“The man’s mind runs to skulls,” muttered the Mouser. “He must have been a gravedigger or a necromancer.” “Or an architect,” observed Fafhrd thoughtfully, “in those past days when graven images of the skulls of men and animals served to bedeck temples.” “Perhaps,” agreed the Mouser. “Surely the writing and ink are old enough. They date at least as far back as the Century of the Wars with the East—five long lifespans.” The Mouser was an accomplished forger, both of handwriting and of objects of art. He knew what he was talking about.
