MYTH-Taken Identity

by Robert Asprin

  "If we don't get the alarm to chase a Skeeve-clone, I'm going to take a nap," I informed the others.

  Massha cupped a huge yawn behind her broad hand. "Good idea, Short and Scaly," she responded.

  "There you are!"Rimbaldi Djinnelli came flying toward

  us through the crowd. He seized Massha's hands. "I love you even more today than before, you beautiful lady! Come to my shop!" He herded us all along with him. "You must all see the outfit that my wife has designed for this so generously made lady, whose body matches her heart. It will fill you all with delight!"

  I caught sight of a familiar quartet of purple eyes on the other side of the hall near an art gallery.

  "Hey, is that Chloridia?" I asked, pulling the gang to a halt. "Let me catch up with her."

  "Of course!" Rimbaldi boomed. "You shall bring her along, too."

  But by the time I turned around again, she'd disap­peared into the crowd. I was relieved to see her back in The Mall again. We would cross paths again sooner or later.

  TWENTY-ONE

  As we entered The Volcano, Jack Frost, elemental building engineer, glanced up from a conversation with one of the Djinnelli cousins to tip us a friendly wave. The store was steaming hot, as was the discussion.

  "I fixed this spell yesterday," Jack insisted, his cheeks and nose more than usually pink.

  He threw up his hands, and the familiar white cones of cold came radiating out of his fingertips.

  "But you feel how it is now?" demanded the Djinn, his face blue with outrage. "It is too hot again! Your spell failed."

  "I don't get it," Jack admitted. "It really should not be this hot in here. It's not natural. Hey, Aahz!" He nudged me as we passed. "Sorry about the shop. It was a really nice place."

  "Well," I tossed off noncommittally, "easy come, easy go. It is pretty warm in here. Anything wrong?"

  "This whole place, she is over a live volcano," the Djinn exclaimed, giving us a distracted nod of greeting. "Of

  course sometimes it gets too hot! You are failing at your task, and do you know what I say to that?"

  Jack blew a cloud of white condensation. 'The elemen­tal under that volcano's a friend of mine. He keeps it down to normal most of the time. Moa and I have already worked out when he can have the next eruption, and it's not for eight years! So, don't tell me I'm not keeping on top of this!"

  "Then, tell me why it is always my customers fainting from the atmosphere?" the Djinn demanded.

  Jack shrugged in exasperation. "I dunno. Maybe it's your prices. Look, let's keep a cool head over this. Your floor is solid, right?" He stamped on the glowing orange floor. "There isn't a good reason more heat's venting up through here."

  A bleebling sound interrupted their argument. He pulled a snow globe out of his pocket, and his sandy brows went up.

  "Oops! Gotta skate! Fire in the corn-dog shop. See you all later! Take it easy, Aahz!"

  "Later, Jack," I called, as the elemental froze the floor before his feet and whisked gracefully out into the corridor.

  "This way, this way!" Rimbaldi urged, his arm still firmly around Massha. "My wife has been racking her brains for the very best design that would suit you, and she has done it! Every stitch, painstakingly made by fairy hands, every silk thread spun by the very most expert spi­ders! Our gift to you!"

  "A gift?" Massha asked. "You really shouldn't have."

  "But I must, dear lady. In, in!"

  At Rimbaldi's urging, Massha went into one of the larg­er dressing rooms with two of the Djinnies.

  "Watch it, honey," her voice came through the thin walls. "No, that's me! I can't—oh, oh, boy! Yes, that does do something for old Massha!"

  The curtain swished open. Head held high, the Court Magician of Possiltum swished into the room, followed by yards and yards of marine blue silk. The bodice was cut

  low over her bosom, full sleeves encased her arms, open­ing to a smooth flare at the wrists, and the skirts, flat in the front and full in the back, swirled all around her legs.

  "Oh, I say!" Chumley exclaimed, overcome.

  "Gorgeous," Eskina declared.

  Massha beamed. "Thanks. I feel great. What do you think, Aahz?"

  "Very nice," I said, honestly.

  The color of the silk went well with her mop of orange hair, and the fabric flowed over her more-than-generous curves like water over smooth rocks. Massha stared into the glass almost in a dream, turning this way and that.

  Rimbaldi was beside himself with delight. The Djinni tailor floated around her several feet off the floor, declaim­ing, "It's you! It's you!"

  Bemused, Massha turned to me. "But who am I?"

  "What do you mean, who are you?" I asked, puzzled by the expression on her face.

  Her pupils had disappeared into her irises. "Who am I?"

  "Uh-oh," Eskina groaned. "Massha, look at me."

  The tiny female climbed onto a chair so she was face-to-face with the puzzled magician. She took Massha's face between her hands. Massha tried to bat her away, but she kept staring blankly at her own reflection.

  "She's been issued," Eskina explained. "Somewhere in this Mall they're using up her essence. Probably pretty fast. Rattila must have his shapechangers shopping everywhere, and likely for very expensive items."

  "Rot!" Chumley declared. "How could they have gotten to her? We have been near her every minute."

  "I do not know," the Ratislavan spat. "But they have."

  "How come we haven't heard from any of the people she's been ripping off, then?" I demanded. "She's a store owner now. They'd probably have shown up by now want­ing to cosponsor advertising throughout The Mall."

  "That is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about," Rimbaldi replied, popping back with his arms full of brightly colored clothes. "Madama, she shops here every

  day. I thought perhaps I could say that Massha's other secret is that she loves The Volcano! Alas for the beautiful store." He kissed his hand to her. "And such a good cus­tomer. She always pays cash, every moment. That is why we are making this gift to her."

  We all looked at each other. I shook my head.

  'The sneaky bastard. He's been keeping the Massha impostors off the radar by having them buy things legiti­mately."

  At that moment I hated Rattila more than I'd ever hated a living being, but I had to give him credit, so to speak.

  "Rattila would love to get his hands on someone like her," Eskina agreed. "He wants her power. With it he might actually make it to full magician status. We've got to stop him very, very soon."

  "How?" Chumley asked, wrinkling his brow.

  I smacked one fist into the other palm. "We're going to have to put out an APB on her. Rimbaldi, you've got a communications spell to the guards?"

  "Yes, of course I do," Rimbaldi averred, glad to have something to do at last. "I can also alert the shopkeepers to prevent her—however many of her there are—from mak­ing any more purchases."

  "Better than that," I began, with a raised hand, as a thought struck me, "if anyone's masquerading as her, tell the shopkeepers to hold them, keep them busy, or just sit on them until we get there."

  Rimbaldi pulled out his little globe to inform his many relatives of the new development.

  Before Rimbaldi had finished speaking, Parvattani and a quintet of guards appeared in the store and surrounded us.

  "This is-a terrible!" he announced. "I have just heard the news. All eyes are watching out for Madama Massha."

  I gave him the rundown that Rimbaldi had just given me, of Rattila's latest dodge.

  "It's clever," I admitted. "We've been concentrating on fraudulent purchases to gather energy. He kept it on the up and up, and no one paid attention."

  "He is a true adversary," Parvattani stated, shaking his head. "Madama Eskina, if I have denigrated your efforts in the past, I apologize with all my heart."

  In spite of her worry, Eskina was touched by the hand­some apology.

  "I understand your skepticism. The importan
t thing now is to save Massha as well as the friend Skeeve."

  "I obey," Parvattani acknowledged.

  He brought out his own crystal globe. Tiny images of uniformed guards deep inside it turned to look out at him.

  "Now hear this, now hear this," he intoned into it. "Be on the lookout for this Jahk, name of Massha." He held the orb up to her face, and her image appeared inside it. "If found, apprehend. The suspect will be using magik. Approach with caution. I repeat, approach with caution."

  He nodded to me, then shook the globe. Particles flew within, then re-formed as the faces of Djinns, Deveels, mermaids, and countless other species.

  "This is Captain Parvattani. Fraud alert. Do not allow this female Jahk to make a purchase in your establ—" His voice was cut off suddenly. He clutched his throat.

  I spun. Massha, her eyes fixed on nothing, was squeez­ing an invisible object between her hands. I marched up to her.

  "Stop that!" I bellowed. Startled, her hands flew open. Her eyes changed.

  "What's the problem, Green Stuff?" she asked, pursing her big lips in a grin.

  "Nothing, Massha," I assured her. I looked back over my shoulder at Par. "Go on. Hurry up."

  "Right, sir—Repeat, do not allow this female to make a purchase in your establishment. Notify a guard as soon as you can, preferably before she exits the store. That is all." He shook the globe once more and put it back in his pocket.

  "That was me in there," Massha whispered, aghast, pointing at the little sphere in Par's hands. "Why?"

  "They've got your facts," I stated bluntly. "You fell into a trance for a minute."

  She fumbled for her magik detector. The red jewel was glowing.

  "How'd they get through my defenses?"

  "You must have let them," Eskina explained. "Think! Did you talk to anyone? Give anyone personal details?"

  "Beyond shooting the usual bull at the inns, no," Massha mused. "No, wait! I answered a couple of ques­tions the clerk asked me when I bought that bracelet, the one I gave away."

  She held up one thick wrist. I remembered the blue stone-encrusted bangle.

  "You took a consumer survey?" Eskina demanded, horrified.

  "I was just chatting with the clerk—who was a shapechanger. Right." Massha's broad face turned scarlet. "That's it," she stated. "When I get home I'm quitting my job. I am not fit to be a court magician, or any other kind of magician. I knew we were under attack from every direction, and what do I do? I walk right into the enemy's hands. Me and my big mouth."

  "Stop that!" I ordered. "You can hold a pity party when you get home, but in the meantime, if you haven't noticed, we have a job to do. Skeeve's still in danger!"

  Massha was so embarrassed that she wanted to turn down the gown Rimbaldi had had made for her. I insisted that he wrap it up and hold on to it for her, along with all our other gifts.

  "We don't need the excess baggage right now," I reminded them both. "We need an intervention. Can you direct us to the nearest witch doctor?"

  "It's a case of possession," the female Flibberite explained, taking the tubes of her diagnostic device out of her double-pointed ears, "but the manifestation is unlike anything I've ever seen before. It's more like repossession, where some­one's taken you over like a thing."

  Massha was frantic. "What can you do?" she pleaded.

  The doctor frowned. "I'll do my best to corrupt this spell. You know, as a fellow professional, I can't undo it without knowing the spell that made it possible, but we'll fit you out with a firewall spell that will keep any more attacks on your psyche from getting through." The doctor rum­maged around in her pocket and came up with a little white pad. She scribbled on it and handed the top sheet to Massha. "Take that to the nearest alchemist and have it filled."

  The alchemist, a gnarled male Gnome in a white jacket, attached a little gold box to Massha's necklace. We all crowded around them in the small shop, trying not to brush the myriad of little gadgets crammed onto the shelves lin­ing the walls.

  "This is a very powerful spell. It needs to be renewed about once a month, but I hope you won't need it for longer than that. Keep it on you at all times."

  "Thanks." Massha sighed heavily, clasping the charm. "I feel better already."

  "How's it work?" I inquired.

  "Reflexively," the Gnome replied. "If anyone tries to read her mind or put any other predatory spell on her, the firewall rebounds on them."

  "Like this?" Cire asked. He whipped up his hands and pointed them at Massha.

  Luckily, Cire's back was to the door. A ring of fire sprang up around Massha, gathered itself into a huge mass, and kicked outward, sending the Walroid sprawling into a cluster of shoppers. He staggered to his feet, shaking his

  head to clear it. The shoppers picked themselves up, gave Cire a resentful look, and went back to their browsing.

  "Whoa!" Massha exclaimed, as the fire subsided back into the little box. "That's some gizmo!"

  "You want to take a break?" I inquired solicitously, after we paid the alchemist and left.

  "No. Now I want revenge," she insisted, sailing above our heads with renewed confidence. "It's not just for Skeeve, but a little bit for me, too. How do we get this Rattila?"

  I thought for a minute. "We need an attraction," I decid­ed. "One that will pull in as many of the thieves as possi­ble. Something they can't resist. An event that Moa can publicize the hell out of. A promotion of some kind?"

  "Oh, but there are sales promotions every day," Parvattani pointed out, marching along beside us.

  He wore his uniform, since the subterfuge was now pointless. Everyone, including our opponents, knew who we were.

  "Our customers see everything, and they want to be a part of everything. You'll get thousands of people partici­pating. We will be no better off than we are now."

  "Cardholders only, of course," I stated. "It'll be irre­sistible. A members-only event featuring a raffle. For a date with a celebrity."

  "And where are we going to find a celebrity?" Massha asked.

  I looked around at our party. "Eskina?"

  She snorted. "You are joking, of course."

  I changed my mind on the spot. No, she didn't have the kind of big personality a celebrity needed. "Yes. I'm jok­ing. I didn't mean you."

  "What about me?" Cire asked, hopefully.

  "Yeah, right," I scoffed. "With your credibility and attention to detail."

  Cire clutched his chest in mock outrage. "That was one time in Imper! Well, maybe a few times. Who else are you going to ask? The purple bath mat here?"

  "Not I," Chumley interjected at once. "If I employ unaccustomed loquacity to make a good impression, I shall spoil my marketability as a hired threat."

  I fixed my eyes on Massha. She levitated away from me in alarm.

  "Oh, no, Big Spender! We just spent a load of money and magikal energy putting up a firewall around me. And aren't they going to recognize me as the owner of Massha's Secret?"

  Parvattani cleared his throat. "Madama, you would be surprised. To the shoppers, you can-a put on a pair of glasses, and you are disguised. Different clothes, a differ­ent hairstyle, and you are another person!"

  She played her final, desperate card. "What would Hugh say?"

  I advanced on her. "He'd be proud of you, stepping into the face of danger to save a friend. We're doing this for Skeeve, remember?"

  She stopped floating backward. "Of course I remember, Green and Scaly. That's why I came. But what good will it do if Rattila gets my soul because I put myself up where he can take another crack at me?"

  "Because he won't get anything real out of you," I assured her. "In fact, if we can get him to overload, maybe we can contaminate some of the talent he's already gath­ered, set him back a ways."

  Massha looked dubious. "And how are we going to do that?"

  I grinned. "Lie."

  TWENTY-TWO

  "No push!" Chumley cautioned an overeager Deveel who tried to climb over the velvet ropes surro
unding Massha's lush throne inside her scarlet silk pavilion.

  Gold-plated standards shaped like medieval trumpeters held banners with her picture on either side of the door­way. It didn't surprise me at all that The Mall had a huge supply of set pieces and furniture to support every kind of promotional activity under the sun. It'd be a good invest­ment, if you had the space to store it, and space galore was one thing The Mall had.

  In the days we'd been there I had seen raffles, drawings, talent contests, concerts, circus acts, square dances, formal dances, sock hops, animal acts, makeovers, caricaturists, fortune-tellers, food tastings, and product demonstrations of every kind, as well as the endless and ongoing hall music. The latter convinced me that whoever held audi­tions Moa—or his agent—had a tin ear, to make sure they were getting the worst possible performers in the entire universe. I knew street musicians in a hundred dimensions who played on homemade instruments who were a thou-

  sand times better. I needed my concentration intact. After an hour or so of persuasion, I had managed to convince the Mall manager to silence the bands within a half-block radius of Massha's encampment. Otherwise, I was going to go crazy, and I needed my wits at their sharpest. Even with the full complement of security guards sprinkled through the crowd, it still looked like a disaster bubbling toward overflow.

  I admit that I had underestimated the number of card­holders, or maybe word had spread to other dimensions over the three days we had had the posters up advertising Massha's appearance.

  meet the red fairy ! the one-sheets screamed, win a

  DATE —AND A WISH!

  In smaller print below the rules of the contest had been set out: only holders of credit cards would be allowed to enter the drawing, one entry per person, winner must be present to collect the prize. We intended to winnow out the duplicates; all of those would be frauds, whom Par couldn't wait to arrest.

  In the meantime, each of the lucky contestants would get a chance to meet the Red Fairy. Massha sat in her tent, sprawled a little uneasily on a pile of cushions in the triple-wide throne intended to be roomy enough for any kind of pseudoroyalty from the Lollipop Queen to the King of the Elephant Gods. What remained of her harem costume had formed the inspiration for her present getup, filmy red robes covered with rhinestones and sequins. On her feet were shining ruby slippers, a crown adorned her freshly coiffed, newly dyed scarlet hair, and on her back, the cause of her uneasy posture, were a pair of huge, filmy wings, tinted garnet red, iridescent as soap bubbles but more durable than fast-food condiment packets. She had gotten over her initial discomfort and was now dispensing beatif­ic smiles and gracious nods to the awed passersby through the fine veil over her face.