Daybreak began slowly to color the eastern sky while the moon yet lingered low in the west. For a time, dawn painted the marsh with a glimmering chiaroscuro. Waves of grass quivered in a rising breeze, and silvery patches of water rippled. Here and there, gleaming spiderwebs stretched among tall cattail reeds vibrated as the wind murmured through the sticky strands. Birds wheeled gracefully overhead, and unseen creatures, barely perceived by their splashing, scampered or swam away from the immense, elongated shadows that preceded the two advancing human figures.
When the ground began to rise subtly, the Mouser gave a sigh of relief. Moments later, he stood atop a kind of winding, natural causeway that seemed to divide the marsh. On either side lay moist, grassy expanses, but the earth beneath his feet was fairly packed by centuries of horses' hooves and wagon wheels and the tread of traveling feet.
"Causey Road," the Mouser said. He pointed westward. The highest tips of the highest towers and pinnacles of Lankhmar could barely be seen by his straining eyes. "We stand upon an artery to the heart of Nehwon."
Fafhrd had found a stick—a dried reed stalk, actually—and sat down on the roadside to scrape black mud from his boots with it. A sour expression clouded his features. "Lankhmar is the heart of Nehwon?"
The Mouser nodded. "In all the world there is no city greater."
"Certainly none I hold in greater scorn," Fafhrd shot back. "The anus is as important to a body as the heart, so if we must speak in metaphors, let Lankhmar be Nehwon's arsehole."
"You're in a foul mood, to speak of arseholes," the Mouser said.
Fafhrd was sullen. "Arseholes are foul, and Lankhmar is fouler."
The Mouser grinned secretly. "Some call the city fair."
"They are unfair in their judgment," the Northerner answered curtly as he rose and cast aside the stick.
Walking westward on Causey Road, the two spoke little and kept their thoughts to themselves. The Mouser felt a weighty oppression of spirit as he approached the city, and he could tell from the slump of Fafhrd's mighty shoulders and by the sullen expression on his friend’s face that the Northerner felt the same.
The marshlands were soon left behind, and the stark gray walls of Lankhmar City rose before them. Well on its way toward zenith, the morning sun beat uncomfortably on the left side of the Mouser's face. He tugged up the hood of his light gray cloak to block the burning rays, though honesty might have moved him to admit it was more to hide his own unhappy expression from Fafhrd.
Causey Road led straight into the city's Marsh Gate. There were no merchants with pitched tents clustered outside the gate as travelers would find at the city's three southern gates, nor was there any traffic. Causey Road ran eastward eventually through the Mountains of Hunger, past the Great Dike, and into the Sinking Lands. In spring and autumn, a few caravans and the more adventure-minded traders set forth that way, but most businessmen found the trade far more lucrative further northward along the shores of the Inner Sea.
Two pairs of guards stood wearily in the shadows of the massive gates, sweltering in their armor and red cloaks, pikes leaned against the walls and helmets set by in the roadside dust, boredom and discomfort plain on their sweat-stained faces. As Fafhrd and the Mouser approached the gate, the four exchanged glances as if mentally choosing straws. Finally, one picked up his pike, set his helmet on his head and trudged forward.
"In the name of that peach-sucking, sheep-loving, decadent little pervert who, to Lankhmar’s everlasting shame, calls himself our Overlord—halt!"
Fafhrd caught the Mouser's arm with one hand and clutched his other hand over his heart in feigned shock. "That's the prettiest speech I've heard all day, Captain," he said, grinning.
The guard, no captain at all, but a mere corporal of middle age who probably had not advanced in rank in years, looked up at the seven-foot-tall Northerner. If he was impressed, he hid it well. "And the truest, I'll wager," he answered. "You look like a pair of rogues to me. Come to steal our treasury and rape our women, have you?"
The Mouser answered drily. "Be assured. Your treasury is safe from us."
The corporal smiled appreciatively, then glanced back over his shoulder at his three comrades to make sure they were safely beyond earshot. "You haven't seen our women." He grimaced as he faked a shudder. "Trust me, our gold is warmer."
Fafhrd laughed aloud. "Our captain speaks like a married man," he said.
The Mouser put on a grave face. "Is it true, good captain?" he said. "Are you so afflicted?"
The corporal hung his head as he nodded, and his shoulders slumped. "It is exactly as you have deduced," he admitted sadly. "A shrewish woman she is, who spends every coin I make and heaps debt upon my poor head." He cast another glance back at his comrades. "Why at this very moment I haven't a penny in my pocket for even a cool pint."
The Mouser eyed the guard with greater understanding. "That is a sad state in which to find oneself," he agreed. "I can fully and completely sympathize." Easing back the folds of his light gray cloak, he turned his own empty pockets inside out.
The corporal's brow furrowed in disappointment. He turned expectantly toward Fafhrd, but the red-headed giant shrugged apologetically as he turned his palms upward. "Money and these hands rarely share long acquaintance," he said.
The guard's frown only deepened.
"On the other hand, these hands," the Mouser said in reassuring tones, "have a handsome skill at finding it." He licked his lips slightly as he brushed his fingertips together. "Do you know an inn called the Silver Eel?"
"The Silver Eel?" the corporal repeated. "On Dim Lane, halfway between Cheap Street and Carter. An infamous dive. I see you are not strangers to Lankhmar."
"We shall be at that infamous dive tonight before the witching hour," the Mouser informed. "If you should come around, my friend and I would be happy to buy you and your fellow threesome guards a pint. Or should you come alone you can have their share."
The corporal smiled as he rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. "A merry and generous offer, indeed," he answered, glancing around again. "If all travelers were such understanding gentlemen as yourselves my job would be a far happier one."
"Not to mention more lucrative," Fafhrd added, rolling his gaze toward the blue sky.
The guard pretended not to hear. "Come then," he said. "It's too hot to stand in the sun like this." He made a grandiose gesture with his right arm. "Prepare yourselves to enter this stinking, rat-infested hell-hole ..." he paused to wipe the leer from his face. Then he winked. "I mean, 'Welcome to our beloved city.'"
He led them past the other three guards, who eyed the odd-looking adventurers suspiciously as they passed through the open wooden gates and under the great arch where empty watchtowers perched on either side. The Street of the Gods stretched before them, a broad lane paved with white marble. To the left and right ran Wall Street, another wide lane cluttered with shops and merchants' kiosks.
"The Silver Eel, near witching hour," the corporal repeated quietly as he turned to resume his post.
"Refreshing," Fafhrd commented as he watched the man go, "to deal honestly with an honest guard."
"There are so few men of integrity left," the Mouser agreed.
The pair strolled south on Wall Street. The shadows of Lankhmar's towers and minarets drew dark hatchings across the dusty road. The massively stout wall on their left rose in stark contrast to the rickety wooden apartment buildings and old warehouses that stood jammed in too-close proximity on their right.
An ox-drawn cart loaded with rough barrels trundled by; the driver, a bone-thin old man, barely seemed to notice them. A raspy noise issued from his throat, and he coughed into his hand as he passed. The white parts of his eyes were as yellow as old parchment. From a leather cord around his neck depended a small monkey’s paw, considered a good-luck charm by the residents of the southern city of Tisilinit, and a bestower of virility by the men of Ilthmar.