Myth 18 - MythChief

by Asprin, Robert

  In the meantime, I had some unreal real estate to move.

  Myth 18 - MythChief

  TWENTY -ONE

  “Nothing else is like dining with the original.” COUNT DRACULA Hermalaya was as gracious as ever as we showed the final set of guests out of the reception room.

  “Thank you for working us in at the last minute,” said the chief operating officer tot Pangallobank, Interdimen-​sional He shook my hand energetically with five or six of his own spindly little limbs. “I heard about you all from my financial wizard. She watches the Crystal Ether Net-​work on her scrying ball. The write-​up was so enthusias-​tic I had a hard time believing it, but I checked in with a few of my friends. Word on the street, you know, isn't al-​ways trustworthy Know your sources, that's what I say. Ruty!”

  “Yessir!” A yes-​centipede with a go-​getting attitude ap-​peared at his boss's side. He handed me a silk envelope that jingled satisfyingly. “Wove it myself, sir! Enjoy it, sir!”

  “Thanks a bunch,” I said, tucking it into my belt pouch. “And if you give any other thought to what I mentioned earlier...?”'

  “I will,” said the COO. “We hold paper on a number of small banks across the dimensionsnothing as big as the Gnomes of Zoorikyet. I'll let you know. Meantime, you tell me if I can help out this lovely lady in any way.”

  One of Massha's gadgets moped around the floor, pick-​ing up glitter and stray crumbs. I drew out the small pack-​age and counted up the coins.

  “How are we doing, Boss?” Nunzio asked.

  “Pretty well,” I said. “Another two hundred coins.”

  “Jolly good, what?” Chumley asked. “Where to next, Massha?”

  “Well...” My former apprentice looked embarrassed. “I didn't want to mention this while everyone was getting ready for these visitors, but there aren't any more.”

  “Why?” I asked. “But we were booming just a couple of days ago! We got all sorts of good interviews in half a dozen dimensions. Hermalaya's diary is about to go into reprint.”

  “I know,” Massha said, unhappily. She thumbed the jewel on her bracelet. A list sprang into view against the wall. I peered at it. All the names on it were crossed off. “I got a bunch of cancellations just this morning. I'm sorry, Skeeve. I have no idea what has gone wrong. Everyone loves her, but it looks like no one wants to do the Cake ceremony anymore.”

  “Why? I thought that the 'princess in exile' angle was the best draw around.” “It is! The flow's been everything we could have hoped for, up until right about now.”

  I drummed my fingertips on the chair arm. Good pub-​licity plus good word of mouth couldn't equal no interest. “That means something's actively interfering,” I said.

  “That would be my assessment, as well,” Chumley said. He had suspended his persona of Big Crunch around Her-​malaya. It was too difficult to discuss strategy in monosyl-​lables.

  “Me, too,” said Massha.

  “Why, who would want to stop people having Cake?” Hermalaya asked, distressed. “It's so beneficial! Unless it was that rapscallion Matfany!”

  “That's it! You think Aahz has anything to do with this?” I asked. “I know he wants to win.” Chumley fixed his odd-​sized eyes on me. “I say, Skeeve. could you even think such a thing of him?”

  I felt ashamed of myself. “I guess I'm just so fixed on this contest that I'm convincing myself of anything. Sorry.”

  Chumley guffawed, an unusually crude noise for a re-​fined person like him. “I say, no, that's not it at all. He's convinced he can win this without scuttling you, old chap. Doesn't need to. Good heavens, what? You know Aahz perfectly well. If he thought he had to spike your guns, he wouldn't hesitate for a moment, would he? Has he ever had mercy on a rival?”

  I glared. “So he doesn't think I'm much of a rival, huh?” “Well, pride and all, what? Come, come, Skeeve, When has he ever overestimated you, eh?”

  I forced myself to calm down. That was true. He always thought I would goof up, no matter how many times I man-​aged to succeed. Why would this time be any different? “So, if the problem's not Aahz, then there's someone else. Who?”

  Massha handed the stack of cancellations to me. “Ask the people who turned us down.”

  Killinem stood only second to Vaygus as the dimension to visit when you wanted a good time. I passed by the com-​edy clubs, the circus tents, and hundreds of street buskers. A stilt walker blew a long stream of fire just where I was going to walk. I diverted it with a flick of magik and sent it back to him, to the roar of the crowd gathered to watch. I wasn't in much of a mood for pranks.

  “The Overseer of Mirth does not have you on his agenda,” a red-​nosed clown informed me when I identified myself and my party at the desk.

  “He did,” I said. Reading upside down was something I had gotten good at during the time I had worked with M.Y.T.H., Inc. “Right there. Princess Hermalaya and cote-​rie.”

  The clown looked down his round, rubicund nose at me. Unlike in Klah, his wasn't stuck on; it was real. “You've been canceled, friend. Forget it.”

  I leaned confidentially over the desk. “Look, our ap-​pointment was for this afternoon. I see that he hasn't got anything else at the moment. This is Princess Hermalaya herself.” I nodded over my shoulder. Hermalaya wiggled two fingers at him. The clown grinned uneasily at her. “Let me just ask him a couple of questions? For the fun of it.”

  No humorist in Killinem was going to let a challenge like that go by.

  “All right, friend. I'll see what I can do.” He mounted a foot-​high bicycle and rode toward the brightly colored doors at the rear of the room. A trunklike nozzle reached out of the ceiling and whoosh! He was sucked up off the floor like a house in a windstorm. I stared at it in delight.

  Just as I was wondering how I could incorporate that trick into my own office, the nozzle reappeared and spat the clown and his bicycle back into the room.

  “The Overseer will give you a minute of his most valu-​able time,” the clown informed us.

  “I don't know why you bothered to come,” the Overseer said. His red nose was more patrician in shape than his secretary's, and his floppy suit and shoes were all made of white silk. “We have our own cheap acts here in Killinem. I don't need to import any.”

  “Cheap!” I sputtered. “You cried when I let you hear the princess's own words.”

  “The tears of a clown are sacred to us,” the Overseer said. “Yes, I was moved by her plight. I was even willing to give you an audition to see if your act was something I wanted to give wider attention across this dimension. But then I see it's just a derivative. Commonplace. You trifled with my emotions. That's a crime here in Killinem. You will be fortunate if we don't have you publicly beaten with a slapstick!”

  “Cheap?” Hermalaya demanded, her eyes round. “Derivative?” I echoed.

  “No one is delivering any beatings to Mister Skeeve or anyone else,” Nunzio said, putting his hand into his breast pocket.

  “Hold on,” Massha said, intruding her large presence into the midst of all of us like an orange thundercloud block-​ing out the sun. “Don't all of you get your panties in a braid. Just what changed your mind?” she asked, fluttering her wealth of false eyelashes at the Overseer.

  “Not long after you visited me, I heard thousands of citizens here were offered invitations to a Cake ceremony. I received one myself. I thought it was rather ... tacky.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Who else could be offering the same experience so soon?”

  The Overseer matched me lift for lift. “I see you don't believe me.” He turned to a page in harlequin tunic and belled cap.

  “Pidrol, go get those flyers.”

  A page in a harlequin tunic and belled cap went run-​ning out of the room. He returned in a moment with a couple of scrolls in his hand. One I recognized as ours, on cream-​laid parchment with embossed calligraphy, a copy of the cover of The Princess's Diary with a really good im-​age of Hermalaya in th
e corner holding her Cake server. The other had been run off by some handbill press or a shutterbug printer. Superficially, they resembled the letters we sent out requesting interviews, but they were more on the order of handbills.

  “Cheap,” Massha said. “Looks like ads for a bordello.” The Overseer nodded. “I agree. That is why I rejected both.”

  I pressed him. “But you can see that Princess Herma-​laya offers the real thing. So why not come and enjoy her ceremony?”

  “Well,” he said, as if reluctant to embarrass me. “It didn't seem so ... exclusive any longer. Not when it was being held in the Bazaar. And these” he added, looking less like anyone associated with mirth I have ever met. He produced a small carton from the box of documents pre-​sented to him by his page. “These dolls. Vulgar. I can't believe that anyone of quality could possibly grant their countenance to such things.”

  “Cake Queen Action Figure,” I read off the side of the carton. The cardboard was cut away to show the foot-​high doll inside. It resembled a miniature Swamp Vixen with white fur and black markings. She had a miniature Cake server in her hand. When you pushed a button on the back, it slashed its tiny arm back

  and forth in a pretty good imi-​tation of Hermalaya's impressive Cake-​cutting action. “You have to admit it looks like her,” Nunzio said.

  “They're selling images of me?” Hermalaya asked. She snatched the box out of my hands and gazed at it with growing horror. “Mister Skeeve, this is outrageous of you! Is absolutely nothing sacred where you are con-​cerned?”

  “I didn't authorize this,” I said. I flipped it over, looking for a company name or an address. “Asfodeel's Novelties, Paperhanger's Lane. This also came from the Bazaar!”

  Massha shrugged. “No surprise. Anything that rips off a good idea is almost guaranteed to be run by Deveels.”

  I had a sudden inspiration, and I didn't like it. “Or someone tipped off by Deveels,” I said. “We'd better go see what's going on. Thanks for your time, Overseer.”

  “My pleasure,” the white-​clad clown said, waving us toward the vacuum ejector. “Come see me when you have something really original to show me.”

  Myth 18 - MythChief

  TWENTY -TWO

  “It doesn't really look like me.” BARBARA MILLICENT ROBERTS

  I was so mad I could hardly think. I bamfed us into the Bazaar so fast that I didn't even bother to figure out where we would land. Fortunately, my instincts were smarter at that moment than my conscious mind. We appeared in front of M.Y.T.H., Inc.'s own tent. I had automatically gone toward my old stomping grounds.

  “Uh,” I said awkwardly, unable to offer a legitimate ex-​cuse to my companions for my choice. “This could get kind of ugly. I don't think that the princess ought to get involved in it. I'd like to put her in a safe place.”

  “She could hide out in our lent, Boss,” Nunzio said. “No one would dare interfere with her in our own terri-​tory.”

  “I say, would you like a spot of tea, your highness?” Chumley asked her with a bow that was a triumph of grace for someone his size. “I am afraid I won't be as elegant in my service as you are, but I am sure refreshment would not go amiss. Perhaps you would like a moment to rest. You have had a most strenuous day.”

  Hermalaya was torn. “Well, I am sure you are the most courteous thing, but I should go along with Mister Skeeve?”

  “Better not, honey,” Massha said. “Even if this was le-​gitimate, you don't want to be around for the nitty-​gritty. Let Chumley take care of you. We'll be back.”

  “But I ought to come with you,” the Swamp Vixen pro-​tested. “Isn't it my countenance that they are messing with?”

  “Better not to involve you. dollI mean, princess,” Nunzio said, giving her a pat on the arm. “Don't worry.”

  Chumley led her firmly into the tent. “This way, your highness. Perhaps you and I can discuss other customs of your most fascinating dimension. .. .” The flap swished shut behind them.

  The three of us stalked toward Paperhanger's Lane. I assumed my disguise as the ancient and powerful wizard. Massha put on all the magikal jewelry in her shoulder bag. Nunzio put a hand in his pocket. I knew he was counting bolts for his miniature crossbow. We were taking no chances.

  All along the way I kept noticing copies of the handbill that the Overseer of Mirth had shown us offering “The Famous Reynard Cake Ceremony! Fun for the Whole Family. At Reasonable Prices!” Somebody had plastered the Bazaar with them. I saw all our advantage leaching away. Was this an onslaught by Aahz to cut off our source of capital?

  When we reached the flap of Asfodeel's tent, there was no doubt at all that we had found the source of the action figures. Dolls of every species and shape were pinned to the leather curtain. Right in the middle of the display was the Hermalaya doll, complete with its silver accessory. Small Deveel children, mostly girls, fingered the toys and clamored to their long-​suffering parents to buy them. The red-​skinned Deveel behind the heaped table, a narrow-​faced, narrow-​eyed individual with a forked beard, turned to grin at me.

  “And how can I help you, honored sir?” he asked, in a silky voice.

  I ripped the Cake Queen action figure from the display and brandished it at him.

  “For a start, you can stop selling these.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” the Deveel screamed, go-​ing from a baritone to a soprano in one sentence. “Why should I?”

  “Because you don't have permission to use this lady's image,” I said. “This is Princess Hermalaya of Reynardo. J am her representative. Maybe you've heard of me? I am Skeeve the Magnificent.”

  “And I am Asfodeel the Totally Unimpressed! Do you see?” he demanded of his potential buyers. “I sell you dolls of a real live princess, and this fool wants me to take them away from you!”

  “Princess?” the little girls asked, their pointy ears perk-​ing up. “A real one?” They went for the display on the ta-​ble, grabbing up the cardboard boxes.

  “No!” I said, taking the dolls out of their hands. The girls burst into tears. Their parents rounded on me in fury.

  “What are you doing to our children?” “Thief! Thief! We'll call the authorities!”

  “Just a minute, Skeeve,” Massha said, gently, taking the boxes away from me. She dealt them out to the girls as smoothly as a card shark. “You're solving the wrong problem.”

  I turned my scowl on Asfodeel. “Where did you hear about Hermalaya?”

  The Deveel looked at me as if I were feebleminded. “She's all over the place! I saw her in the crystal ball at breakfast yesterday, and got a shipment from my factory on a crash basis. I mean, there's instant publicity. Why shouldn't I cash inI mean, provide a figure from current events for these lovely children?” He beamed at the eager little girls.

  “Because,” I said, pushing in on him from one side as Nunzio did from the other, “there might be some severe repercussions for doing it.”

  He felt Nunzio's crossbow bolt poking him in the rib cage. Deveels might have been loud and dishonest, but most of them were also cowards.

  “Well, if you put it that way ... How about I cut you in on the action? Say . .. two percent of net?”

  I had a different offer. “Say ... you stop making these, and you get to keep your factory and your shop?”

  “And who are you to threaten me?”

  “He's Skeeve the Magnificent,” Nunzio said. “Like he told you. I thought you were listening.”

  “Your name has no meaning anymore, old man. Nothing you can do will stop me. Your Hermalaya is a public figure. She's got no special rights to her own image. I got advice.”

  “What kind of advice?”

  Asfodeel smirked. “A guy told me you was a has-​been. He says there's no fight left in you. You've lost all your in-​fluence. All you're breathing is hot air.”

  “Who told you that?” The Deveel shook loose from our grasp. “Forget about it. I don't blab my sources.” I fumed. “Aahz.”


  “You don't know that, Hot Stuff,” Massha said, but the look on Asfodeel's face told me I had hit gold. Aahz had told this guy I was a has-​been. He was actually talking me down in the Bazaar! The ... the Pervert!

  “I'll show you how powerless I am,” I said, throwing back my sleeves. Asfodeel stuck up his chin.

  “Come and take me on, big Klahd. I'll tell everyone the Great Skeeve is afraid of competition. You haven't been around much lately. Word on the street was that you lost your nerve. How about that? Are you willing to attack one of the little guys? In front of witnesses?”

  I stopped short. The fact he was taunting me meant he wanted to cash in on the controversy. I knew all the ear-​marks. I'd been in this position once or twice before. I didn't like it, but I held on to my temper.

  “You're not even worth my discussing it with you,” I said haughtily. “Come, my friends. Let's go.”

  I withdrew, hating him with all my being but absolutely unwilling to give him an inch. Within three steps, As-​fodeel was at my side.

  “But what about a percentage? You're just going to walk away? When I'm unauthorized?” I allowed myself a tiny grin. He WAS hoping I'd fight him or partner up. What he never counted on was neither. Maybe I had learned some-​thing.

  “Unauthorized, unappetizing, and unimportant,” I said. I left him in the midst of a crowd of clamoring little girls and their parents. When I walked away, they sensed a bar-​gain. I covered half a block before I let the grin take over my whole face.

  “I figure Asfodeel's going to lose some money on the crash basis.” “But what about the dolls?” Nunzio asked. “He's gonna get more.”

  “As much as I hate to say it, we should just ignore them,” I said. “We ... I made her a public figure. It's my fault. But if we make a big deal about these dolls, it will draw more attention to us.”