The thin air roared past, and his beard and mane were whipped back by the speed of that plunge, but he tightened his grip on the handfuls of invisible hair, and a slender arm pressed him down from either side, so that he felt through the fur the throbbing heartbeat of the great invisible carpetlike creature they rode. And he became aware that somehow Hrissa had got under his arm, for there was the small feline face beside his, with slitted eyes and with beard-tuft and ears blown back. And he felt the two invisible girls’ bodies alongside his.
He realized that mortal eyes, could such have watched, would have seen only a large man clasping a large white cat and falling headfirst through empty space—but he would be falling much faster than any man should fall, even from such a vast height.
Beside him Hirriwi laughed, as if she had caught his thought, but then that laughter broke off suddenly and the roaring of the wind died almost to utter silence. He guessed it was because the swiftly thickening air had deafened him.
The great dark cliffs flashing upward a dozen yards away were a blur. Yet below him the Great Rift Valley was still featureless green—no, the larger details were beginning to show now: forests and glades and curling hair-thin streams and little lakes like dewdrops.
Between him and the green below he saw a dark speck. It grew in size. It was the Mouser!—rather characteristically falling headfirst, straight as an arrow, with hands locked ahead of him and legs pressed together behind, probably in the faint hope that he might hit deep water.
The creature they rode matched the Mouser’s speed and then gradually swung its plunge toward him, flattening out more and more from the vertical, so that the Mouser was pressed against them. Arms visible and invisible clasped him then, pulling him closer, so that all five of the plungers were crowded together on that one great sentient bed.
The creature’s dive flattened still more then, halting its fall—there was a long moment while they were all pressed stomach-surgingly tight against the hairy back, while the trees still rushed up at them—and then they were coasting above those same treetops and spiraling down into a large glade.
What happened next to Fafhrd and the Mouser went all in a great tumbling rush, much too swiftly: the feel of springy turf under their feet and balmy air sluicing their bodies, quick kisses exchanged, laughing, shouted congratulations that still sounded all muffled like ghost voices, something hard and irregular yet soft-covered pressed into the Mouser’s hands, a last kiss—and then Hirriwi and Keyaira had broken away and a great burst of air flattened the grass and the great invisible flier was gone and the girls with it.
They could watch its upward spiraling flight for a little, however, because Hrissa had gone away on it too. The ice-cat seemed to be peering down at them in farewell. Then she too vanished as the golden afterglow swiftly died in the darkening sky overhead.
They stood leaning together for support in the twilight. Then they straightened themselves, yawning prodigiously, and their hearing came back. They heard the gurgling of a brook and the twittering of birds and a small, faint rustle of dry leaves going away from them and the tiny buzz of a spiraling gnat.
The Mouser opened the invisible pouch in his hands.
“The gems seem to be invisible too,” he said, “though I can feel ‘em well enough. We’ll have a hard time selling them—unless we can find a blind jeweler.”
The darkness deepened. Tiny cold fires began to glow in his palms: ruby, emerald, sapphire, amethyst, and pure white.
“No, by Issek!” the Gray Mouser said. “We’ll only need to sell them by night—which is unquestionably the best time for trade in gems.”
The new-risen moon, herself invisible beyond the lesser mountains walling the Rift Valley to the east, painted palely now the upper half of the great slender column of Stardock’s east wall.
Gazing up at that queenly sight, Fafhrd said, “Gallant ladies, all four.”
III: The Two Best Thieves in Lankhmar
Through the Mazy avenues and alleys of the great city of Lankhmar, Night was a-slink, though not yet grown tall enough to whirl her black star-studded cloak across the sky, which still showed pale, towering wraiths of sunset.
The hawkers of drugs and strong drinks forbidden by day had not yet taken up their bell-tinklings and thin, enticing cries. The pleasure girls had not lit their red lanterns and sauntered insolently forth. Bravos, desperadoes, procurers, spies, pimps, conmen, and other malfeasors yawned and rubbed drowsy sleep from eyes yet thick-lidded. In fact, most of the Night People were still at breakfast, while most of the Day People were at supper. Which made for an emptiness and hush in the streets, suitable to Night’s slippered tread. And which created a large bare stretch of dark, thick, unpierced wall at the intersection of Silver Street with the Street of the Gods, a crossing-point where there habitually foregathered the junior executives and star operatives of the Thieves Guild; also meeting there were the few freelance thieves bold and resourceful enough to defy the Guild and the few thieves of aristocratic birth, sometimes most brilliant amateurs, whom the Guild tolerated and even toadied to, on account of their noble ancestry, which dignified a very old but most disreputable profession.
Midway along the bare stretch of wall, where none might conceivably overhear, a very tall and a somewhat short thief drifted together. After a while they began to converse in prison-yard whispers.
A distance had grown between Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser during their long and uneventful trek south from the Great Rift Valley. It was due simply to too much of each other and to an ever more bickering disagreement as to how the invisible jewels, gift of Hirriwi and Keyaira, might most advantageously be disposed of—a dispute which had finally grown so acrimonious that they had divided the jewels, each carrying his share. When they finally reached Lankhmar, they had lodged apart and each made his own contact with jeweler, fence or private buyer. This separation had made their relationship quite scratchy, but in no way diminished their absolute trust in each other.
“Greetings, Little Man,” Fafhrd prison-growled. “So you’ve come to sell your share to Ogo the Blind, or at least give him a viewing?—if such expression may be used of a sightless man.”
“How did you know that?” the Mouser whispered sharply.
“It was the obvious thing to do,” Fafhrd answered somewhat condescendingly. “Sell the jewels to a dealer who could note neither their night-glow nor daytime invisibility. A dealer who must judge them by weight, feel, and what they can scratch or be scratched by. Besides, we stand just across from the door to Ogo’s den. It’s very well guarded, by the by—at fewest, ten Mingol swordsmen.”
“At least give me credit for such trifles of common knowledge,” the Mouser answered sardonically. “Well, you guessed right; it appears that by long association with me you’ve gained some knowledge of how my wit works, though I doubt that it’s sharpened your own a whit. Yes, I’ve already had one conference with Ogo, and tonight we conclude the deal.”
Fafhrd asked equably, “Is it true that Ogo conducts all his interviews in pitchy dark?”
“Ho! So there are some few things you admit not knowing! Yes, it’s quite true, which makes any interview with Ogo risky work. By insisting on absolute darkness, Ogo the Blind cancels at a stroke the interviewer’s advantage—indeed, the advantage passes to Ogo, since he is used by a lifetime of it to utter darkness—a long lifetime, since he’s an ancient one, to judge by his speech. Nay, Ogo knows not what darkness is, since it’s all he’s ever known. However, I’ve a device to trick him there if need be. In my thick, tightly drawstringed pouch I carry fragments of brightest glow-wood, and can spill them out in a trice.”
Fafhrd nodded admiringly and then asked, “And what’s in that flat case you carry so tightly under your elbow? An elaborate false history of each of the jewels embossed in ancient parchment for Ogo’s fingers to read?”
“There your guess fails! No, it’s the jewels themselves, guarded in clever wise so that they cannot be filched. Here, take a peek.” And after glancing quickly to either side and overhead, the Mouser opened the case a handbreadth on its hinges.
Fafhrd saw the rainbow-twinkling jewels firmly affixed in artistic pattern to a bed of black velvet, but all closely covered by an inner top consisting of a mesh of stout iron wire.
The Mouser clapped the case shut. “On our first meeting, I took two of the smallest of the jewels from their spots in the box and let Ogo feel and otherwise test them. He may dream of filching them all, but my box and the mesh thwart that.”