MYTH-Taken Identity

by Robert Asprin

  "Well—" Massha allowed herself to be persuaded. "I do deserve a chance to try on something nice. I've just spent the entire morning shopping for ... utilitarian items."

  The young Flibberite female looked blank.

  "Guy stuff," Massha clarified.

  "Oh! Well, come and sit down. This is my favorite store in The Mall. Even when the sale music isn't playing it's almost hypnotic to come in here, isn't it? So, what would you like to try on first?"

  The displays of rings, necklaces, earrings, and other adornments were arranged by color. Massha glanced from red stones to clear to green to purple to black, and inevitably back to blue. "How about those?"

  The girl opened the back of the case and came over with a trayful of rings. She pointed to them one at a time. "Invisibility, growth-shrink, talking to plants, poison detector, gold assayer, and that one will make you look five years younger."

  "Only five?"

  The girl looked a little embarrassed. "It's not very expensive, madame. You get what you pay for." She cocked her head. "You don't need a youth ring, really. Why would you even want to consider it?"

  Massha grinned. "Well, my husband and I weren't kids when we met. I kind of wish he could have seen me in my prime." She poked fingers into the rolls of flesh at her sides. "A little less of this, and a few less wrinkles!"

  The girl shook a finger at her. "I'm sure he doesn't see any of that when he looks at you."

  Massha laughed. "You're sweet. All right, how about that one?" She looked approvingly at the plant-speech ring

  with its forest green gems arranged like petals around a carved purple center stone. The girl touched the golden shank. It grew to accommodate Massha's finger.

  "Let me just get a begonia so you can try it out."

  Massha looked around with approval at the rest of the shop. The cases against the wall gleamed with light gener­ated by the jewelry itself. From the center of the ceiling swags of silk and velvet swirled down to the floor, which was lined with a plush silk carpet that matched the comfy padded chair she sat upon. An elderly Djinni gentleman across the room peered over half glasses perched on the end of his nose as he helped a large Impish matron try on enormous bejeweled necklaces.

  A potted plant plunked down on the glass case.

  "Why not try out basic conversation with this one?" the girl asked.

  "Er, how are you?" Massha inquired of the tall stalks adorned with tiny, fragrant blossoms.

  "Qui? Quelle disastre sous ensemble!"

  "I'm sorry," the girl apologized. "That's French laven­der, but it's the only plant I could find in a hurry."

  "Never mind." Massha hastily pulled off the ring and replaced it in the rack. She didn't need a ring that let her hear vegetables making rude comments about her choice of clothing. The invisibility ring might be useful. She wait­ed for the girl to size it, then invoked the spell. A glimpse in the mirror revealed an outline and a pair of disembodied eyes floating in its midst. "I don't think this one is working very well."

  "Oops!" the clerk exclaimed, diving forward to make an adjustment. Massha turned her head this way and that, admiring the complete absence of herself she could see. "Nice workmanship."

  "Only the finest alchemists and artifact manufacturers are represented here," the girl assured her. "Have you shopped here before?"

  "Well, not in this store," Massha explained, taking off the ring. A few odier customers browsed into the shop.

  Massha kept an eye on them in the mirror. Which of them might be a shapechanging thief? The girl presented her with a tray of bracelets, chattering all the time as she helped her try on one glittering piece after another. Massha replied absently, enjoying the feel of quality magik items.

  "That's beautiful," the girl noted. Massha admired the woven net of gold on her wrist. "And absolute proof against cold. I'm sorry it's so warm in here."

  "I don't really need anything like that," Massha explained. "Girls my size are usually pretty warm."

  "Well, then, this one"—the clerk proffered another wristlet—"is proof against heat. You'll notice that the weave is reversed."

  "Really?" Massha asked, avidly. She turned it to admire from every angle. "I really do like that. It could come in handy in this place. How can all of you stand the heat?" Then she looked at the price tag. "No. Too much."

  "Oh, well! It's fun to look, isn't it?" Lawsy burbled cheerfully. As soon as Massha's gaze shifted, she dropped the bracelet into the cuff of her boot. She had to be careful which way she moved, to avoid being spotted by the own­er. All the walls had mirrors, but at present she was still hidden from his view by Massha's bulk. "How about this beautiful piece? Or this? Or how about this?" She shuffled out an array of bracelets and bangles. The Jahk tried them all on.

  She kept returning to one arm ring studded with square, deep blue stones. According to the tag, the bangle was a powerful artifact, useful for increasing the potential of another item placed in contact with it. Lawsy grinned to herself and removed the tag. That could be a lot of fun if the Jahk bought it. Rattila would approve of her initiative.

  "This is a very pretty piece," she stressed. "Do you have a lot of blue clothing?"

  "Not really," Massha admitted. "I tend to go for warm colors. They go with my personality." She let out a big, hearty laugh. Lawsy concentrated on memorizing every single nuance. "But I like this."

  "Do you prefer jewelry for its looks, or its ability?"

  "Oh, ability," Massha confided. "No one ought to know better than me how unimportant looks are to what's inside. Don't get me wrong; I love pretty things, but a plain old hunk of silver won't fetch my coffee for me."

  "You are so right," the disguised mall-rat agreed, with a friendly smile. "So, would you like this wrapped, or will you wear it?

  "I'll wear it," Massha decided. "How much?"

  "Only thirty-five!" Lawsy exclaimed. "Very reasonable for such a beautiful piece, don't you think?"

  Massha nodded. "Not bad. Yes, I think I will take it."

  She pulled open her purse and began to count out coins.

  "What's going on here?"

  Lawsy looked up in alarm. Hovering above them, his face deep blue with fury, was the store owner. She hadn't been paying attention. The other customer was on her way out of the shop. She gave the fizzing Djinn a helpless grin.

  He wasn't mollified.

  "What are you doing back there?" he demanded.

  Lawsy rose at once and moved out from behind the counter.

  "I was just helping this fine lady try things on," she chirped. "I could see you were too busy. We were having a nice chat! It's my job, to make the customer feel at home."

  Massha, alarmed, gawked at the mall-rat.

  "She doesn't work for you?"

  "No, charming lady," the Djinn replied, in a milder tone. "She's a survey taker here in the mall. See the badge? Thank you for your help," he added, though he didn't sound grateful, "but next time, don't do that."

  "Of course," Lawsy exclaimed. She reached over and patted Massha on the hand. "I'll just be going, now that we have what we want."

  "Thanks." Massha smiled at her. She waited as the jew­eler snapped his fingers and summoned up a receipt.

  "Shall I wrap it, charming lady?" the Djinn asked, then

  did a double take. "I know you! My cousin Rimbaldi in The Volcano tells me what a joy you are to dress!"

  The Jahk's cheeks pinked up. "No bag, thanks. I'll wear it." She tucked it onto her arm with the rest of her swag. Lawsy backed hastily out of the store and ran as fast as she could for the Rat Hole.

  "Beautiful, beautiful," Rattila slavered, fondling the bracelet again and again. "And she spoke to you. I heard it all. How nice that she was willing to open herself up so readily to your inquiries. Good job."

  Lawsy quivered with happiness. She didn't get much praise from the Big Cheese.

  Rattila tasted the bracelet, his teeth rasping against the soft metal. "Married, likes blue jewelry, sensitive about her bo
dy, knows about magik devices—I can make use of her expertise." He thrust his claw into the heap of garbage and came up with the Master Card. He touched the bracelet to it, and both of them glowed brightly. The gleam was echoed in Rattila's red eyes.

  "Yes, yes!" he gloated. "I feel her power joining mine!" He closed his eyes and envisioned the credit balance in the Master Card. It was not quite full yet, but it soon would be. As the mall-rats chanted, he produced thin cards, flimsier and less potent than the usual collectors. "These are tem­poraries," he explained carefully to his followers. "Do not stop trying to get her to fill out an application so we can devour her completely. Now, spend, spend, spend! Do not cross the visitors' paths. I want all of it to come as a sur­prise to Master Aahz when Mistress Massha falls into my power."

  ELEVEN

  "Don't you love it?" Massha asked, showing off her wrist to me and Chumley.

  "Nice," I offered shortly. I wasn't much for fancy baubles. I always think natural beauty shines through bet­ter. But, then, Massha wasn't a Pervect and didn't have that advantage.

  "Very pretty," Eskina approved.

  "What's it do, what?" Chumley asked.

  "I..." Massha paused. "Do you know, I forgot to ask! It made my hand look so nice that was all I could think about."

  A black cloak swirled around our feet and slipped into our midst. I resented the intrusion, and cocked an elbow into the ribs of the tall figure.

  "Ow!" Eskina shrieked. "He hit me!"

  "Sorry, kid, it was me," I apologized.

  I realized my mistake then: the newcomer was a Spectre, the semi-insubstantial denizens of Spect, a myste­riously beautiful dimension I'd dropped in on once. Frustrating place in a way, because although the women

  could touch me, I couldn't return the favor, and they had been tall, sensual, and exotic.

  So was this big lug, or so he thought. He picked up Massha's hand and began to nibble his way up from the tips of her fingers.

  "Hey, watch the jewelry," she warned him. "I just polished—ooh—mmm."

  A big, silly, trancelike grin broke out on her face. Then, she snapped out of it.

  "Hey, buddy, we haven't even been introduced."

  "I am the architect of your wildest dreams, baby," the Spectre whispered. "I like a woman with... substance." He eyed her up and down, the jet-black eyes in his hollow eye sockets evidently liking what they saw.

  "So, what do you say, baby?" he asked, snuggling so close to Massha's back that his black robes brushed her rose-colored jeans. "We can get a room, and put a big do not disturb sign on the door."

  Massha spun abruptly, making him stumble. "Goodness me!" she giggled. "You wouldn't say things like that if my husband were here."

  The Spectre grinned sepulchrally, his hooded eyes blaz­ing with white light. "Oh? And what would your husband do if he were here?"

  Massha winked coyly. "He'd stand right there and watch me mop up the floor with you. Now if you can't take a lady's hints, I'll say it straight out: bug off."

  "I like feisty women!" The Spectre, laughing hollowly, tried to put his arms around her one more time.

  Chumley started to move in from one side, Parvattani from the other. I put a hand on each of their chests to hold them back.

  "Hang on. Let her enjoy herself a little, first."

  The lesson in manners was brief but memorable. The big guy counted on being insubstantial to stave off physi­cal jolts, but Massha pulled one of her gizmos out and dan­gled it in his face. I'd seen the glowing green charm before. Massha had told me it was specific for dealing with phan-

  toms: glass covered in gold. The Spectre was not impressed. He stood with his big chin out. Massha hauled back and dealt him one hell of a roundhouse punch deliv­ered all the way from the middle of her back. You could tell by the glazed expression on his face just before he folded up and sank that he thought her fist should have gone right through his jaw.

  Massha stood over the body, shaking her hand up and down to restore the circulation.

  "I really gotta remember what my mother always said about not hitting bone with bone."

  "Very pretty, Massha." Chumley applauded her. "My little sister couldn't have cooled off a man faster."

  "Thanks, Tall and Shaggy." Massha smiled, stepping over her would-be suitor. "I have a lot of respect for Tananda's talent, so coming from you—"

  She paused, a blank look on her face. I wondered if the Spectre had grabbed her leg. I glanced down, but he was out for the count.

  "You okay?" I asked.

  "I'm fine," Massha assured all of us. "I just felt far away for a moment."

  "Oive," Mayno breathed, as he prepared to rappel down the face of Unmentionables, the gigantic underwear store in Corridor G.

  "What?" Oive asked, from the rafters above him.

  In the guise of a black-furred Troll, she stood with her heels braced against a joist, ready to pull Mayno up in case of trouble.

  "I wasn't call-aing you," he replied. "I was just... looking down."

  "Don't," Oive reminded him. "If you do, you'll lose your grip and go splat on the floor. I mean, your guts could be spread out all over the entire corridor!"

  Mayno gulped.

  "I can't do zis!" he shrilled. "Zees is not fit activity for mall-rats. What is Rattila doing to us?"

  "He thinks it gives him more of a buzz than stolen mer­chandise. Isn't that the weirdest thing you ever heard?" Oive's large eyes widened. "Maybe one of the personali­ties we brought him is making him crazy."

  Mayno hastily lifted a finger to his lips. "Don't say that! He'll hear you!" He tugged on the ropes. "Can't we do this anoth-air way?"

  "Find a happy place, dude," Oive advised. "Come on, pretend you're just lowering yourself into a giant cookie jar. You've got infinite pockets. Put all the cookies in the pockets..."

  Mayno closed his eyes, and a blissful smile appeared on the Klahdish face he was wearing. "C'est marveilleuse. Okay, I go."

  The Spectre turned out to be the first member of the newly founded Secret Admirers of Massha Fan Club. I'd wanted to split up the group into pairs, with Massha accompanying Par on his rounds, Chumley with Eskina, and me getting reacquainted—I mean patrolling—with Sibone, but I didn't like to leave her back uncovered, so to speak. Males of every species were coming out of the Mall's overly ornate woodwork to whistle, leer at, or bow to Massha.

  Rimbaldi, the proprietor of The Volcano, appeared on his threshold, bowing and kissing his fingertips to her. Massha giggled like a schoolgirl. I raised my eyebrows at her.

  "Well, it isn't every day someone appreciates my fig­ure," she said. "I was so lucky to find Hugh."

  "He's the lucky one," I stated. "Don't shortchange yourself."

  Parvattani began to jump around as if he had a live fish in his shorts. He pulled the globe from his pocket.

  "This way," he announced, pointing toward the hall to our left. His eyes danced with excitement. "It's a code S!"

  "S?" I asked.

  "Skeeve. We gotta another sighting of your friend. I mean the perpetrator that's not your friend. He's hanging from a rope on an underwear shop."

  "Good," I announced, smacking my hands together. "This time the guy's gonna get it in the shorts!"

  "He fly zroo ze ayair wiz ze gray-dest of eeeze—!"

  "Why is he singing like that?" Massha asked, as we homed in on Unmentionables.

  "Because it isn't Skeeve," I gritted, "and I'm going to kill him."

  The gangly figure of the pseudo-Klahd swung from a rope around his middle, lying flat out as if he were flying. A large crowd had gathered to point and giggle at the Klahd dangling from the store's facade. A couple of tourists with cameras were taking pictures.

  "This ought to be easy," I asserted. "His eyes are closed."

  Parvattani brought his globe of authority up to his mouth and started to bark out an order. "All guards—!"

  "Don't do it!" Eskina warned him. "If he hears you, he will vanish again."

  Par
frowned, but lowered his voice to a whisper. "All guards within G sector, converge on Unmentionables. Repeat, Unmentionables. Assist in clearing the area. Apprehend suspect Skeeve."

  I wasn't going to wait for the cavalry. I was about to solve my own problem.

  "Massha, you have anything to cut with?"

  "Sure, big spender," she replied, floating over my head. "One cut line, coming up! Or, down."

  I signaled to Chumley and Eskina to fan out to the other side of the pink-painted doorway. The name Unmention­ables was spelled out in fireflies that were supposed to blink in patterns, but they seemed stressed out because

  of the presence of an intruder swinging in front of them. um, they spelled out, some letters lit and others dark, men­tal, and two words that flashed in sequence, uns and

  TABLE.

  "Who is the idiot?" a scantily clad Deveel woman demanded, gazing up at the impostor with her hands on her hips. She caught sight of Par. "Captain! I demand you get that moron down from my storefront at once!"

  "We're attempting-a to do that, madame," Par averred, saluting smartly.

  Massha flew toward the swaying body like a zeppelin homing in on a target. She pushed her sleeves up purpose­fully and brandished a hooked amulet like a miniature scythe. I ran to position myself underneath the impostor. Massha let the spell loose. A bolt of purple fire shot out from the charm.

  The fake flew upward. I looked up and saw a shadowy form on the rafters hauling on the rope like a stevedore. So they were working in teams! I flung myself at the wall and started to climb up the blinking letters.

  "#@%#@*!" they read.

  The fake opened his eyes and shrieked. The purple fire snaked around the rope a foot above the knot holding him up and burned right through it. He reached the beam and scrambled onto it just in time. He and his big, dark, hairy accomplice ran away along the beams under the roof. I reached the top of the storefront. It was ten or twelve feet from there to the beams. I couldn't let the phony get away again!