Swords Against the Shadowland

Fafhrd rapped the Mouser's knuckles with the flat of the dagger's blade. "A good deed," he explained. "You've stuffed yourself enough. A fat partner will be useless to me later."

The Mouser stuck out his tongue. Then patting his stomach, he released a loud belch in Fafhrd's direction. "Speaking of useless," he said, pointing to his companion's other purchases, "why buy torches? The lantern will serve us well and safely come nightfall, but an unshielded firestick could send this entire court up in flames. And between us, I've seen enough fire for one day."

"The lantern's to light our newfound nest," Fafhrd said. "The torches are for another purpose." Without offering further explanation, he drained the last of the gahvey and rose to his feet. "I propose to sleep," he announced, stretching. "I think we have a long night ahead of us."

Still seated, the Mouser leaned back on his hands and regarded Fafhrd queerly. "I think you have some plan stewing in that fine brain of yours," he said.

"Leave the leftovers for the children," Fafhrd continued as if the Mouser had not spoken. Leaning over the fountain, he filled the jar with water. "And light the lantern now before I douse our little fire. There's oil enough in it to last."

Rising slowly, the Mouser shrugged. "Well, if we feed them a little now, maybe they won't try to knock us in the head while we sleep." Selecting a small burning twig from the fire, he touched it to the lantern's wick and lowered the perforated metal shield over the flame.

Fafhrd upended the jar. A loud hissing and sputtering followed as fire and water met. A cloud of steam and smoke boiled upward, and the air smelled of ash.

Again, Fafhrd thought of the splendid books in Sadaster's library, all lost to flames, and once more, he grieved. But when melancholy threatened to descend upon him, he fought it off with a little song.

"Now I've had my bread,
And I'm very well fed,
So off to bed, sing hey!
Lay down my head,
Sleep like the dead—
It's sundown, end of the day!"

With the fire extinguished and the lantern lit, they made their way out of the sunlight and into the gloom of the ramshackle building the Mouser had chosen for them. The wooden stairs creaked and shivered under their weight as they climbed to a third-floor apartment.

"Don't touch the bannister," the Mouser warned again, his voice automatically dropping to a whisper. He placed his palm on the once-ornate support to show how loose and rotten it had become.

"The finest suite in Lankhmar," Fafhrd said, frowning as he followed his partner into their rooms. Just past the threshold, a man-sized hole perforated the floor. Pausing, he peered down into the dirty rooms below, then stepped carefully around it, feeling the boards give menacingly beneath his every step. "I hope the rats appreciate such luxury."

The window allowed a commanding view of the court below. A pair of old shutters had been opened and pushed back against the outer wall. Seizing the right shutter by its latch, he eased it back and forth, testing its hinges. Metal protested noisily, then old wood sighed. The shutter came loose at the top and leaned outward away from Fafhrd's grasp. Its own weight too much, it pulled loose from the bottom and tumbled to the ground.

"I swear I can't take you anywhere," the Mouser said, placing the lantern in one corner on the floor and setting down the bag that contained the torches. "What will the landlord say?"

Fafhrd removed his sword, then spread his cloak upon the dusty floor. "Wake me if he wants to lodge a complaint," he said, curling up. Hugging the sheathed blade to his chest, he closed his eyes without another word, leaving the Mouser standing with hands on his hips, gaping open-mouthed.

Fafhrd woke drenched in sweat. Slowly, he sat up and wiped a hand over his face. Saturated with perspiration, his garments clung to him. The cloak on which he slept showed a clear, damp outline of his body. He didn't feel warm or feverish, but he shifted position, moving closer to the window.

The last colors of twilight lingered in the west as night moved in from the east. A strange sky, he thought, observing the mottled shades of gray, deep blues, and black. A bruised sky. A flock of blackbirds winged slowly, gracefully, overhead. Fafhrd watched them pass out of sight.

A soft evening breeze blew across the rooftops. It kissed his face and dried his sweat as he drew a deep breath of fresh air.

Long shadows filled the court below. He gazed toward the fountain. Not a single crumb of the food left there remained. Smiling to himself, he scanned the darkened windows and doors of the apartments opposite him. Far down the way, a small head lingered watchfully low in the corner of a third-floor shutterless square.