by Fritz Leiber
‘What happened to him in the end?’ Fafhrd duly inquired.
‘Why, although he dwelt secure two thousand leagues from the edge of the desert southeast of the Inner Sea and with all that water between to distance him, a monstrously dense sandstorm born on a typhoon wind sought him out, turned the green canopy of the forest umber, sifted his stone eyrie full, and suffocated him.’
From upstairs came a smothered cry.
‘My story must have carried,’ the Mouser observed. ‘The girls seem to have returned.’
He and Fafhrd looked at each other with widening eyes.
‘We promised we’d watch the roast,’ the latter said.
‘And when we came down here,’ the other continued, ‘we told ourselves we’d go up and check and baste it after a space.’
Then both together, chiming darkly, ‘But you forgot.’
There was a swift patter of footsteps—more than one pair—on the cellar stairs. Somehow five slender girls came down into the cool historic glow without tripping or colliding. The first four wore sandals of white bearhide, near identical knee-length tunics of fine white linen and yashmaks of the same material, hiding most of their hair and all of their faces below their eyes, whose merry flashing nevertheless showed they were all grinning.
The fifth, who was the slenderest, went barefoot in a shorter white-belted white tunic of coarser weave and wore a yashmak of reversed white unshorn lamb’s hide and, despite the weather, gloves of the same material. Her gaze seemed grave.
All but she tore off their yashmaks together, showing them to be Afreyt’s flaxen-haired nieces May, Mara, and Gale, and Cif’s niece Klute, who was raven-tressed.
But Fafhrd and Mouser knew that already. The two had risen. May danced toward them excitedly. ‘Uncle Fafhrd! We’ve had an adventure!’
Following at her heels, Mara cut in, ‘We were almost kidnapped aboard an Ilthmar trader that was a secret slaver!’
‘Anything could have happened to us!’ Gale exulted, taking her turn. ‘Imagine! They say Eastern princes will pay fortunes for twelve-year-old blond virgins!’
‘Only, our new friend escaped from the trader and warned Aunts Cif and Afreyt,’ black-haired Klute topped her triumphantly, looking back toward the fifth girl, who hadn’t come forward or unyashmaked. ‘She’d been kidnapped herself at Tovilyis and been a prisoner on Weasel all Satyrs Moon!’
Gale grabbed back the news-telling with, ‘But she’s a novice of Skama just like us. Tovilyis coven. Her mother was a priestess of the moon.’
‘And she’s a princess herself too!’ May topped them all. ‘A really-truly princess of south Lankhmar land!’
‘You can tell she’s a princess,’ Mara fairly shrieked, ‘because she always wears gloves!’
‘Don’t squeal like a piglet, Mara,’ May reproved, seeing a surer way to hog attention, and for a longer time. ‘Girls, we have omitted to introduce our new friend and rescuer.’ And when that one still hung back, dropping her eyes demurely, May placed herself beside her and gently impelled her forward.
‘Uncle Fafhrd,’ she said gravely, ‘may I introduce you to my new friend and rescuer of all of us, the princess Fingers of Tovilyis? And, dear Princess, my friend, may I tender your hand to our most honoured guest Captain Fafhrd, a great hero of Rime Isle, my Aunt Afreyt’s lover, and my own dearest uncle?’
The strangely yashmaked girl dropped her eyes still farther and seemed to shiver slightly all over, yet let her left hand be drawn forward.
Fafhrd took it and, bowing ceremoniously low and looking straight into the hooded and half-averted face, said, ‘Any friend of May’s is a friend of mine, most honoured Princess Fingers, while as the rescuer of her and all my other friends here, I owe you eternal gratitude. My sword is yours.’ And he kissed the lamb’s hide for three heartbeats. Her head tipped up a trifle and her eyelashes fluttered.
All the other girls ooh’ed and aah’ed, though there was a hard expression on Klute’s face, while the Mouser’s gaze grew somewhat sardonic.
May repossessed herself of the gloved hand and swung it toward the Mouser.
‘Dear Uncle Mouser,’ she intoned, her voice speeding up just a little because of the repetition, despite her efforts to vary her speech, ‘could I introduce you to my new friend and benefactress of all us girls, the princess Fingers of south Lankhmar land? Princess dear, my friend, could I entrust your precious hand to our honoured guest Captain Mouser, Klute’s Aunt Cif’s lover and my own good, beloved, honorary uncle—and hero of Rime Isle second only to Fafhrd?’
The Mouser’s eyebrows lifted formidably. ‘Her left hand? No, you may not,’ he dismissed May harshly, setting his fists upon his hips and standing as tall as possible, which involved leaning back a little. Then, looking sneeringly down his nose at the scrawny figure cowered before him, he made a fearsome face and barked commandingly, ‘Manners, child!—for it is a child you are, an ill-bred and conceited snit of a girl-child, whatever else you may be.’
The other girls gasped in consternation at this turn of talk, while Fafhrd gave his comrade an unfriendly glare, but the one addressed swiftly drew off her gloves and unyashmaked, revealing a piquant face blushing almost the same hue as her close-cropped hair as she tucked the three lambskin items inside her belt.
Lifting her eyes to the Mouser, she said in a low clear voice, ‘You rebuke me well, sir. I most humbly apologize.’ She spoke (though with a strange lisping accent) the same Low Lankhmarese the others all had used, which was the common trade language of most of Nehwon. Then she extended up toward him palm down a slender pale right hand.
He took it without gripping, resting it on his spread fingers as he observed it thoughtfully. ‘Fingers,’ he said slowly, as though savouring the word. ‘Now that’s an odd name for a princess.’
‘I am no princess, sir,’ she responded instantly. ‘That’s but something I told the priestesses when I came off Weasel, to be sure my warning would be listened to.’
The other girls stared at her as though betrayed, but the Gray Mouser only nodded ruminatively, hefting her hand as though appraising it. ‘That fits better with what I find here,’ he said, ‘much as your speech says Ilthmar to my ear and not Tovilyis. Observe,’ he continued, as if lecturing, ‘though narrow, this is a strong and efficient working hand, has done much gripping and squeezing, rubbing and slapping, twisting and prodding, tapping and stroking, finger dancing, et cetera.’ He turned it over, so her palm lay upward, and rubbed that testingly with his thumb in a circle. ‘And yet despite the work it’s done, it’s moist and most pleasingly soft. That’s from the oil in the lambswool of the gloves. I doubt not that her uncommon yashmak equally benefits her cheeks, lips, and winsome chin, making them all luxuriously smooth.’ He sighed thoughtfully. Then, ‘May, approach us! Hold out your hand.’ The blond girl obeyed wonderingly. He dropped the hand he’d been supporting into it and turned toward Klute, who was grinning wickedly.
‘How does my favourite niece?’
The other girls appeared to be hunting furiously for something to say. Fafhrd swung toward the Mouser, Fingers looked tranquil, when all of a sudden Afreyt called briskly from the top of the stairs, ‘That’s enough games in the cellar and skulking in the forecastle! On deck all of you and earn your dinners!’
Klute and the Mouser led the way, gossiping airily, he making much of her, Mara and Gale followed somewhat glumly. Fafhrd deftly caught up May and Fingers where the Mouser had left them standing bemusedly hand in hand and, holding them comfortably in either arm, brought up the rear.
‘My co-captain has somewhat crabbed ways,’ he explained to them lightly. ‘Would question the credentials of the Queen of Heaven, yet be jealous of a chipmunk that won attention. He treasures an insult above all else.’
5
Cif’s kitchen was wide and low-ceilinged, ventilated and somewhat cooled by an early evening breeze sweeping through opposite open doors, although the low rays of the setting sun still struck in.
Ta
ll silver-blond Afreyt and lithe green-eyed Cif were still in their long white priestess tunics, though both had unyashmaked. After embracing the Mouser, the latter directed him and Fafhrd as to carrying the two tables and some benches outdoors on the room’s shadeside. The girls were gathered about Afreyt, May and Gale eagerly addressing her in low voices while gazing around from time to time over their shoulders.
When the two men returned from their task, they found the two Moon priestesses standing side by side and changed to gayer scoop-necked tunics of yellow-striped violet and green spotted with brown. The girls, apparently already given their directions, set to carrying tablecloths and trays of condiments and dining utensils outside.
Cif said, ‘I gather you’ve already been acquainted with our new guest?’
‘And told of the signal service she did our nieces and all Rime Isle, for that matter?’ Afreyt added.
‘We have indeed,’ Fafhrd affirmed. ‘And I assume you’ve already taken measures against the miscreants captaining and crewing Weasel?’
‘That we have,’ Afreyt affirmed. ‘The Council was convened in jig time and swiftly persuaded to deal with the matter Rime Isle fashion—they imposed a considerable fine (on other charges than intended kidnapping: that Weasel’s woodwork showed holes suspiciously like those of the boreworm that swiftly infests other craft) and sent the infamous trader packing posthaste.’
‘We invited harbormaster Groniger home to dinner with us,’ Cif took up, ‘but he’s gone by way of the headland to check that that pestilent Weasel has dock-parted as sworn to and is on her way.’
‘So what’s all this, most dear Gray Mouser,’ Afreyt demanded quietly, ‘about your badgering the poor child and ignoring she’s a novice of the Goddess and even refusing to grip hands with her?’
Straightening himself and folding his arms across his chest and looking her in the eye, even doing the leaning-back bit, the Mouser retorted loudly, ‘Poor child, forsooth! She is no princess, as she swift confessed, nor any kidnapped moon novice from Tovilyis, I’ll be sworn. What her game is I do not know, though I could guess at it, but here’s the truth: She’s nothing but a cabin-girl from Ilthmar where the rat is worshipped, the lowest of the low, beneath recognition, a common child ship-whore hired on for the erotic solacing of all aboard, unfit to share your roof, Lady Afreyt, or company with your innocent nieces or with Cif’s except to corrupt them. All signs point to it! Her name alone is proof. As Fafhrd here would instantly confirm, were he not lost in romancing, fondly willing to play knight-and-princess games for a child audience whatever the risk. Which is his chief weakness, you may be sure!’
The others tried to hush or answer him, the girls all listened wide-eyed, slowing in their chores, but he doggedly maintained his tirade to its end, whereupon silver-blond Afreyt, her blue eyes flashing lightning, spoke arrow-swift, ‘One thing’s confirmed beyond question, mean-minded man, she is a true novice of the Goddess: she knows the cryptic words and secret signs.’
To which Cif swiftly added, ‘She knows the colour. She wears the garment and the yashmak.’
‘And gloves?’ the Mouser inquired blandly. ‘I never knew you and Afreyt wear gloves of any hue in summertime. Even in winter it is mittens only. The girls the same, goes without saying.’
Cif shot back, ‘We at Rime Isle are but one twig of the sisterhood. Doubtless they have different local customs in Tovilyis.’
The Mouser smiled. ‘Dear lady, you are far too innocent, and limited in your knowledge by your island life. There’s more evil in gloves than you ever dreamed, more uses for a yashmak than a badge of purity or advertisement of a man’s possession, or for a mask. Amongst the more knowing Ilthmar cabingirls (and this one is no novice I’ll he bound!) it is the practice to wear such things to keep their hands soft, also their lips and faces, while as for their privities, you may be sure they enjoy the close covering of oily wool, being tweaked shamelessly hairless besides. For, hark you, on Ilthmar ships the cabingirl delights the crewmen by her hands alone, the short knowing dance of her most pliant fingers; there’d be too much risk of damage to her otherwise, and fresh cabingirls do not grow on sea trees, as they say. That, by the by, is why her name is proof. The mates and lesser officers have the freedom of her face and teats, all above waist, while what’s below is reserved for his eminence the captain alone, besides all else he wants. But he, the wisest aboard, can be trusted to see she doesn’t conceive. The arrangement is swift, efficient, and practical—helps maintain discipline and status both.’
By this time the girls were all gathered close around, four of them goggle-eyed, Fingers respectfully attentive.
‘But is this true he says?’ Afreyt asked Fafhrd with some indignation. ‘Are there such cabingirls and naughty practices?’
‘I’d like to lie to spite him for his boorishness,’ the Northerner averred, ‘but I must agree there are such practices and cabingirls, and not alone on Ilthmar ships. Mostly their parents sell them to the trade. Some grow up to become hardy sailors themselves, or wed a passenger, though that is rare.’
‘All men are beasts,’ Cif said darkly. ‘New proofs keep coming in.’
‘And women beastesses,’ the Mouser added sotto voce, ‘Or animalesses?’
Afreyt shook her head, then looked at Fingers, who did, alas, appear to have been hearing all these enormities with remarkable coolness.
‘What say you to all this, child?’ she asked, straight out.
‘All Captain Mouser said is mostly true,’ Fingers replied simply, making a little grimace suiting her piquant mien, ‘about cabingirls and such, I mean, although I only know what I learned serving aboard Weasel. Unwillingly. But on the first legs of our voyage there was a two-years-older cabingirl, jumped ship at Ool Plerns, who taught me much. And my parent did not hire or sell me into the trade. I was stolen from her—that much is true of “kidnapped.” But I did not tell you about these matters, Lady Afreyt and Lady Cif, when I escaped and brought you my warning, singling out you two because you wore the colour and the yashmak, because I did not think that they were vital.’
The Mouser butted in complacently with, ‘So much for the story of Weasel being a slaver. Her tale is fishy.’
‘She never told us Weasel was a slaver!’ Afreyt snapped.
‘She lost one cabingirl at Ool Plerns,’ Cif put in eagerly. ‘What more natural than that the brutes should plot to steal a replacement here?—where are none such for hire, I’ll be bound. All Rime Isle women serving sailors must be full-grown.’
The Mouser launched in again satisfiedly with, ‘But surely, Lady Afreyt, you and Cif cannot have taken this tale of multiple slavings and kidnappings very seriously. Else you’d not now be letting Weasel sail free away without thorough search of every space aboard might harbour prisoners?’
‘Again, you’re wrong,’ the tall woman told him angrily. ‘The two men sent aboard to discover boreworm holes searched her most thoroughly before they found them!’
‘No other girls aboard Weasel?’ the Mouser inquired ingenuously. ‘No females at all?’ Both women nodded, glaring at him. ‘So, no evidence at all for kidnap theories,’ he concluded blandly.
‘But Cif’s suggestion about their lusting after a second cabingirl—or maybe four—’ Afreyt began exasperatedly.
‘Your pardon, my dear,’ Fafhrd interrupted without heat yet commandingly, ‘but would it not be best if we do our guest Fingers the courtesy of listening to her full story without any more interruptions?—especially sly, argumentative ones!’ And he gave the Mouser a very hard look. ‘She tells it well, speaking concisely.’ He smiled at her.
‘That’s sensible,’ Afreyt admitted graciously. ‘But before we do, since it’s oppressive here, let’s go outside where she can speak and we can listen comfortably. We’ll delay serving dinner. It will not spoil. Yes, girls, you may come along,’ she added, seeing their expressions, ‘and place yourselves at the same table. Chores can wait, but no chattering.’
6
&nb
sp; Outside, Rime Isle’s treeless summer verdure stretched out to the sea and to the nearby headland, which was still in sunshine, broken only by a few low juts of rock and fewer grazing sheep, and, like a giant’s round shield cast down close by on the turf, the dark bronze flatness of a large moondial that marked a white-witch dwelling and traced the wanderings of Nehwon’s moon through the constellations of Nehwon’s broad zodiac; the several bright star pairs of the Lovers, the dim stars of the Ghosts, and the skinny long triangle of the Knife, with the bright tipstar red as blood. The ghostly moon herself, on the verge of full, hung low above the watery eastern horizon, from behind which she’d emerged within the quarter hour. The cooling eve breeze rippled around them gently. The house they’d just left hid them from the sun (soon to plunge into the western sea) save where its flat red rays gleamed from the open kitchen door and windows behind them.
The four adults took seat with Fingers in their midst. The four other girls leaned into the four spaces between.
She began, ‘I was born at Tovilyis, where my mother was an officer in the Guild of Free Women and a moon priestess besides. I never knew my father. Quite a few Guild children didn’t. I became a moon novice there, where truly white gloves are worn, though not of lamb’s hide.’ She touched those under her belt. ‘The Guild falling into hard times, I journeyed with my mother for a space, settling in Ilthmar, where we worked as weavers, from my dexterity at which occupation and at the flute and small drum and the games cat’s cradle and shadow shape, I got the nickname Fingers, which later proved to be most ominous indeed. We got Ilthmar accents. Mother says, fit in! We even paid lip service to the Rat and made sacrifice on his holidays at his dockside temple on the Inner Sea. Beneath the dark low portico of which I was one night sandbagged, as I later deduced, awakening to find myself aboard Weasel, choppy gray Inner Sea all around, feeling dizzy and headachy. I was more than naked, being shorn and shaved of all hair save my eyelashes and brows. And I was being instructed by one of her officers and this two-years-older cabingirl called Hothand in the latter’s arts, which are by no means always exercised in cabins.
