F&tGM04—What Price Gratitude?
by VStarTraveler

Summary: Stewing about being cheated out of a great reward that had been promised, the Gray Mouser decides that payback is in order. When things don't go quite as planned, gratitude is tested and adventures abound. A planned series of loosely connected one-shots about our heroes' journeys in Nehwon.

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

Author's Notes: While this is a series of standalone stories, fans of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser may wish to read the earlier stories in this series to get a better understanding of the background leading up to this series of stories.

Story#1: Temerity and Longevity, is written for the Caesar's Palace forum's "Do You Wanna Build a Snowman" challenge, using the prompt "woolgathering."


Story #1: Temerity and Longevity

It was a few weeks into the Winter of the Falcon when Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser decided it would be a great time to take their leave of Lankhmar.

Despite the cold temperatures, their reason for departing the City of Sevenscore Thousand Smokes was not the weather. In fact, in comparison to the great summer blizzard of just a few months earlier, the actual winter was turning out to be fairly mild. While there had been a number of frosty mornings and even a few inches of snow on one occasion, those who had come through the great summer snowstorm seemed to be taking things in stride without any significant complaints.

The one person in town who was complaining, and complaining frequently but quietly and only to his best friend, was the little man who called himself the Gray Mouser. He wasn't complaining about the weather either.

"I'm telling you, Fafhrd, the overlord cheated us! We save the city, but do we get the great reward he promised? No! Do we get the key to the city? No! Do we get a parade? No! Besides him being too cheap, old Karstak's afraid that people will panic if they find out the storm was caused by, woooo," he said, making a funny gesture with his hands, "maa-gic. As if the citizens of this great metropolis couldn't figure out that 4 feet of snow and a 300-foot-tall upside-down icicle over a certain duke's house in the middle of summer wasn't natural. Bah!"

Fafhrd sighed but then couldn't resist making a little verbal jab at his friend. "Well, at least he didn't tell them some foreign prince was the hero instead of us this time."

Mouser gritted his teeth at the reminder. This was another serious sore spot for him. It wasn't a single instance of being cheated, but, rather, two, and of being deprived of both the monetary reward and the well-deserved credit. He'd spent considerable time thinking about the situation in recent weeks, from idle fancy about what might have been if the overlord had kept his promises to downright woolgathering about various delightful but practically impossible methods of payback since the city's ruler actually hadn't.

The little man's brooding silence coupled with the appearance of a buxom brunette was all it took to convince Fafhrd to drop the subject and concentrate on potentially more rewarding efforts. The giggling girl was soon on his arm so the big barbarian took his leave of Mouser; Fafhrd led her up to the bar for a drink before, he hoped, leading her elsewhere for more intimate pursuits.

Uncommonly, Mouser wasn't really interested in women that particular evening. As he drank his ale that night in the confines of the Silver Eel tavern, he couldn't help but ponder the situation further. Reaching into his tunic, he absentmindedly grasped the small medallion that was strung around his neck. Bearing an old image of the overlord and called his "Gratitude," Mouser had received it for for his services but then found that it was about as valuable as spit from one who otherwise refused to honor his promises. He started to pull on it to break the little cord that held it, thinking to toss it into the nearby fireplace, but he finally relaxed his grip and returned to his drink.

The drink was soon gone, but, with the medallion continuing to weigh heavily on his neck, he continued to think long and hard over each of the several drinks that followed about what Fafhrd had said earlier in the evening as well as the barbarian's earlier comment from a few weeks before. Sometimes, someone needed the temerity, that brash bravado, to go through with reckless ideas. It was getting rather late when he finally emerged from those fanciful daydreams of "what if" into the more compelling realm of "why not." It was then that the little thief decided that the overlord really had to pay. If the man refused to make good on what was owed to him and his friend, Mouser determined that he himself would have to look into other ways to make the ruler wish that he had.

~F&tGM~

Following the great summer snowstorm, the Gray Mouser had spent almost three months helping the late duke's wife put her home back in order. He would have left after the first few weeks but he discovered a way to make the work more profitable to his money pouch and, in addition, he was quite taken by one of the lady's chief servants. Their affair was really heated for a while, but it eventually began to cool when the woman started becoming serious. Still, it might have gone on for quite a while longer, but it took a sudden turn for the worse when Mouser discovered the hiding place of the deceased man's marvelous satchel of gemstones. Mouser's female friend awoke the very next morning to find her beloved missing from their shared bed at about the same time that the duchess discovered that the blue valise with the gems was missing. It didn't take too long for the two of them to figure out the culprit.

Despite his great plans for the proceeds, the little thief was soon informed that most of the gems in the bag were of relatively poor to very poor quality. There were, however, a lot in the case, so he had high hopes that the quantity would help overcome the quality issue. Unfortunately, that wasn't to be. With the fence's take, the resulting proceeds weren't really enough for even modest plans, much less Mouser's great ones. However, the gems weren't the only things that he had taken with him on his final departure from the complex. He sold several of the late duke's possessions to finance his lifestyle for the next few weeks while the duchess cooled off, realizing that Mouser had done a great job putting her house back together and, since she hadn't given him his pay recently, she was probably coming out a little ahead on the financial side anyway.

After dealing with the fences, the one item Mouser had retained from the late duke's home was a small bag that he hadn't even stolen. Well, perhaps the bag itself had been; it was so small and inconsequential that he really couldn't remember where he had obtained it, but the contents inside were not.

In helping clean up that awful blue dust from the explosion that put an end to the blizzard, Mouser discovered that, though the connection to the frigid being was gone, it retained its propensity to be quite cold. Sensing an opportunity, he collected as much of the powder as he could and sold it to a butcher who used it to line a large crate for cold storage. However, thinking ahead, Mouser kept a small pile that he put in the little bag. Sealing the bag tightly and wrapping it in several layers of thin fur that he cut from the lining of one of the late duke's winter outfits, the little thief put the bundle in his pouch with his sling.

On the day after meeting with Fafhrd at the Silver Eel, Mouser still couldn't get the fact that the overlord had cheated them out of his mind and that, therefore, he himself had to do something about it. The big question was, "What?"

The more he thought about it, the more perturbed he became until he finally took a walk through the streets of Lankhmar. He walked for an hour, then two, as he stewed, but it was a meaningless jaunt until he found himself outside the vendor's entrance to the Rainbow Palace, the overlord's home. There, he saw three carts making deliveries to the overlord's complex. He watched the procedure and then walked some more while a little voice inside him seemed to be shouting, almost continuously, "Make him pay!"

As resourceful as he was, it didn't take Mouser too long to figure out how to do it. However, as intelligent and cunning as he was, it took him several more days of watching and careful planning to figure out how to do it just right. It was the week that followed that was the hard part; he had to wait until the time was right.

~F&tGM~

The Gray Mouser's muscles were aching when he finally lowered himself from where he hung under the peculiarly-shaped olive oil cart that only delivered on the second day of the week. Using the jars as cover, he quickly rolled over to the crates that had been delivered by another wagon just minutes earlier. Deftly slipping between some of the crates and into the space behind them, he stretched for a moment before stripping off his outer clothes to reveal a good facsimile of the livery of the overlord's palace staff. When the servants came just a short time later to pick up the supplies and take them to their proper place, they either didn't notice the extra person who appeared in their midst, or else if they did, they simply didn't mind the extra help.

Mouser's research about the Rainbow Palace and his knowledge from his own observations turned out to be a little less accurate than he had hoped, so he spent some time doing various chores that he felt wouldn't look too out-of-place as he made his way through the palace. As a slight and rather unremarkable looking young man, he found that this was actually quite easy, barely drawing a glance from those he passed. He even paused to sweep outside one of the conference chambers after overhearing what seemed to be a heated discussion. The presence of two armed guards outside the doors kept him from sneaking up to listen through the keyhole, but the raised voices allowed him to pick out that of the overlord and someone the ruler angrily identified as Glipkerio.

Not wanting to be too obvious and not really interested in the discussion anyway, Mouser moved along, cleaning as he went. It took a little while before he finally found the type of excuse he was seeking. A tall stack of fresh bed linens allowed him to make his way up the northwest tower to Karstak Ovartamortes' personal quarters. Finding the room empty, he quickly stripped the overlord's bed down to the thickest mattress he'd ever seen. Then, he pulled the little bag out and carefully sprinkled a bit of the fine, blue dust over the top surface. Using gloves he pulled from a pocket, he quickly rubbed the dust in, leaving only a light bluish cast on the surface. As he rubbed, he wondered what it would be like to have such a huge bed before his thoughts turned to all the fun that could potentially be had in it. Before his task was completed, however, he'd become somewhat frustrated that it was too large and took way too much time to cover.

With fresh sheets in place, he quickly restored the stack of covers and the small mountain of pillows that topped it. He then moved to his next target through a side door. When he emerged some time later, he was about to make his escape when he noticed a small book on a desk off to the side. The book wasn't very large and wasn't very thick, so he flipped it open to see strange writings and what appeared to be a series of maps. Thinking that Fafhrd might be able to read it, he'd just slipped it into the pouch hidden under his clothes when a female voice startled him.

"Who are you? And what are you doing in here?" The woman's appearance was as severe as her voice was sharp.

With the book tucked away, Mouser reached down and picked up a gold stylus from its holder on the desk. "Overlord Ovartamortes sent me up here to get his favorite pen. I'm taking it down to him in his council meeting as he instructed. Good day."

"No! You wait right there," she ordered harshly. Stepping back to the door, she stuck her head out and called out, "Guards! Come quickly. Intruder in the overlord's chamber!"

Smiling at the thought of the reward she would receive, she turned back toward her captive, only to find the room empty. She sounded the alarm before moving on to see that all was in order. However, when a contingent of guards arrived moments later, they found the woman shaking in fear as she stood staring at the mirror in the overlord's dressing room. Marked with red greasepaint, it said:

Those promises made
Amount to a debt.
If one doesn't pay,
One's cursed with regret.

A guard soon spotted an odd little medallion hanging from the corner of the mirror. With it bearing the likeness of what might have been the overlord many years earlier, the guard assumed it belonged there and said nothing about it.

~F&tGM~

Operating the dumbwaiter from aboard the device was more difficult than he anticipated, but Mouser soon found his way to the bottom level. If his understanding was correct, he just had to slip through the kitchen suite and out the servants' entrance. He'd soon be home free!

While he knew he'd never collect on his lost rewards, he smiled at the thought of making the overlord remember, if not cheating Fafhrd and him, at least cheating someone. His grin got bigger as he thought about how easy it had been. He turned what he thought would be the last corner before he could slip out into the city with not a soul being wiser.

"Mouser? What are you doing here?"

The little thief's eyes widened as he recognized Sergeant Klaous, one of only two people, other than the overlord, that he'd actually met in the palace. He'd worked with the sturdy warrior in the effort to save the city during the snowstorm, and in their discussion afterward he'd learned that he'd also saved the man's life during the attack at the summer festival, a few weeks before the blizzard.

Mouser was about to try to give a believable answer, but Klaous was already thinking ahead. "The alarm! No! What did you do?" He grabbed the little man's arm and pushed him into a space between some boxes.

There was a pained expression on the man's face as he said, "You've saved my life, twice, so I'm in your debt. Tell me, quickly, or there will be nothing I can do to be able to repay you."

Seeing the earnestness of the man's look, Mouser said, "The overlord cheated me out of the reward, twice, as well. I came to remind him."

"Did you harm anyone?"

Mouser shook his head. "No, I entered unarmed," he said, not counting Cat's Claw, his dagger, hidden in the small of his back, as an offensive weapon, "and I am leaving the same. However, I left him a message where he will long remember it, if not for me, for others."

Klaous nodded and then glanced both ways. "I must tell them you were here, but, unlike some, I remember my debts and I am good for them. You must go before more guards arrive. There will be a guard outside the door; say hello as you walk by and act natural. Then, go! Leave Lankhmar! The overlord won't rest until you are captured. Or worse."

Mouser nodded, glad to see someone who took his debts seriously. He nodded in thanks and was turning to go when the sergeant grabbed his arm.

"No, you have to deck me to make your escape look good. Well, hurry, man, get on with—"

Mouser's fist hit the side of the man's chin before Klaous could even finish. The sergeant slumped sideways, falling to the floor. As he turned to make his way to the exterior door, Mouser couldn't be completely sure but he thought he saw the man grin before his eyes drifted closed.

~F&tGM~

Word of the palace intruder who had surprised and overcome one guard and brazenly walked out right past another quickly spread around the city. It was rumored that the intruder was known, but the overlord's men did not release the suspect's name in order to keep the person from becoming famous or, perhaps, infamous.

It was later that evening when Fafhrd was on his way to the Silver Eel that a pebble bounced off his arm. Turning, he heard his name uttered at little more than a whisper. Peering into the shadows, he saw the Gray Mouser hiding in an adjacent alley. He slipped into the narrow space and followed his friend a short distance to a small, moonlit courtyard between the buildings. Seeing no one else around, he whispered, "Mouser, what brings us to this place in such a furtive manner?"

"Fafhrd, if the overlord has anything to say about it, I will not be long for this world."

Fafhrd looked at his friend and then thought of the rumor he'd heard just a short time before. "You? You were the one!" He tried to keep his laugh as low as his voice as he slapped the little man on the arm. "Well done, my friend! Was your excursion worthwhile?"

Mouser shrugged. "The reward owed is still unpaid, but I left him a reminder that he should not soon forget. Unfortunately, my countless daydreams and hard-wrought plan of a secret visit were dashed, so he'll have the city guard, and likely his troops, after me to put my head on a prominently displayed pole. And, sad to say, my friend, he most likely associates you with me, which would probably put your head on the block as well."

The big barbarian thought for a moment before he put a hand on each side of his bearded face and made a show of lifting slightly. Grinning, he said, "I don't know about you, but I am rather attached to my head, and I'd much rather keep it that way."

"As would I," agreed Mouser, "yet keeping it such depends on us to do our parts."

Fafhrd nodded and said, "Come." He rubbed his beard thoughtfully as they made their way through the darkened alleys of the city before he added, "While on a recent task for Ningauble of the Seven Eyes, I read part of a book by someone with a rather unpronounceable name. I skimmed through some of the pages while waiting for him to complete a spell and one line comes to mind: 'The better part of valor is discretion.' For our personal longevity, perhaps now is one of those times when discretion is in order."

And that became the reason Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser decided, rather abruptly, to take their leave of Lankhmar.

~F&tGM~

Epilogue:

Overlord Karstak Ovartamortes spent much of the rest of the Winter of the Falcon in a fearful state of mind with a seemingly perpetual chill.

On seeing the accusing words on the mirror and the "Gratitude" medallion that he'd always felt to be a very valuable item so casually left behind, he went so far as to feel himself cursed, particularly in light of the fact that the abnormal cold seemed to follow him everywhere. The fireplace in his bedroom was kept stoked, and the stack of quilts and blankets on his bed grew higher, but the poor man just could not get warm. In addition, his wife and mistresses were soon refusing to visit his chamber to share his bed with him, making him even testier and crankier.

Daytime seemed to be as bad as nighttime, if not worse. The ruler soon took to wearing two or sometimes three of his fine winter shirts, only to feel all the colder. He never noticed the light dusting of a blue powder in the sleeves of his shirts and coats. It eventually fell out on its own or was washed away by the servants in the laundry. What little remained began to lose its potency as winter receded.

~F&tGM~

Far from Lankhmar and the Rainbow Palace, the little man who had dreamed and had the temerity to apply the dust was, unlike the overlord, feeling much happier.

While he had no idea of how his little visit had actually affected the overlord, the Gray Mouser was able to spend a number of evenings that winter during their travels in wildly pleasant imaginings about it. The resulting tales he told Fafhrd around campfires and those he shared with his friend and others in the occasional tavern lifted his spirits, and, in some of the taverns, the weight of his coinpurse, but that was not all. Having seen someone express his gratitude at the risk of his own life probably warmed Mouser's heart more than the dust had chilled that of Karstak Ovartamortes. In addition, having done something in response to being cheated, he no longer felt the need to dwell on it...at least not very often.

The End


Author's Note: Thank you for reading this story and this series. Your reviews, comments, favorites, and follows are greatly appreciated, too. More standalone tales from Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser's adventures during the winter of the Falcon (and beyond!) are planned to follow eventually.

Fans of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser may recognize the name Glipkerio, as in Glipkerio Kistomerces as the man who eventually succeeded Karstak Ovartamortes as Overlord of Lankhmar. The disclaimer at the start applies to him, too.

The quote at the end is from Shakespeare's Henry The Fourth, Part 1 Act 5, scene 4. It's more recognizable by its modern paraphrasing, "Discretion is the better part of valor." As for the book, it's entirely possible that the world-hopping wizard Ningauble picked up a copy of Shakespeare's works during one of his visits to our world and cast some type of dweomer on it to be able to read it; however, with Ningauble's strange ways, who knows?