Story #6: The Man at the Table
By VST

Summary: When the little rogue, the Gray Mouser, is accused of being, well, the Gray Mouser, to what lengths will he go to avoid being caught? Or was it the Gray Mouser at all?

This story was written for the WA Mistaken Identity Challenge. It was awarded Second Place in the competition.

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, written totally for fun and not for profit. This interpretation of Fafhrd, the Gray Mouser, and world of Nehwon is entirely my own. They remain the property of their respective owners.

Their boat, or little ship, as the Gray Mouser insisted on calling it, was docked near the end of the quay in Gnamph Nar, one of the smaller of the Eight Cities north of the Inner Sea. They'd sold their cargo of hides and coconuts earlier in the afternoon and were debating what to take aboard next. The choice of cargo was largely driven by their choice of destination and what they could steal or get at a rock-bottom price. Unfortunately, in looking at their map, most of the Eight Cities were crossed out as being too dangerous; their various infractions over the years, of one form or another, gave them a good hint as to how they might be received if they were to be recognized. Even Gnamph Nar had a question mark by it on the map.

"Mouser, we could sell the boat, make a profit on it after all of those repairs, and not have to be concerned about explaining where we got it to any Lankhmarese naval vessels that happen by. Then, say, we sign on a real ship as crew to, say, Ithmar, or, maybe even, Lankhmar," argued Fafhrd, the huge barbarian from the north.

"But Fafhrd, our little ship is like home to us, and we aren't at the mercy of some idiot sea captain who, when his ship weathers a little squall, decides to pull into Klelg Nar or, gods forbid, Sarheenmar, to make repairs."

"Mouser, I like our boat and it may be home to you, but I prefer to be able to straighten out in my bunk and to have a bit more headroom in my cabin or bedroom." He rubbed his head where he'd most recently bumped it again before sighing. "Good point on the risks, but when we finally get back to Lankhmar, we won't constantly be looking over our shoulders for bounty hunters. After all, there's practically nobody in Lankhmar who isn't wanted for something. Besides, once we get back, we'll remember that the wine and the women there are better, too."

Mouser gave his friend a skeptical look. "Women are better there? I thought you said you got a date with that redhead we met earlier today."

"Better there, yes, but nothing was said about those here not being good enough," said Fafhrd with a grin. Becoming more serious, he added, "If you'd like, I'll see if Red can get you a date with one of her friends."

"Thanks, but no," replied Mouser, with a sigh of his own. "No, I think I'm going to visit that tavern just down the waterfront for a nice, relaxing evening." He reached in his trunk and pulled out a burgundy cloak, a leftover prop from a recent adventure.

"Not dressing like usual, Mouser?"

"No. With the chance of bounty hunters being here, no need to advertise our presence any more than necessary. It was risky enough earlier this afternoon."

"Good point and well said," agreed the big barbarian. He dug in a chest for a different outfit of his own. "Be careful, my friend. And have a good evening."

"You, too, Fafhrd."

"Don't worry," replied the big man with an even wider grin than before. "I plan to."

~F&tGM~

It was almost midnight but the tavern on the waterfront of Gnamph Nar was still raucous, rollicking even, as the patrons did those things common to that sort of establishment. Most ate and drank, and between bites (or sometimes even through them), they talked, often loudly. At times, songs were sung, though those more learned might consider it mostly shouting rather than actual singing. Some gambled, and as often happens where gambling occurs, arguments sometimes followed, with fights not being all that uncommon.

While men greatly outnumbered the women, there were a number of females in attendance. Many of the men made eyes, or more, with those of the opposite sex, but most not aimed toward so-called women of the evening were turned away in no uncertain terms, the sounds of resounding slaps being met by boisterous laughter from those nearby who were not on the receiving end of such indelicate attentions.

"You'll keep your hands to yourself, Vignor Threefingers, if you don't want to lose still more 'em!" shouted Helgoot, the chief serving wench, after sloshing a good bit of his beer on his face and chest.

The big man roared in anger as he shot up from his stool, but the laughter of those around him in combination with seeing Helgoot's hand already having her dagger halfway out caused him to flash her a bawdy gesture with the fingers not taken by the snow lizard some years before. Throwing a nasty term her way, he retook his seat, leading to another round of laughter at his expense for the ineffectiveness of his responses.

The two men at the corner table in the back were unlike many in the place. While watching the exchange, they didn't laugh or shout. Instead, they sat silently, holding their mugs and watching the others react, their eyes shifting constantly from one person to the next, always seeking some advantage that they might use to get ahead. In fact, any advantage was welcome to them, and, in their eyes, no action was off limits.

Carther, the larger of the two and the nominal leader, was a dirty, balding man of about 40 years of age. His chest was barrel-like; what he lacked in speed, he generally made up for with strength. He wore a set of padded leather armor to provide some degree of protection from those who might attempt to defend themselves. The weapons strapped to the belt at his waist, assisted by a pair of straps that crossed over his shoulders and kept the rig from sliding down, appeared as well used as the worn armor.

Elbows on the table, the leader's right hand slowly rubbed his scruffy beard and mustache as he looked for a mark they could swindle, intimidate, or rob, or for a victim who wouldn't be missed, if need be. He'd dismissed Helgoot from the beginning as having too little coin to make dealing with her worthwhile and as having too shrill a voice that might easily attract unwanted attention. A similar argument could be made for the other serving ladies, so they were generally ignored except for the pleasing rewards of their more visible feminine charms.

Jervais, the smaller man was only an inch or so shorter and just a few years younger than the taller man, but he weighed about forty pounds less, being superior in speed to strength. Like his comrade, he was dressed in thick leather that served to provide some degree of protection from certain types of blows without being too tiring to the wearer. He carried a sword and dagger on the belt at his waist.

As the thinner man continued his watch, his eyes settled on four men at the table in the other rear corner hunched over a game of cards. While there were coins on the table, the risk didn't seem worthwhile, so his gaze continued to shift until something finally held his focus across at the center table in the room. He watched closely for several seconds and it was only when his left eye started to squint that his companion noticed.

"Got somethin', Jervais?"

"Maybe, Carther...maybe. Hmm...you remember Pigwit? He told me something today."

Carther laughed and took a drink. "Yeah. You still see that idiot? I'd take anything he told me with a grain of salt. A king-sized grain."

"Ordinarily I'd agree, but he was passing along something his cousin told him."

"Whoa! His cousin? Dogbreath? That guy's a lot smarter that Pigwit, but I avoid him like the plague."

"That's understandable. His body odor tends to unintentionally announce his arrival well before he gets to where he's going. Still, Pigwit told me that he was with Daugbert early this afternoon when they saw someone that Daugbert had seen before in Lankhmar. It was a guy who calls himself the Gray Mouser and—"

"Wait! The Gray Mouser? The one who's wanted in, like, half of the Eight Cities?"

Jervais nodded. "Exactly. That Gray Mouser. And guess what? From the description Pigwit gave me, that's got to be him, sitting right over there."

Carther snuck a look, and over the next couple of minutes, got in several more surreptitious glances. Turning to his comrade, he said, "Ya' know, the idiot may uv' done good this time. Never seen him myself, but that looks just like the description of the Gray Mouser that I've heard. Let's go."

"Wait. Go where?"

"To capture 'im, of course. I've heard he's worth 500 gold orrins, dead or alive, to the duke of Klelg Nar, and I think King Rodrack of Sarheenmar has an even bigger reward offered for him. Something about stealing his wife, but I'm not sure about that one."

"Yeah, I heard about some reward, but you're crazy!" whispered Jervais, with an almost frightened look. "We can't take the Gray Mouser by ourselves! He's said to be the best swordsman in all of Nehwon."

"Best swordsman?" Carther laughed. "Who says that? Him, that's who! Just look at 'im. The guy spreads that drivel so people will be scared of him."

"I don't know, Carther. I, ah...well, I think we need some help."

"More help means splitting the reward more ways. Jerv, let's go."

"Uh-uh. Not by ourselves. If he's that good, I'd rather split the reward a few more ways than end up dead with no reward at all."

"Okay, chicken. Then let's go find some help. I saw Klelque and Jorbern down the street on my way here. They're morons, but they're pretty good with their swords and fists."

~F&tGM~

A few minutes later, Helgoot was serving more drinks at the rear table where the card game had just gone to another hand. At the same time, the little man at the center table was finishing his meal when he heard the swish of swords being drawn. He looked up to see two men, separated by a wide angle, standing in front of him with their swords out and pointed toward him. His eyes widened in response and his mouth opened to protest but Carther spoke in a loud voice. "Gray Mouser, you're surrounded! We arrest ya' in the name of Duke Toflil of Klelg Nar and claim the reward for your capture. Put down your weapons or we'll take ya' in dead."

"And still claim it," said someone from behind him.

This drew the look of most everyone in the tavern whose attention hadn't already been attracted by the drawing of swords. Several of those nearby drew back, giving plenty of room to those who might soon be fighting. Helgoot, waving to the other serving wenches to follow, scampered back to the bar as the tavernkeeper behind the counter looked on warily at what was playing out in the middle of his establishment.

The seated man's eyes grew wide as he looked Carther in the eyes. "Hold on, good sir!" he sputtered, looking markedly nervous. "Sir, sorry to say it but you must have me mistaken for someone else. I'm definitely not the person you mentioned, whatever that strange name was. See, my name is Wierguin Gadunkle—"

A round of laughter rose from all around, including those training their swords at him from just inches away.

"Who ever'd come up with such a goofy name for someone tryin' to avoid the bounty on his head?" snorted a man off to the side. There was more laughter as the one claiming to be Wierguin Gadunkle looked around unsteadily at him.

"I'll have you know my parents gave me my name when I was a babe in arms. Never got to really question them about it since they died when I was still young and I grew up with my aunt, my mom's sis."

Carther laughed at the little man. "So, Gray Mouser, you pretend to be someone else to throw us off your track, but it ain't gonna' work. We're takin' ya' in."

The man looked back at him with fear in his eyes. "No, sir! I'm not pretending to be anyone. I tell you, my name is Wierguin Gadunkle—"

Another round of laughter sounded.

"—but my friends call my Guinny."

This time the laughter drowned out whatever else Wierguin was trying to say. Biting his lower lip, he waved his hands trying to get them to calm down, but Carther finally spoke over him. "Well, Guinny, you'd best throw down your sword and your dagger or we'll run you through before ya' have a chance to draw 'em."

"Whoa whoa whoa, sir! Mister whatever-your-name-is, I'm a, I'm a dye merchant. See the stains on my hands?" He held up his thumb and forefinger to show a reddish-purple color on the pad of each digit as his hand shook in fear. There was also some blue and a hint of yellow. "My partner and I arrived here by caravan yesterday and spent the day today down in Clothmaker Square selling our goods. I don't have a bloody sword and I'm eating with my knife. You can't seriously believe that I'm some wanted man. I'll take you to my camp and let you meet my partner. He'll tell you!"

Someone in the crowd laughed. "Partner? Doesn't the Gray Mouser usually travel with a giant?"

More laughter followed from around the room.

"No, Gray Mouser," replied Carther. "We're not letting ya' get anywhere near your giant friend. You'll be coming with us."

"No, please! What's it going to take to get it through that thick skull of yours that I'm not this Gray...Gray Mouser?"

Carther moved closer and placed the tip of his sword against Guinny Gadunkle's chest. "You best be careful flingin' insults little man, or this sword'll be poking out your back. But I'll tell ya', I'm a fair man and I don't want no mistake 'bout this. Now, you say you're a dye merchant. Tell me a little 'bout where you're from and what brung ya' to Gnamph Nar."

~F&tGM~

At the rear table opposite Jervais and Carther's original seats, the gamblers had paused from their game to watch what was happening a few tables away. With most of the patrons having moved back, they now had a good view.

"You think that's that rapscallion, the Gray Mouser?" asked one man as Wierguin Gadunkle attempted to explain the intricacies of the dye trade to his captor.

"No idea," replied the second, "but I'll bet 5 gold coins they take him away as if they think he is."

"That's a lousy bet," claimed the third man, "considering they're already accusing him of it. You've got to give odds for something like that if you want any takers."

"Offer odds? Not on your life. If you're so all-fired certain they'll haul him off, you offer the odds and I'll think about betting the other way."

"A man after my own heart," laughed the fourth man, "who'd bet the odds rather than his true conviction about the situation."

"Not knowing anything about the guy and whoever he is or is supposed to be, I'm not convinced one way or the other," said number two. "What can you guys tell me about the Mouser guy?"

They looked at each other but only the first man seemed to be able to volunteer anything. "Well, I've heard he's a tiny little guy who's unequaled with handling a sword and is supposed to be equally good at charming the shirt off one's back. He's said to be great with the ladies, too, but that's just what I've heard."

"Ya' know, now that you mention it, I think I have heard of him. It's said he's been all around the Inner Sea, usually keeping company with a giant, like those other guys said," agreed number three. "If he's the crafty bastard I've heard, I suspect he'll find a way to get out without them taking him."

"Wait a second! I have heard of them!" exclaimed number four. "They're supposed to basically cause trouble wherever they go."

Number two still looked skeptical. "Whatever," he said. "I've never run into them and don't believe a word of it. Those tales are probably all hogwash, if you ask me."

With lines being drawn at the table, bets were quickly made and the four men, keeping their cards hidden, went back to watching the showdown.

~F&tGM~

"Well, sounds like ya' do know a little 'bout the dye racket, though you coulda been lyin' through your teeth and I might not uv realized it." Carther's sword again drew near to the little man's chest. "That means we're gonna' take ya' in and let the duke sort'cha out."

"No, sir, please?" begged the man claiming to be Wierguin Gadunkle. "We're supposed to be leaving with the caravan in the morning to head toward Kvarch Nar."

"Yeah, you'll be leaving in the morning, all right, but I've got news for ya', Gray Mouser, you'll not be goin' the way ya' planned." Carther practically sneered as he said the words. "No, Mr. Guinny Mouser, we're taking ya' to Klelg Nar for the reward!"

Fear was obvious on the little man's face as he stood staring at Carther. "Now wait just a moment, sir. If I'm supposed to be this, ah, Gray Mouser guy, tell me a little about, well, myself. Why would I be wanted in Klelg Nar? What was I supposed to have done there that's so bad that someone would pay gold for me?"

Carther started to speak but, knowing of the reward but not what it was for, he hemmed and hawed for several seconds before he nodded his head toward Jervais. "Jerv, you tell him."

Jervais shrugged his shoulders. "Hell if I know, Carther. All I heard was that the duke had the reward out for him for something or another."

The little man laughed, sounding relaxed for the first time since he'd been surrounded as he sat back down. He took a drink from his mug before looking back at Carther with a look of determination that seemed to replace the fear he'd exhibited to that point. "So...you want to drag me, what? 150 miles or more to the east to Klelg Nar on some trumped up charge that may or not actually exist for a reward that may not even be real? Oh, I can tell that someone's put a great deal of thought into this plan."

"Where there's a reward at stake, don't have to be much of a plan as long as we can get ya' there. And I say we can. Even the great Gray Mouser can't take on four warriors by himself when he's already surrounded." Carther smiled as he nodded toward the little man.

Wierguin grinned back at Carther. "So you say, but what happens when I refuse to go? What if you have to kill me to get me there? If you're lucky enough to do that, of course. After all, if I truly am the Gray Mouser, you'll most likely find me much harder to kill than you might suspect, even with your four to one odds. But let's hold off on that point for a moment. You seem to be overlooking the fact that you have nothing that proves I'm the Gray Mouser other than your guess, and you won't find any documents on me that prove that I am. If I truly am the Gray Mouser, I'm way too smart for that. That means, if you're going to get that reward, you'll really need to keep me alive to get me there for someone to identify me or else the duke will smile, say he's not sure the rotting corpse you're presenting is actually me, and not pay you a single copper for all of your time and effort."

"Ha! So you admit you're the Gray Mouser!"

"Well...not exactly. See, when you have bounty hunters after you, it really wouldn't be smart to admit it, would it? However, let's get back to your other point we skipped over a few moments ago. If I really am the Gray Mouser, what makes you think that I didn't anticipate that someone would recognize me? After all, I'm sitting all by myself at a table right out in the middle of the room, when all the smart people know you should sit with your back to a wall to be on the lookout for threats. That is, unless, of course, someone else is watching out for you." Wierguin, still seated, leaned across the table toward Carther. "Watching out...for me."

For the first time, Carther showed a bit of uncertainty before barking out a denial. "No! You're all by yourself."

The Gray Mouser laughed. "No, Carther. That is your name, right? Want to be sure so I can put it on your tombstone. See, even now, there are two men on the upper walkways with their crossbows trained on two of you. Of course, since there are four of you, that means they'll only be able to kill two of you right away when I give the signal, but you won't know which two of you'll be dead. No! Don't look! If you start looking around for them, you ruin the surprise and I'll have to give the signal to fire. Two of you will be dead then, and, in the confusion that follows, I'll have to kill the other two of you, leaving the tavern keeper to clean up the bloody mess and get rid of your bodies. Yes, it will be a terrible mess and ruin what I'd intended to be a relaxing evening away from all the usual death and mayhem that seems to follow me around wherever I go. Of course, if that's the way you really want it, I guess I'll have to oblige you, even against my own preferences."

Carther attempted to cast a surreptitious glance up at the balcony that gave access to the rooms on three sides above the main tavern floor, but he didn't spot anyone before Mouser said, "Now, now. I warned you about that."

"You're bluffing! Ya' have to be!"

"Think so, eh?" The Mouser leaned back in his chair and took a long drink before continuing. "Well, I can tell you that I haven't gotten where I am in life without having some backup, having some pretty good luck, and having the ability to bluff. Problem is, you don't know which it is in this case. So, I'm going to give you a few seconds to think it over while I finish my ale before I give the signal to my men. If you're still here when I'm done...well, how about this? I'll make you a promise...to make it interesting." He leaned in toward Carther and in a low but clear voice said, "If you're still here when I'm done, Carther, you'll be one of the two dead men."

"Jerv, you're really not sure about that reward?" asked Carther, looking and sounding increasingly nervous as he drew back from the threatening little man.

"Nah, Carther. I think it's true, but I can't swear to it," replied Jervais, who also took a step backward.

"Mr. Mouser, we'll meet again someday," said Carther, backing further away so he was under the upper walkway and, he hoped, out of the line of fire of at least one of the crossbowmen, if they were really there. Jervais and the other two did the same, and then they all turned and escaped out the tavern's front door.

When they were gone, the Gray Mouser received a round of applause from the other patrons, to which he waved and smiled. He drained the rest of his ale and, moments later, got up to leave.

"Gentlemen, I'm going out this back door, but if you have any thoughts of following me, you should probably know that I have two more men stationed just down the alley, and my crossbowmen will remain in place for a few minutes to guard my retreat. Personally, I'd think very carefully about trying anything. Therefore, good night to all."

With that, he stepped toward the back door but as he reached for the latch, Helgoot came scampering up and gave him a kiss. While he returned it, his eyes tried to stay focused on the crowd, with only partial success. On parting, he nodded to her with a grin before going out the door and closing it behind him.

Helgoot gave a contented sigh and fanned herself with her hand before she noticed the crowd staring at her. As the audience erupted in cheers and hoots, she grinned and curtsied. They laughed again when she exclaimed, "Oh, goodness gracious me! I just kissed the Gray Mouser!"

~F&tGM~

At the gamblers' table, everyone was smiling at the scene as the bets were paid off and the first man thanked the other players for an interesting game and evening. "I've got to call it quits since I'm on my way out of town tomorrow, too, but I guess we should remember this day, gents. After all, it's not every day one gets to be entertained by the infamous Gray Mouser."

When he stood up from the table, they didn't notice that he was only slightly bigger than the one known as the Gray Mouser. Having already searched the two sides he could see, the man didn't bother to look up at the upstairs walkways around the main tavern area for the crossbowmen before he moved to the back door and slipped out, just as Mouser had done less than two minutes before.

Once outside, the gambler saw in what little light was available that the alley ran left to right. He looked both ways but saw nothing and heard only the sounds of the water in front of the building and the usual noises of a city at night. He was about to head to the right, but a brief clatter to his left led him to go in that direction instead.

He'd passed behind what he believed to be two buildings when the alley ended in a tee, intersecting another narrow lane. He was about to turn left to head back to the waterfront when he felt something brush against his leg.

"Meow."

The sound was soft and low, so he crouched down and scratched the little cat behind the ears. The little creature turned and rubbed itself against the gambler's hand, its tail trailing between his thumb and forefinger.

He rose up and moved just a few feet toward the bay when a pair of torches carried by at least two men entered the end of the alley. There was shouting and a mad scramble as someone turned and ran back down the alley toward him. Backlit by the torches, the gambler saw the silhouette of someone moving quickly but tripping over the trash and debris that littered the way.

As the person approached him, the gambler heard Carther's voice ring out in a sing-song-like manner, "Gray Mouser! I told ya' we'd meet again. Well, it's time!"

The gambler took advantage of the approaching torchlight to slip into the darker shadows cast behind a couple of broken crates against the building on the left side of the alley. He saw the little man approaching, stumbling along as he tried to go too quickly over the things that littered the narrow passageway.

The gambler's right foot served to trip the fleeing Gray Mouser and bring him to the ground. As he landed, the little man felt himself pulled to the side of the alley behind the crates.

"Quiet, if you want to live," whispered the gambler. "Quick, give me your cloak."

"We're coming for ya', Mouser!"

With Carther almost to the crates and the torch shedding more light, the gambler stood up wearing the little man's cloak, with a rapier in his right hand and a slightly curved dagger in his left. He knocked the top crate over in Carther's way and stepped forward to say, "Carther, I tried to let you live earlier, but now I'm giving you three seconds to run away or I'll run you through like you threatened me earlier, if my men don't catch up and do it first. They should be here in a few seconds. Well, time's wasting. Three! Two! One!"

Jorbern, no longer seeing the chance of easy money versus a well armed man with more help on the way, decided to take the Gray Mouser's advice. He turned and ran, taking one of the torches with him. Not quite as bright as Jorbern but a good lackey, Klelque decided to follow his friend's lead and he quickly followed.

Carther, however, rushed forward to the attack, with Jervais just behind, so the man dressed as the Gray Mouser stepped back, using the broken crates to allow only one to engage him at a time. Carther tried to use force to drive the gambler back, but he found his opponent was too good and too fast. The dagger in the man's left hand sliced his arm as his powerful thrust was deflected by the smaller man's rapier. His thick leather bracer limited the damage, but the pain and the realization that the Gray Mouser really was a very skilled opponent led Carther to curse.

Jervais, who carried the torch, held it high so Carther could see, but he quickly saw that his partner was outclassed. With his nerves frayed, he called out, "Come on, Carther! Let's get out of here!"

"Not without my bounty on this little bastard!" replied Carther as he blocked Mouser's thrust and then tried a rapid slash and reverse of his own. "Or, if I can't have the bounty, I'll take the miserable bum's head!"

The Gray Mouser's sword again deflected the path of Carther's blow, and he drove the pommel of his dagger into the man's jaw. "Carther, one other thing before I kill you: I lied about the tombstone. When I kill you, I'm dumping your body in the harbor for the fish."

Carther, reeling back from the blow and the Mouser's pointed barb, quickly recovered and moved forward again only to feel the dagger's blade penetrate through his protective leather and slice over a couple of ribs. He was in pain as he continued the fight, but he laughed at how ineffective the little man's cuts had been. Sure he'd be able to wear the little man down over time and take him, Carther tried to grab his opponent, but continued being forced to draw back after suffering several more slashes and scratches.

"Jerv! Help me!" cried Carther, as he pushed forward once more, only to find himself stumbling over his own weapons' harness that fell down around his feet. He, too, was falling to the ground when he realized that the Gray Mouser's slashes hadn't been ineffective after all. The burly man tried to get back to his feet but a blow from the pommel of Mouser's rapier put an end to his effort and caused him to black out.

Mouser pinned the point of his rapier against Carther's chest but, looking at Jervais, didn't drive it home.

Carther's friend hesitated. "Are you going to kill him?" he asked, holding his sword in one hand and the torch in the other.

The Gray Mouser stared at Jervais and said, "That depends on you. If you attack, I'll have no choice to finish him off before I deal with you. However, if you run away, he should survive to see the sun rise. If, that is, you leave the torch as you go."

Jervais looked at Mouser for a few seconds before nodding. He slowly backed away and put the torch down on the ground before turning and leaving.

Reaching into his pocket, the gambler pulled out a cord and tied Carther's hands behind his back and then tied his feet, drawing the two bindings together like a hog tie. He picked up the torch and walked back behind the crates.

Wierguin Gadunkle looked up at the man who'd saved him from where he was crouched. "You...you're the Gray Mouser, the one they wanted. I'm sorry I had to steal your identity."

The real Gray Mouser laughed. "I think it would be more appropriate to say they forced it on you. I was hoping you'd get away and that would be the end of it, since the tale would have been told for years in the tavern of how the Gray Mouser had faced down four armed men. Fafhrd would have had a great laugh when I told him your tale, too, but when they caught up to you, I had to go to work to, ahem, preserve my reputation." Mouser grinned.

Guinny nodded. "Thanks for saving me. What about our cloaks and what about him?"

"Best you keep that one, so there are no more mistakes as to your identity as you make your way tonight. I'd advise you to get out of town soon, too. Very soon. As for him…"

~F&tGM~

Several things happened early the next morning.

A cutter boat was reported to have sailed out of Gnamph Nar harbor sometime during the night. This was only known because its spot along the pier was empty when the harbormaster's assistant made his morning rounds.

The door to a warehouse at the side of the waterfront was found open, with the lock apparently picked. The warehouse guard, who must have been asleep when it happened, wasn't sure if anything had been taken, though he believed a few crates and kegs might have been missing, along with the wheelbarrow that was usually kept near the door. He relocked the door, moved a few things around to make the area still look full, and never reported the incident.

At about that same time, a small crowd gathered in front of the fish scale near the harbormaster's office and had a hearty laugh. Instead of a large fish suspended from the line, a man with his hands and feet tied hung upside down from the hook. He wore no trousers and only had on a very dirty undershirt. While a number of cuts were bound, he was still covered in dried blood and filth, and had a number of bruises as if he'd been dragged, not too carefully, to the scale. Half of the man's beard and mustache were also shaved off, though not smoothly. Despite his efforts, the gag in his mouth kept him from calling out, but his struggles caused him to slowly rotate on the hook, making it a bit difficult to read the sign pinned to the back of his dirty shirt.

This is Carther,
a really nasty man who irritated the Gray Mouser.
Don't be like Carther.

Wierguin Gadunkle, his dye merchant partner, and their small caravan left Gnamph Nar for Kvarch Nar at sunrise. As he recalled his adventure of just hours before, he smiled, rubbing the soft fabric of his new cloak. As the sun rose and he got a good look at its burgundy cloth in the natural light, he studied the color, trying to figure out how he might develop a dye to reproduce it.

~F&tGM~

With the gentle rocking of the boat on the waves, Fafhrd awoke with a bad hangover and the glint of a pair of eyes looking at him.

"Good morning, Demon-cat, I think Miss Red may have been one of your relatives. It feels as if she had claws, anyway." He smiled at the thought, but then winced when his muscles ached. He vaguely recalled helping Mouser load some barrels and crates on the boat when he returned in the middle of the night, but he had no idea what the things contained. If, that is, it hadn't all been a dream.

Stretching as well as he could in the conditions and realizing he wasn't as sore as he first thought, he climbed out of the bunk and petted the lynx before making his way up the little stair. When he reached the deck, he saw they were already underway.

"Mouser, what's going on? Why the early start?"

The Gray Mouser smiled at his friend. "I'll tell you the tale, but as for the early start, let's just say we might want to consider that an 'x' on the map over Gnamph Nar in place of the question mark for the next few months."

The End

Author's Notes:

Thank you for reading this story. Any feedback you might provide will be greatly appreciated.

Located midway between Kvarch Nar and Klelg Nar on the northern edge of the Inner Sea, Gnamph Nar was one of the smallest and least influential of the Eight Cities, being overshadowed by its neighbors.