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Mouser went on, prodding him. "No fabrics made into garments, eh?—such as a short silvery tunic of some lacy stuff, for instance?"
    Mikkidu shook his head, his eyebrows rising.
    "Well, well," the Mouser said smoothly, "what's happened to this chest, do you suppose? It must be still on the ship—unless someone has dropped it overboard. Or was it perhaps stolen back in 'Brulsk?"
    "I'm sure it was safe aboard when we sailed," Mikkidu asserted. Then he frowned. "I think it was, that is." His brow cleared. "Its lashings lay beside it, loose on the deck!"
    "Well, I'm glad you found something of it," the Mouser said. "Where on the ship do you suppose it can be? Think, man, where can it be?" For emphasis, he pounded the muffled chest he sat at.
    Mikkidu shook his head helplessly. His gaze wandered about, past the Mouser.
    (Oh-ho, the latter thought, does he begin to get a glimmering at last of what has happened to his smuggled girl? Whose plaything she is now? This might become rather amusing.)
    He recalled his lieutenant's attention by asking, "What were your men able to tell you about the runaway chest?"
    "Nothing, sir. They were as puzzled as I am. I'm sure they know nothing. I think. "
    "Hmm. What did the Mingols have to say about it?"
    "They're on watch, sir. Besides, they answer only to Ourph—or yourself, of course, sir."
    (You can trust a Mingol, the Mouser thought, at least where it's a matter of keeping silent.)
    "What about Skor, then?" he asked. "Did Captain Fafhrd's man know anything about the chest's vanishment?"
    Mikkidu's expression became a shade sulky. "Lieutenant Skor is not under my command," he said. "Besides that, he sleeps very soundly."
    There was a thuddingly loud double knock at the hatchway.
    "Come in," the Mouser called testily, "and next time don't try to pound the ship to pieces."
    Fafhrd's chief lieutenant thrust bent head with receding reddish hair through the curtains and followed after. He had to bend both back and knees to keep from bumping his naked pate on the beams. (So Fafhrd too would have had to go about stooping when occupying his own cabin, the Mouser thought. Ah, the discomforts of size.)
    Skor eyed the Mouser coolly and took note of Mikkidu's presence. He had trimmed his russet beard, which gave it a patchy appearance. Save for his broken nose, he rather resembled a Fafhrd five years younger.
    "Well?" the Mouser said peremptorily.
    "Your pardon, Captain Mouser," the other replied, "but you asked me to keep particular watch on the stowage of cargo, since I was the only one who had done any long voyaging on Seahawk before this faring, and knew her behavior in different weathers. So I believe that I should report to you that there is a chest of fabrics—you know the one, I think—missing from the fore steerside storage. Its lashings lie all about, both those which roped it shut and those which tied it securely in place."
    (Ah-ha, the Mouser thought, he's guilty too and seeks to cover it by making swift report, however late. Never trust a bland expression. The lascivious villain!)
    With his lips he said, "Ah yes, the missing chest—we were just speaking of it. When do you suppose it became so?—I mean missing. In 'Brulsk?"
    Skor shook his head. "I saw to its lashing myself—and noted it still tied fast to the side as my eyes closed in sleep a league outside that port. I'm sure it's still on Seahawk. "
    (He admits it, the effrontrous rogue! the Mouser thought. I wonder he doesn't accuse Mikkidu of stealing it. Perhaps there's a little honor left 'mongst thieves and berserks.)
    Meanwhile the Mouser said, "Unless it has been dropped overboard—that is a distinct possibility, do you not think? Or mayhap we were boarded last night by soundless and invisible pirates while you both snored, who raped the chest away and nothing else. Or perchance a crafty and shipwise octopus, desirous of going richly clad and with arms skillful at tying and untying knots—"
    He broke off when he noted that