The Second Book of Lankhmar

ghostly black mustache. While her overlord sipped violet wine of Kiraay, which she had fetched from the upper pantry when no butler or page answered the ring of the silver and even the brazen summoning-bell. She'd said, “They're scared to stir since your guardsmen went off. I'll welt them properly—but only when you've had your special fun, little master.”
    Now, for the nonce neglecting all the rare and begemmed instruments of pain around them and blessedly forgetting the rodent menace to Lankhmar, their thoughts had returned to simpler and happier days. Glipkerio, his pansy wreath awry and somewhat wilted, was saying with a tittering eagerness, “Do you recall when I brought you my first kitten to throw in the kitchen fire?”
    “Do I?” Samanda retorted with affectionate scorn. “Why, little master, I remember when you brought me your first fly, to show me how neatly you could pluck off his wings and legs. You were only a toddler, but already skinny-tall.”
    “Yes, but about that kitten,” Glipkerio persisted, violet wine dribbling down his chin as he took a hasty and tremble-handed swallow. “It was black with blue eyes newly unfilmed. Radomix was trying to stop me—he lived at the palace then—but you sent him away bawling.”
    “I did indeed,” Samanda concurred. “The cotton-hearted brat! And I remember how the kitten screamed and frizzled, and how you cried afterwards because you hadn't him to throw in again. To divert your mind and cheer you, I stripped and whipped an apprentice maid as skinny-tall as yourself and with long blonde braids. That was before you got your thing about hair,"—she wiped her mustache—"and had all the girls and boys shaved. I thought it was time you graduated to manlier pleasures, and sure enough you showed your excitement in no uncertain fashion!” And with a whoop of laughter she reached across and thumbed him indelicately.
    Excited by this tickling and his thoughts, Lankhmar's overlord stood up cypress-tall-and-black in his toga, though no cypress ever twitched as he did, except perhaps in an earthquake or under most potent witchcraft. “Come,” he cried. “Eleven's struck. We've barely time before I must haste me to the Blue Audience Chamber to meet with Hisvin and save the city.”
    “Right,” Samanda affirmed, levering herself up with her brawny forearms pulling at her knees and then pushing the pinching armchair off her large rear. “Which whips was it you'd picked now for the naughty and traitorous minx?”
    “None, none,” Glipkerio cried with impatient glee. “In the end that well-oiled old black dog-whip hanging; from your belt always seems best. Hurry we, dear Samanda, hurry!”
    Reetha shot up in crispy-linened bed as she heard hinges creak. Shaking nightmares from her smooth-shaven head, she fumbled frantically about for the bottle whose draining would bring her protective oblivion.
    She put it to her lips, but paused a moment before upending it. The door still hadn't opened and the creaking had been strangely tiny and shrill. Glancing over the edge of the bed, she saw that another door not quite a foot high had opened outward at floor level In the seamless-seeming wood paneling. Through it there stepped swiftly and silently, ducking his head a trifle, a well-formed and leanly muscular little man, carrying in one hand a gray bundle and in the other what seemed to be a long toy sword as naked as himself.
    He closed the door behind him, so that it once more seemed not to be there, and gazed about piercingly.
    “Gray Mouser!” Reetha yelled, springing from bed and throwing herself down on her knees beside him “You've come back to me!”
    He winced, lifting his burdened tiny hands to his ears.
    “Reetha,” he begged, “don't shout like that again. It blasts my brain.” He spoke slowly and as deep-pitched as he could, but to her his voice was shrill and rapid, though intelligible.
    “I'm sorry,” she whispered contritely, restraining the impulse to pick him up and cuddle him to her bosom.
    “You'd better be,” he told her brusquely. “Now find something heavy and put it against this door. There's those coming after, whom you wouldn't want to meet. Quick about it, girl!”
    She didn't stir from her knees, but eagerly suggested, “Why not work your magic and make yourself big again?”
    “I haven't the stuff to work that magic,” he told her exasperatedly. “I had a chance at a vial of it and like any other sex-besotted fool