“Very astute of you. Yes, those images depict exploits of a more supernatural nature. Thus you see the occasion when the two swordsmen consulted the strange demon called Ningauble, which as you can see is depicted as a fat-bellied figure wearing a cloak with a shadowy hood from which protrude seven eyes on seven writhing stalks.”
“How terrifying!”
“In fact, Ningauble of the Seven Eyes proved to be a friendly demon and a sage counselor. It was Ningauble who dispatched the two on their greatest journey, a trek to the east, far beyond the snowy peaks of the Lebanon Mountains. For a while they followed the legendary route of Xenophon and the Ten Thousand. Then they headed even farther into the unknown, arriving at last at the Lost City, and then at the Citadel Called Mist, where they encountered their greatest foe, an adept of truly terrifying magical powers.” Antipater’s eyes sparkled as he recounted the details.
I nodded, taking in the fabulous images. “And what about that picture over there? It looks as if the two are taking part in a battle. A famous battle?”
“Yes, that would be the siege of Tyre by Alexander the Great, during which the two fought valiantly to defend the city. Fafhrd is shown manning the walls and heaving stone blocks onto the besieger’s ships, while the Gray Mouser is depicted underwater, filing through the anchor chains. All around them swords clash and arrows fly—”
“But Teacher, didn’t you say that these two lived in Tyre a hundred years ago?”
“Yes.”
“And wasn’t the siege by Alexander a hundred years before that?” I smiled, because for once I actually remembered one of Antipater’s history lessons.
He coughed. “Yes, that is correct.”
“Then how could they possibly—?”
“Again, artistic license!” he insisted. “Or … it may be that Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser truly were in Tyre at events a hundred years apart.”
I tried not to smirk.
“Not everything in this world is as straightforward as you hardheaded Romans would like to think,” said Antipater. “It is certain that Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser were in Tyre a hundred years ago—my own grandfather attested to that fact, as do all these pictures around you—but no one knows whence they came, or where they went. There are those who believe that Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser arrived from a realm outside of ordinary time and space, a place of magic, if you will, and so it may be that they were present here in Tyre not just a hundred years ago, but also a hundred years before that.”
“So why not a hundred years later? Which means … they might be here today!” I made an exaggerated show of peering at our fellow patrons, most of whom were quite shabby. A few cloaked figures in the tavern might have passed for the Gray Mouser, but no red-bearded giant was to be seen.
Antipater glowered, and I felt a bit ashamed of teasing him. To distract him, I pointed to the images that had started me on this discussion. They were located to either side of the door by which we had entered. “Those are the two pictures I find most curious.”
Antipater raised a bristling white eyebrow. “Yes? And why is that? Describe!” Making a pupil enumerate the details of a statue or painting was a common tutorial exercise, one that Antipater had required of me often in our visits to temples and shrines—but never before in a tavern.
“Very well, Teacher. Each picture has two parts. In the first image, the one on the left, Fafhrd has a beautiful girl on his lap, a girl wearing a Cretan-revival dress that leaves her breasts entirely bare—but in the adjacent panel, it’s a giant sow on his lap. Since the sow is wearing the same scanty outfit as the girl, it seems we’re meant to think the girl has turned into the sow! And there, in the matching picture on the other side of the doorway, the Gray Mouser is coupled with another lovely maid, but in the next panel, she’s become a giant snail. What sort of tale is that? Heroes copulating with pigs and snails! And why are such unseemly images given such prominent placement, where no one visiting the tavern could possibly miss them? What a thing to see as you’re leaving, with a bellyful of wine and your head in a whirl!”
“Those pictures are especially noteworthy,” said Antipater, “because the events they depict happened right here, in the Murex Shell.”
“You must be joking! Women were transformed into pigs and snails on this very spot?”
“The fact is indisputable. My grandfather was a witness.”
“Yes, I’m sure he was, but—”
“They were the victims of a curse, you see—Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, I mean. Any girl they embraced turned into a loathsome creature before their very eyes. It was to banish this curse that they set out on the quest that would lead them first to Ningauble of the Seven Eyes, and then, after many perils, to the Citadel Called Mist and their confrontation with the magical adept. But the story began right here, in the Murex Shell, with the tavern wench who turned into a sow. And the adept responsible for that curse had his origin here in the city of Tyre, as well. And where do you think the adept learned his sorcery?”
“I have no idea.”
“From books that came from a private library right here in the city—strange volumes, collectively known by their owner as the Books of Secret Wisdom. Scrolls from many times and places, all full of esoteric knowledge to be found nowhere else. As a boy, I heard my grandfather speak of those books in a whisper, but when I asked if one could read them, he said they were far too dangerous. He told me to stick to my Homer instead.”
“And a good thing you did, for like Homer, you became a poet.”
“Yes, a poet of great renown; the greatest poet in the world, some say.” Antipater sighed. He had many attributes, but modesty was not among them. “Ah, but what a different life I might have led, if as a boy I’d had access to the Books of Secret Wisdom! The power contained in those volumes is said to be beyond human reckoning. Not the power of the poet to entrance an audience with laughter and pathos—no, I mean the power of sorcery, able to bend the very fabric of reality!”
We had encountered a bit of magic on our journey, as in our encounter with the witch of Corinth. I shuddered at the memory and drank deeply from my cup.
Antipater finished his cup at the same time and called for more wine. I had never seen him in such a wild mood. “And now,” he said, “after a lifetime away, I return to the city of my birth, a wiser man than when I left—and a craftier, more devious man, as well, I dare say. More determined. Less fearful.”
“Fearful of what?”
“The Books of Secret Wisdom! Don’t you understand, Gordianus? That’s why we’ve come here to Tyre.”
I frowned. “I thought Tyre was just a stop on the way between Rhodes and Babylon. That, and the place you were born, of course. It makes sense that you’d want to do a bit of reminiscing—”
“Oh, no, Gordianus, we are here for a very specific purpose. We have come to the city of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, the heroes of my childhood. Their adventures meant everything to me as a boy. And their greatest adventure brought them face-to-face with the magic to be found in the Books of Secret Wisdom—which I intend to possess at last! I’ve already taken steps toward acquiring them. By this time tomorrow—ah, but here’s that pretty serving girl!”
He held his empty cup toward the girl. Was it the wine I had drunk, or was she looking more voluptuous than ever? Her smile was very friendly.
I swallowed a mouthful of wine. “By this time tomorrow … what?”
Antipater smiled. “You’ll see. Or rather, you won’t see!” He laughed aloud, sounding so strange that I hurriedly gulped down the whole cup of wine.
The next morning, in the upstairs room we had taken at the Murex Shell, I woke with a terrible hangover. Worse than the pounding in my head was the nattering of Antipater, who seemed completely unaffected by the wine he had consumed the night before.