MYTH-Taken Identity

by Robert Asprin

  "What are you offering?" I inquired.

  "What do you need?" the Djinn countered, with an airy wave. "I have game equipment of all kinds. No heavy weaponry. The Mall's rules forbid it. Or perhaps one of my

  many cousins has something in one of his or her stores that you might like? We Djinnellis have shops all over The Mall."

  He looked at Massha hopefully. "I would be happy to give you anything you would like to make up for the dread­ful error."

  "Well..." I glanced at Massha, judging how much I could shake this guy down for.

  "I'm not hurt," she assured me quickly. "Just shook up, but look at my clothes!" She held up a fold of floaty silk, shredded into fringe.

  "No problem," the Djinn cooed, moving around her with the magikally enhanced speed of his kind and looking her up and down. "My cousin Rimbaldi will have exactly what you want. He stocks wonderful clothes in all kinds. His establishment, The Volcano, is famous! Such generous beauty! He will love to dress you, you will see! He will have such scope to show style!"'

  A wide, slow smile spread across Massha's face.

  'Thanks, Hot Foot. I'd appreciate that. A girl my size has to keep track of clothiers who cater to it."

  "I will send you there now!" the Djinn said, gathering his arms together under his chin.

  "Just a minute," I said, opening the picture of Skeeve. "Have you seen this guy?"

  Gustavo's brows drew down.

  "This rotten thief?" he snarled. Clouds began to gather around his head, and lighting licked out of them. "I will never again trust Klahds! He collects up a load of my best equipment and pays me with a note for good nothing! I will never again fall for the fancy credit card."

  I perked up my ears. "Credit card?"

  "Yes," Gustavo exclaimed. "He pulls it out of the air— I should never trust magicians, either, but they run in the family, what can I do?—and presents it to me. The spell said his credit was top, simply top-rated. I took it. I wrap all the goods in a nice parcel. He vanishes. The moment next, poof! I get back no confirmation, because the card is

  not good. No credit is behind it. The bank will not honor it, and I am out fifteen hundred gold pieces."

  Magicians. I could feel Massha's and Chumley's eyes on me.

  "Coincidence," I said, trying to stay cool. "Anyone claiming to be Skeeve had better be some kind of magi­cian. Some guy who looks a lot like him."

  "Exactly like him," Gustavo countered. He felt in the big sash at his belt. "We keep watch for the dead bumps around here."

  "Deadbeats?" Massha asked.

  "Them, too. Here." The Djinn handed us a small crystal ball.

  I peered in and saw a thin, pointy-chinned Deveel's face. It was replaced in a few seconds by the profile of a green Dragonet. The next one sure looked like Skeeve. I thrust the ball away from me. Massha took it. She and Chumley looked into it with interest.

  "He cheats my brother, too," Gustavo added. "And eight of my cousins. They have sworn to take his heart out with their fingernails. My cousin Franseppe send me this image. I keep it, and if I find him again ... ggggrrrrgh!"

  He twisted air into a knot.

  Massha gulped and handed back the crystal ball.

  "Thanks for the graphic description, blue and bouncy. We'd better be going."

  "Of course! I am so sorry, luscious madame! Your clothes! My cousin awaits!" He assumed the position again, preparing to magik us out of there. "Come back again! I still owe you a favor! Come again!"

  "Perhaps when the air's not so full of arrows," Chumley muttered into my ear, as mist gathered us up.

  As soon as the cloud lowered us to the floor again I con­sulted the map, turning it over impatiently until I found the little you are here disk. We were near Doorway P, beside

  a huge facility through whose doorway belched clouds of smoke.

  "The Volcano," I stated shortly, pointing at the tent beside us.

  "Are you sure you don't want to go back to Klah and ask Skeeve if he's been here?" Massha said gently. "Learning magik can do funny things to people. You know he's been studying all alone for a long time ..."

  "No way!" I snarled. "There's a lot of explanations for what that guy just told us."

  "He wasn't lying," Chumley reminded me. "He did rec­ognize the portrait."

  "I know!" I said, shaking my head. "But I don't want to get Skeeve involved. Think about it," I reasoned, not want­ing to let even a glimmer of what my two former employ­ees were suggesting to worm its way into my brain, "magikal research does make people do funny things. The kid always tries to fly before he can walk. Look at the pos­sibilities. Skeeve has lots of potential, and not as much control as he thinks he does. If he hatched himself a doppelganger by accident, we'd just have to come back here and dispatch it for him. He'd die or go nuts if he faced it himself. You know how doppelgangers work."

  I looked at their faces and saw a hint of worry—not skepticism. They believed in Skeeve as much as I did. I was worried, too.

  "Or if it's just the kid himself sleep-shopping, Bunny can't handle that alone, and Skeeve won't even be aware he's doing it. We'd need to do an intervention. That's what friends are for."

  "Quite right!" Chumley exclaimed. "I say, Aahz, when you put it like that, I do see your point."

  "Me, too, Green and Scaly," Massha agreed. "I don't want the boss to fall into a trap."

  "Right," I said. "So let's not stand around here gabbing."

  I plunged into The Volcano.

  "Gah!" I coughed. "Reminds me of Pitsburg!"

  Once you made it through twenty feet of smog, the air

  cleared, giving you a good view of the vast interior of the store. The floor was largely black, with aisles picked out in hot orange and red, like hot lava snaking through cooled magma like a gap in reality. When the color shifted sud­denly I gave it closer scrutiny. Beneath a barrier of protec­tive magik the floor was an active lava flow. I became uncomfortably aware that if the juice went out of the spell, everyone here was cooked, including me.

  "Nice clothes!" Massha observed.

  "Not bad," I admitted. I've got a natural flair for fash­ion, if I have to say so myself. The goods in The Volcano had cool, comfortable style. Most garments were cut on a relaxed bias from cloth of muted but interesting colors like brick red, mustard yellow, moss green, toast brown, and blue, blue, blue. Blue was definitely the default hue for The Volcano's merchandise. Racks and shelves were full of trousers shaded from glacier to midnight. I took one good gander around, then ignored them. Blue does nothing for my complexion.

  I turned my attention to the facility itself. The walls, rough-hewn above as if really cut from the sides of a vol­cano, were skirted with long brown-and-green curtains from about eight feet down to the floor. Customers plunged in and out of them followed by Djinns with armloads of clothing. The line of curtains stretched back farther than the eye could see.

  "Reminds me of our HQ," I pointed out. "Looks like M.Y.T.H., Inc. isn't the only firm to make use of extra-dimensional space."

  On the map a wavy line showed at the rear of the store square that the key indicated meant "continued on next page."

  I wondered how come I'd never found my way to The Mall before. It must have been known on Perv; plenty of my fellow Pervects were there trying on racks of clothes before the lines of magik mirrors. A male with frilled ears that I thought maybe I knew held up a green chambray shirt, and the enchantment made it look as though he had

  actually, donned it. He turned around, judging the fit and color. I thought it was a winner. My opinion was shared by the two slender blue Djinnies who were assisting him. He grinned widely, making the nearer clerk jump back a pace, and reached for the next shirt on the rack.

  My attention was caught by a very attractive Pervect lady standing in the curve of a three-way mirror. She had a huge pile of merchandise draped over her arm. She glanced up and met my eye, and gave me a dimpling smile that made her four-inch teeth gleam in the store's orange lava light.
I felt my heart beat faster. She gave me a con­spiratorial wink as she shuffled through a pile of plastic cards in her hand. Suddenly, the fetching vision was gone. In her place stood a puny male Imp in a loud black-and-red shirt and lilac slacks. I shrugged and turned away. Not my business if she wanted to shapechange.

  Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a flash of white. The little female in the white fur coat who had spoken to us outside The Mall was edging toward the door, her eyes darting nervously about.

  Two Djinns flashed into being two steps from where I was standing. I jumped back.

  "I tell you, she was here a moment ago," the younger one declared. "As bold as brass monkeys!"

  "Find her," the older one growled. "I want her highly ornamented hide! Keep looking!"

  I glanced again, but the white-clad female had made good her escape.

  Another Djinn, probably yet another relative of Gustavo's, by his family resemblance, was demonstrating the wonders of a pair of blue pants to a goggle-eyed gang of Klahds, all standing around a dais in the middle of the store with their jaws dropping open.

  "These blue djeanns are durable!" the Djinn boomed, tugging on the waistband. "Comfortable! Stylish! And," he added, pointing to the pair of gold fabric patches attached to the fanny of each pair, "these flaps of cloth at the sides and back provide you with modest storage space right

  inside the garment! Yes! These pants have their own magikal security system that only you control! Think of it! No more cutpurses making off with your belt pouch, because it's right here in one of these pockets!"

  The Klahds gasped; a few more were moved to applause. One of the women burst into tears of joy.

  "What's the fuss?" Chumley said. "Why are they so excited. In-garment storage system? What is so tremen­dously wonderful about that?"

  "Ah." I waved a hand. "Klahds never discovered pock­ets. Skeeve never saw one until he started hanging out with me?"

  "I say," Chumley exclaimed, intrigued. "I did not real­ize they were so ... limited."

  "Well, Skeeve's not." Massha leaped in to defend her former tutor.

  "Unschooled ain't stupid," I chimed in.

  A sudden puff of smoke left us coughing. A large, prosperous-looking Djinn with a chest-covering beard appeared before us.

  "Welcome to The Volcano!" he said. "I am Rimbaldi! How may I serve you?"

  "Gustavo sent us," I replied.

  "My beloved cousin!" Rimbaldi exclaimed. "Then you are doubly welcome! I know why you have come! This lovely lady needs my assistance!"

  Suddenly we were at the nexus of a retail whirlwind that would have made the Deveel merchants of the Bazaar sit up and take notice. Two gum-snapping Djinnies flashed into being beside Massha and began to hold up garment after garment to her ample chest. The magik mirror showed how she'd look at every angle. Massha preened under the relentless stream of praise Rimbaldi kept flowing in her direction.

  "Ooh," Massha crooned, turning to get the full effect of a pair of rose-colored djeanns that matched her harem jacket. The legs hugged her roundness to the ankles, where

  they flared out to cover Massha's feet, almost the opposite cut to the floaty bits of silk they replaced.

  "Would madame like to try these on?" one of the Djinnies asked. She held her hands up under her chin and blinked.

  "Ooop!" Massha squeaked, as her ample lower half became encased in red denim. "A little snug, aren't they?"

  "But that's all the style, madame," the Djinnies hastened to assure her. "And the fit is so becoming!"

  "Me like," Chumley grunted. "Look good."

  "They're fine," I emphasized, as Massha appeared to dither. "Take them, and let's get out of here." I turned to the proprietor. "How much?"

  "Free of charge, of course!" Rimbaldi assured us expansively. "A debt owed by my cousin is a debt owed by all us Djinnellis! Is honor satisfied?"

  Massha beamed. "It sure is, tall, blue, and handsome!"

  Rimbaldi's huge beard parted in a grin. "You are most welcome!"

  "Just one more thing," I said, holding up the parchment with Skeeve's portrait on it. "You ever see this guy around here?"

  Rimbaldi's good humor evaporated like water on a grid­dle. "This deadbeat?" he roared. "Look here!"

  He held out a hand, into which suddenly appeared a sheaf of papers.

  "All these receipts, paid for by his so-impressive credit card! And every one remains unpaid! No, I have not seen him these many weeks, and lucky for him!"

  I stalked out into the noisy corridor, pursued at a trot by my two companions.

  "Aahz, I am certain that all this is a mistake," Chumley murmured, catching up with me.

  Massha achieved my other side and tucked her hand into my arm. I shook both of them off.

  "No one calls my partner a thief and gets away with it!"

  The halls echoed with the sound of my voice. Silence

  fell briefly, then the inevitable music, salesmen's chants, and footsteps filled up the void.

  "Take it easy, Green Giant." Massha calmed me. "I'm sure it's a mistake. I agree with you. It's not in character. But it sure looks like everyone thinks it is him."

  "Yeah," I replied glumly. "It does."

  The lutenist of the nearest muzak group hit a sour note and a string broke with a discordant twang.

  "I need a drink."

  THREE

  Plenty of little cafes and establishments that I would have called open-air taverns if they'd been out in the air instead of under the roof lay on either side of the main pedestrian walkways. I signed to the others to accompany me to one adjacent to the bards. I could ignore the music; it was ter­rible. I wanted to reach out and grab the instrument out of the lutenist's hands and show him he was holding it upside down, but considering his skill level it probably would have sounded the same either way up. I'd have done a pub­lic service by bashing him over the head with it. The lizard creature playing the caradoogle was pretty good. He huffed away, the red pouch under his chin inflating, then slowly deflating to fill the multiple air sacs on his instrument that released the requisite polyphonic whining.

  A pickpocket sidled close, attracted by the pockets on the back of Massha's new trousers. He pretended to be studying the menu on a standard near the table where we were sitting. Chumley showed all his teeth in a growl, and the would-be thief sidled off at a much higher rate of speed. I signaled to the miniskirted blue Flibberite female

  holding a tray on one palm high above her head. She nod­ded a head full of blond braids and came over to us, bran­dishing an order pad.

  "Whattaya want, darlinks?" she said, beaming at us, her cheeks a healthy sapphire.

  "What've you got on tap?" I asked.

  "Freakstone's Old Oddball, Bidness Asuzhul, Perving Cheer, Double Dragonette—"

  "A gallon of Perving Cheer, and keep it coming," I said, giving her a friendly pinch on the bottom. The other two gave their orders. In a moment, a tankard larger than my head was smacked down in front of me. Kind of small, I thought, tossing it back, but the Flibberite was already pulling another one. Good service.

  I set down the first tankard and chugged the second one. The key to drinking Pervish beer was to get it down your gullet before the fumes hit you. Then, after the fifth or sixth one, you were immune to the effects and could slow down to sipping, if you felt like it. The cheerful server also plunked down bowls of finger foods. The cafe must be used to my species: my snacks immediately tried to climb out of the container. I slammed my hand down on them to stun them, then grabbed a few to chew on. Massha, trying not to look at my snacks, took a healthy slug of her Double Dragonette, a green brew that released a haze of steam into the chilly air.

  "Are you all right, big spender?" Massha inquired, as I downed my third beer.

  "I don't like this," I said. "The guy we're after has all the advantages. He's obviously been masquerading as Skeeve for a pretty long time. He skunked a lot of mer­chants, and he hasn't gotten caught—pretty clever, because it means the
blame falls squarely on Skeeve. We've got to come up with a plan of action! Look at this place!"

  I swept out my arms, just in time to grab another cut-purse by the collar, a skinny, pink-skinned Imp. I held him up over my head until I could determine that he hadn't got­ten ahold of my wallet. A dozen billfolds and pokes rained down from his pockets onto my head.

  "Sorry, sir. Sorry," the Imp protested, crushing his hands together in supplication. "It was just a mistake. A mistake, I swear... aaaaaggghh!"

  "Apology accepted," I replied, heaving him overhand into the nearby fountain, which stood about thirty feet away.

  The authorities were on the guy almost before he land­ed. A couple of the blue-skinned Flibberites in comic-opera uniforms, complete with white marching-band-style hats, Florentine quilted-front tunics, and puffy trousers, looked my way. I glared back, daring them to call me out over the incident, but they gave me point-nailed thumbs-ups. I even got a few grins from my fellow shoppers. Brushing money bags off my shoulders, I turned back to my companions.

  "The moral of that story is that people-watching always pays off."

  "I see," Chumley acknowledged.

  "That just leaves us with one problem," I said, downing my fourth, or maybe fifth, beer. "How are we going to find the person who's masquerading as Skeeve?"

  "By following him," Chumley exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "There he goes now!"

  I turned in the direction he was pointing. I saw a yellow-haired Klahd in a dark purple tunic come out of a jewelry store with a parcel in his hands and head up the corridor away from us.

  "You! Klahd! C'mere!" Chumley shouted, in his Big Crunch voice, trying to sound friendly.

  The person turned toward us, then away without a flick­er of recognition. I felt my jaw hit the ground. The blue eyes, the narrow nose, the strong jaw, the mobile mouth with the ready grin and puny rectangular teeth—it was Skeeve to the life—but it wasn't. This Klahd looked aston­ishingly like my ex-partner, but I knew deep down inside it wasn't the real thing. An impostor!

  I felt my ire rising like lava in a volcano. Someone, some magician, some shapeshifter was running around this