth on them myself." He looked quite youthful in his cap of pale red hair and with pinkish down covering his arms.
           "I think my journeying tired me more than yours did you," the Mouser replied. "Moreover, I look forward to the days, which surely must come, when Arilia falls on