Myth-Told Tales

by Robert Asprin

  “Has anyone told Skeeve yet?” I asked, taking the members of M.Y.T.H. Inc. to one side.

  “No,” said Massha.

  “Don’t,” I said flatly.

  “The Boss has a right to know,” Guido said automatically, then looked guilty. “You got it. Mum.”

  “Have you tried to get it back in the box?”

  “Of course,” Massha said. “But the button has disappeared. So has the box.”

  I peered at the house. Fairy-tale honeymoon cottages didn’t come cheap. This couldn’t be construed as an insult from Don Bruce. Besides as far as I knew, based upon updates from Tanda and Bunny, that we were in good books with the Fairy Godfather. He was a careful man. He would have furnished instructions. So where were they?

  “Has anyone else been in here that shouldn’t have been?” I asked.

  “No one,” the bridesmaid with the quill said. Her name was Fulsa. She had round hazel eyes in a round, pink face. “A few people peeked in. Oh! There was a blue dragon in here for a while. I think he belongs to the Court Magician.”

  Gleep? I glanced at Massha.

  “He just came in to sniff around the presents,” she explained. “I think he felt left out, but I didn’t really think he was well enough to be in the ceremony.” She studied my face. “Any reason I should be worried about him?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. But the two of us went out to the stable to make sure.

  I’d never been thrilled that Skeeve had acquired a baby dragon. They live for hundreds of years, so their infancy and youth is correspondingly long. Gleep was still considered to be a very young dragon. He had a playful streak that sometimes wreaked havoc on our habitations. Skeeve believed he was a lot smarter than I did. But other times, I was reconciled to his presence, even grateful. He was still recovering from having stopped an arrow. The foot-wide trail through the straw on the way to his stall showed that something long and heavy had passed through there at least once.

  A scaly blue mass in the corner began to snore as I entered. I went to stand by its head.

  “Come on, Gleep,” I said. “I know you’re only pretending to be asleep. If you’re as intelligent as Skeeve thinks, I’m sure you understand me.”

  The long neck uncoiled, and the head levered up until it was eye to eye with me. “Gleep!” the dragon said brightly. I jumped back, gagging. That reptile’s breath could peel paint off a wall.

  “Did you take a piece of parchment from the throne room?” I asked.

  Gleep cocked his head. “Gleep?”

  Massha came to nestle close to the dragon. “I know you were there,” she crooned, running a finger around Gleep’s jowls. The dragon almost purred, enjoying the chin rub. “Did you take something you shouldn’t?”

  The dragon shook his head. “Gleep!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Gleep!” He nodded energetically.

  Massha turned to me and shrugged. At that moment I spotted the corner of a parchment hidden under a pile of straw. I lunged for it. Gleep got in between me and it. I dodged to one side. He swung his long neck to intercept me.

  “All right, lizard-breath, you asked for it. Partner’s pet or no partner.” I grabbed him around the neck just underneath his chin and held on. He writhed and struggled to get loose. I let go when Massha retrieved the paper. It was torn at one corner, where it had obviously been ripped away from a tack. Gleep tried to grab it back, but I stiff-armed him. He retired to the corner of his stall.

  “It’s the instructions,” she said, scanning the page. “ ‘Choose the location you wish to site your Handy Dandy Forever After Honeymoon Cottage, then push the button.’ Then below is an incantation.” Massha’s worried eyes met mine. “We didn’t chant this! What if something terrible happens because we missed out on the verbal part of the spell? It might fall down!” She hurried out of the stable. Gleep let out a honk of alarm and scooted out after her.

  “Come back here!” I said, setting off in pursuit. I was not going to let that goofy dragon upset the festivities. It was bad enough one of Massha’s wedding presents had misfired.

  Gleep was quicker than both of us. To the alarm of the bridesmaids, Gleep blocked the doorway of the throne room and was whipping back and forth, preventing Massha from entering. Guido and Nunzio ran over, their right hands automatically reaching into their coats.

  “Grab him,” I said.

  “Be careful,” Nunzio warned. “He’s still healing. What’s upset him?”

  “He doesn’t want Massha to read the spell that came with Don Bruce’s present,” I said. I stopped for a moment to think. That was how the situation appeared, now that I considered it. But that was ridiculous. “He can’t read. How could he know something like that?”

  Nunzio came up to lay a gentle hand on Gleep’s neck. “Maybe he smelled a bad scent on the parchment,” he said. “Dragons have a remarkable sense of smell.”

  Massha held out the paper in alarm. “Do you think it’s booby-trapped?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, grabbing it from her. I started to read. My eyebrows rose until I thought they’d fly off the top of my head. “I see. Good boy, Gleep!”

  “Gleep!” the dragon said, relaxing. He stuck his head under my hand and fluttered hopeful eyelids at me. I scratched behind his ears.

  “What is it, Hot Stuff?”

  I snorted. “I don’t know how that dumb dragon knew, but his instincts were good. This isn’t a barn-raising spell, it’s a barn-razing spell. If you’d recited it, it would have blown up the building and everyone inside!”

  Massha’s eyes went wide. “But why would Don Bruce want to do that?”

  I scanned the page again. “I don’t think he did. Look, the spell is printed in a different hand than the instructions.” The swirling handwriting above was Don Bruce’s. The message below, though also in lavender ink, was written by a stranger.

  “How do we find out who did it?”

  “With a little subterfuge,” I said. “And a little dragon.”

  The boom that shook the castle was barely audible above the noise of the crowd and the musicians. I staggered out, supporting Massha. Her dress was torn and patched with black burns, and her hair was askew. Guido threaded his way ahead of us, making sure that Skeeve was nowhere in sight. We all agreed he shouldn’t be bothered. I was pretty certain we could handle this by ourselves. He spotted Don Bruce and his two associates, boozing it up at one of the tables near the harpist. Don Bruce set down his goblet and kissed his fingers at the musician.

  “Beautiful! That boy plays beautifully.” Then he turned, and spotted us. “Aahz! Massha! What has happened to you?”

  “The house,” Massha said, playing her part. She let go of me and threw her meaty arms around the Fairy Godfather. “My husband! Oh, I can’t say.”

  “What happened?” the don demanded.

  Massha sobbed into a handkerchief. “We only just got married!”

  “Are you saying that my present killed your husband?” Don Bruce demanded, drawing himself up four feet into the air.

  “If the Prada pump fits,” I growled, “wear it. The news will be all over the Bazaar in an hour: Don Bruce ices associates at a wedding!”

  But I wasn’t watching Don Bruce. I had my eye on his two associates. Surleone’s heavy brows drew down over his stubby nose, but he looked concerned. Don Don deDondon couldn’t keep the glee off his weaselly face.

  “I’m good with casualties,” he said, starting to rise from the bench. “I’d better go and see if I can help.” Suddenly, a blue, scaly face was nose to nose with his. Gleep hissed. “Help?”

  The dragon bared his teeth and flicked his tail from side to side. It was all the proof I needed that Don deDondon had his hands on the parchment I’d had Gleep sniff, but I thrust it in front of his skinny nose.

  “This your handwriting?” I asked.

  “Gimme dat,” said Don Surleone. He looked over the page. “Yeah, dat’s his.”

  DeDondon threw up his
hands. “No! I have nothing to do with any explosion! Call off your dragon!”

  I did, but Guido and Nunzio were there flanking him, hand crossbows drawn but held low against the don’s sides so they wouldn’t disturb the other wedding guests. “You can clean up again, Massha. We have a confession.”

  “Confession?” Don Bruce demanded, fluttering madly, as Massha’s bruises faded and her dress and coiffure regained their gaudy glory. “What’s the deal?”

  “I don’t know the whole story,” I said, sitting down and grabbing the pitcher of ale from the center of the table. I took a swig. Subterfuge was thirsty work. “But I can guess. New people in any organization tend to be ambitious. They want to get ahead right away. Either they find a niche to fill, or they move on. When you introduced these dons to Massha and Badaxe their names didn’t ring any bells with me. At first. Then you said they were new.

  “The present you gave Massha was princely, but it also provided a heck of an opportunity to take you down, and at least a few of us with you. The box containing the house had a sheet of instructions attached to it. How easy would it be to add a booby trap that Massha would innocently set off when she went to open your present? We trust you; she’d follow the instructions as they were written. Your reputation for doing business in an honorable fashion would be ruined. But your enemy didn’t take into account you have a host of intelligent beings working for you from a number of species.”

  “Gleep!” the dragon interjected. He’d withdrawn to a safe distance, with his head against Nunzio’s knee.

  “Something with so easy a trigger mechanism wouldn’t need extra incantations to operate. The additional verbiage aroused our suspicions, enabling us to figure the puzzle out in time to stave off disaster.”

  “Then why the costume drama?” Don Bruce asked, snatching the pitcher out of my hand and pouring himself a drink.

  I grinned. “To draw out the culprit,” I said. “If you and your associates were innocent you’d be concerned about the loss of life. And Don deDondon here knew about an explosion even though Massha never used the word. He was thinking about it, because he’d rigged one to go off.”

  “But it did!” the scrawny don protested. “I felt it.”

  “A little subsonic vibration, courtesy of Massha’s magik,” I said, with a bow to her. “Nothing too difficult for a member of M.Y.T.H. Inc., which is why Don Bruce employs us to watch out for his interests in the Bazaar at Deva.”

  The Fairy Godfather turned as purple as his suit. He spun in the air to face the cowering don. “You wanted me to lose face in front of my valued associates? Surleone, Guido, Nunzio, please escort our former employee back to the Bazaar. I’ll be along shortly.” The meaty mafioso took deDondon by the arm and flicked a D-hopper out of his pocket. In a twinkling, they were gone.

  Don Bruce hovered over to take Massha’s hand. “I offer my sincere apologies if anything that I or my people have done to mar your wedding day in even the slightest way. I’ll send someone with the counterspell to pack the house up again. I hope you and your husband have a long and happy life together. You made a beautiful bride.” In a flutter of violet wings, he was gone, too.

  “I’m glad that’s over,” I said, draining the rest of the ale. “Take that silly dragon back to the stables, and let’s keep the party rolling.”

  Gleep’s ears drooped.

  “Now, Aahz,” Massha said, “you owe him an apology. If it wasn’t for Gleep, the palace would have been blown sky high.”

  The dragon rolled huge blue eyes at me. I fought with my inner self, but at last I had to admit she was right.

  “I’m sorry, Gleep,” I told him. “You were a hero.”

  “Gleep!” the dragon exclaimed happily. His long tongue darted out and slimed my face. I jumped back, swearing.

  “And no one tells Skeeve what happened here tonight!” I insisted. “None of it! Not a word!”

  “Who, me?” Massha asked, innocently, as Badaxe wandered in out of the shadows, in search of his wife. She sauntered over and attached herself to his arm with a fluid langour that would have been a credit to Tanda. “In a few minutes I’ll be on my honeymoon. Nighty-night, Aahz.”

  MYTH-ADVENTURERS

  By Robert Asprin

  “I’m sorry, Pookie. I just don’t get it. Maybe I’m slow.”

  “Don’t apologize, dear,” her companion said. “It doesn’t go with being a lady. And as far as being slow . . . well, little sister, trust me. You needn’t have any worries on that score.”

  Even a casual observer would realize in an instant that the two women weren’t really sisters. One was a human female, a Klahd, actually, with a short unruly head of hair framing her fierce expression. The female on the opposite side of the table had obviously emerged from an entirely different gene pool. Instead of pink skin, she was covered with the green scales, offset by pointed ears and yellow eyes, that marked her to any experienced dimension traveler as a Pervert . . . or Pervect if they knew what was good for them. Still, they both had that lithe, athletic, graceful look that put one in mind of a pair of lionesses discussing a kill. Different genotypes or not, it was clear they had more in common with each other than with many of their own species.

  If their builds and manner weren’t enough of a give-away, their outfits completed the picture. The Pervect, Pookie, was wearing one of her favorite action leather jumpsuits with multiple zippers, which both insured a skin-tight fit and held the tools of her trade. The Klahd, Spyder, was still working on her look, but today had settled for calf-high boots with fishnet stockings, a dark plaid mini-skirt, and a sleeveless black leather halter top, which left considerable portions of her midriff bare. All in all, she looked like a parochial schoolgirl gone Goth gone biker slut. What united their outfits were the accessories, which was to say, the weapons. Throwing stars and knife hilts jutted from their sleeves and belts, along with various mysterious instruments a viewer hoped they would never see close enough to examine carefully.

  The fact that this mismatched duo and their weaponry went practically unnoticed was an indication of the normal atmosphere and clientele of the tavern they were ensconced in.

  “If I’m not slow, then why is it taking me so long to figure out this whole adventurer thing?” Spyder countered.

  “Well, not to make too big a thing of it,” Pookie said, “for one thing you’re still young. I’ve been at this game for a couple centuries . . . we’ll not dwell on exactly how many . . . and you’ve only been at it for a few months. It takes awhile to get the hang of anything new. Just be patient and listen to your big sister.”

  “I guess it’s just not what I was expecting is all,” Spyder said, almost to herself.

  “Really?” her green companion said. “Maybe we’ve been going at this backward. This time, why don’t you explain to me what it was you thought adventuring involved.”

  “I don’t know. I was thinking we’d be doing bodyguard work or something.”

  Pookie heaved a sigh. “We’ve gone over this before, Little Sister. First of all, we don’t have the manpower to do real bodyguard work. To do the job right, it takes at least a six-person team to guard someone around the clock. You keep forgetting that we’d have to sleep sometime.”

  “But Guido and Nunzio guard Skeeve as a two-man team,” Spyder insisted stubbornly.

  “From what I understand, they were assigned to Skeeve by Don Bruce primarily as an honor guard,” Pookie said. “Besides, there are a lot more people on the team watching over Skeeve than just Guido and Nunzio.”

  “But . . .”

  “And even if we were to hire on as a token-show force, believe me, you wouldn’t like it,.” Pookie continued. “Remember, we’re female, and like it or not that influences the people who hire us. Believe me, the kind of swell-headed, self-centered celebrity types who hire female body guards are primarily looking for arm candy. The pay might look good, but they’re not really people you want to hang around for any length of time. Usually, by the end of the
job, you’re ready to kill them yourself.”

  “So what is it exactly that adventurers do?” Spyder said.

  Her green companion took a long swallow from her flagon. “If you scrape away the bardic lyrics and all the escapist literature romantics, what it all boils down to is that basically adventurers are either thieves or killers . . . or both.”

  Spyder leaned back and blinked. “How’s that again?”

  “Look at it close.” Pookie shrugged. “If you’re going after a treasure or artifact, it means you’re taking it away from someone who thinks it’s theirs . . . even if they stole it themselves originally. That’s stealing. Even if you’re unearthing or rediscovering a long-lost item, by law it belongs to whoever’s property it is that you’re on at the time. If you don’t hand it over and maybe settle for a reward, if you try to smuggle it out without admitting you’ve found anything, that’s still stealing.

  “On the other hand, there’s the ‘slay the monster/bandit who is terrorizing the neighborhood,’ or the traditional ‘rescue the princess/damsel from the evil whoever.’ Both of those, bluntly, involve killing.”

  “Um . . . Pookie?” Spyder said slowly. “If those are really the choices, I think I’d rather do thieving assignments if we can manage it. I mean, I try to be tough and put on a good front, but I really don’t think of myself as a killer.”

  “If you say so.” Pookie shrugged. “I’ll keep it in mind. Personally, I lean toward the killing side, myself. There’s usually less risk involved.”