“Attaboy,” he said, in his high-pitched tenor. “What a good dragon!”
“Thank you for your consideration,” I attempted to say, but my immature vocal chords emitted only a sound: “Gleep!”
“You shouldn’t be spoiling his appetite,” Bunny said, reproachfully.
“Nunzio couldn’t spoil that dragon’s appetite if he fed him the whole plate and his right arm,” Guido said. “Miss Bunny, we respectfully request that you relax. We are not here to ask the Boss to set foot out of his self-imposed exile. All we want is his advice.”
Bunny eyed him with the suspicion of one who had heard such assurances before.
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Guido said, suiting his motions to the former part of his pledge, no mean feat while holding a delicate porcelain cup in one’s fingers. “If I take the Boss farther than a trot outside to walk the dragon, then you may spit me with the rotisserie fork you have so thoughtfully concealed behind the door.”
“Well, all right,” she said, subsiding.
“Good,” Guido said. “Then, perhaps you will sit down and pour yourself a cup of your most excellent tea, and listen to us.”
Bunny sank into the chair at the end of the low table with a just audible sigh of relief.
I was reassured, too. Guido, for all that he was a Klahd, had a nearly dragonish sense of honor, not to be sneered at considering many of the others with whom he associated on a regular basis; I do not include the days spent in the company of my pet, naturally. Skeeve had good instincts regarding the qualities of those whom he called his friends. Klahds, like many pets, function almost entirely on instinct. We of higher species can only hope that they will evolve in the next million years or so until they have a greater grasp of reason and logic. But superior as he was to his fellows, Skeeve was still inclined to turn away from his own interests and assist his friends, no matter how pressing the need for his own work. In a being as short-lived as a Klahd, I objected to him wasting that precious time.
“In any case,” Guido went on, “there’s nothin’ we’re concealin’ from you. You can listen in to our whole tale of woe. In fact, we would be grateful if you had any input that would help us to deal with the problem in which we find ourselves. You have good insights, and we would be mugs not to take advantage of that.”
“Nothing is wrong with Uncle Bruce, is it?” Bunny asked, suddenly concerned. Her avuncular relative was the employer of the two males. He went by the sobriquet “Fairy Godfather,” which suited his dress and manner of speaking, but anyone who forgot the second part of his title while possibly finding the first part risible was likely to be reminded of his manners in a forcible fashion. Apart from not enjoying his cologne, which made me sneeze, I found Don Bruce more dragonish in character, and therefore more suited to my company, than most, if not all, of his subordinates.
“The Don is fine,” Guido assured her. “I would pass along to you his kindest affections, but he does not know we are here at the moment. He is expectin’ us to handle this problem ourselves, which we should, except that it seems to involve magik of a higher order than we are accustomed to dealin’ with on our own. Hence, our risk of your displeasure.”
“You remember King Petherwick, maybe?” Nunzio inquired.
“Sure, I do,” Skeeve said, wrinkling his forehead thoughtfully. “He was one of the kings that Queen Hemlock more or less evicted when she expanded Possiltum’s borders.”
“To the detriment of the old reigning houses,” Nunzio confirmed. “Including that of Shoalmirk, Petherwick’s old realm. Yet, it is not to be denied that the current situation is more livable than under the previous management. Hemlock is holding it together pretty good, with the help of Massha and J.R. Grimble. The people is less revolting than before.”
“Where’s Petherwick now?” Skeeve asked. “I know Hemlock exiled the former rulers who wouldn’t submit to her overlordship, if that’s the right word. He didn’t want to take a demotion to duke.”
“Well, would you?” asked Guido. “When you’re used to runnin’ the whole show, it’s tough when they build a layer of bureaucracy over your head. Especially when your family’s been in charge since the species started walkin’ upright. Petherwick’s in the Bazaar, as it happens. He’s gone into retail, in a big way. He bought an insurance policy from the Mob to protect his ‘realm,’ as he calls it, but it is no more than a big emporium featuring cheap household goods manufactured by those thousands of flunkies who did not want to be left behind to languish under Hemlock’s reign. He calls it ‘King-Mart.’ He’s doin’ pretty good business, as it turns out. Deveels like a bargain. Petherwick’s markups are less than theirs, as a rule, and he don’t care if buyers resell his goods, so plenty of dealers take advantage of the sales. In any case, it don’t work out for the secondary market so good. Once the shoppers figured out where the merchandise was comin’ from, they went back to the source. Petherwick’s makin’ money hand over royal fist.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“He’s bein’ robbed. It looks like some kind of big magikal beast is to blame, but it’s one that the Shutterbug security system ain’t picked up in their wing images. We’ve looked at dozens of frames, yet in the morning, there’s big-time damage to the facilities, and a significant portion of the take is missing from the Treasury, as the old guy calls it. Here. I brought some of them wit’ me.”
Guido laid out a handful of small, square parchments upon which had been limned scenes of a huge room lit only by night-torches. I peered closely at the images, until Skeeve shoved my head out of the way.
“The biggest concern is the deaths and injuries,” Guido continued. “A couple of the night guards, former knights, experienced men, have been killed by this beast, whatever it is. Bite marks on the bodies show somethin’ very large and with sharp teeth took a vital piece out of them. Trouble is, this does not fall strictly under the purview of our policy. We are supposed to deal with matters of security, theft and minor nuisances. But he’s callin’ it minor, and we have to deal with it, or have him badmouth us around town.”
At this, I admit my ears perked up. It sounded as if one of my countrymen, another dragon, had invaded the Bazaar.
If one had indeed infiltrated this King-Mart and was already eating the locals, the possibility might arise that if Guido and Nunzio failed, Skeeve himself might be called in to dispose of it, putting himself into grave danger the likes of which he might not be able to extricate himself from. I knew that if I went with them to reason with my countryman or woman, I might be able to persuade it to leave and find more fruitful pastures elsewhere. Besides, I was not above a spot of altruistic behavior myself. Logic dictated that I must accompany them. Therefore, I must first persuade my pet and his friends of that notion.
I offered my most winning facial expression, all wide eyes and open mouth to approximate the “smile” that Klahds wore to show that they were happy. I wound myself around the legs of Guido and Nunzio, and even, I am ashamed to admit, laid my head in Nunzio’s lap so he could scratch my ears.
“Gee,” Skeeve said, puzzled, “he’s never done that before.”
“That’s because he likes me,” the Mob enforcer said, flattered. “Right, little guy?”
I allowed him to scratch both ears thoroughly, as well as the sides of my jaw and my scruff . . . very well, I must admit that he was a man who knew his way around a dragon’s skull. But I followed Skeeve out of the room when he went to bring up wine for his guests. Now that the formalities had been observed, it was time to let loose. I brought my head up under Skeeve’s arm as he was filling a pitcher from one of the many kegs in the cellar.
“I . . . go with.”
“You really want to?” Skeeve asked, scratching the spot between my ears. I concentrated momentarily upon the pleasant sensation that afforded me. Nunzio was good at caressing, but Skeeve was far better.
“Yes. Curious.”
“Okay,” he said. “A
s long as you’re sure you’ll be all right.”
“Of course I will be all right,” I tried to say. “I am strong and quick, my senses are keener than your weakling Klahdish organs are, and I am capable of knowing when it is wise to withdraw from a perilous situation. I shall also take care to safeguard the lives of your two pets, since you prize their welfare.”
Alas, all that came out was “Gleep!”
“How can you call dat a pest control problem?” Guido asked, as we all surveyed the stone pillar with the bite mark taken out of it that stood a few yards away from Petherwick’s grand, padded throne. A broad bite mark, I observed, sniffing it closely. At least forty centimeters wide, and ten at its deepest point, denoting large and unusually powerful jaws, I concluded.
I took a full survey of my surroundings as the pets holding on to my leash spoke heatedly with King Petherwick of King-Mart. What might in other circumstances have been a warehouse with cashbox desks like most of the other bigger emporia in the Bazaar had been turned into a combination throne room and general store. Situated in the center just behind the checkout desks, where shoppers had to pass him on the way inside, the exiled Klahdish king held court. Attendants of both genders, attired in the brown and teal livery of their lost realm, clustered on both sides of the grand seat. About them on tall standards hung pennants of the king’s coat of arms, and tapestries picked out in silk threads depicting valiant battles between fierce and handsomely attired opponents, or fantastic gardens containing plants that could never exist, most of them lacking such necessary parts as sepals, or indeed stems. Such impracticality hinted at a lack of foresight by the makers of the tapestries, which did not surprise me. Klahds were, as a rule, incapable of making plans beyond a certain elementary complexity. All around this small audience chamber, the room was lined with banks of shelves, hanging racks for clothing, and stacks of crates, cartons, and boxes of every size arranged in aisles, through which hundreds of shoppers from a hundred dimensions were pushing wheeled baskets and wearing the bemused looks of the up-to-date huntergatherer. No doubt the brush with royalty was one of the attractions of shopping at King-Mart. I fell back to sniffing the area, seeking in vain for a familiar scent that I had expected to find here. No dragon save myself had ever set foot in this space. I was relieved, but left with the puzzle of what had. A jerking of my collar brought me back to the argument going on over my head.
“This mystery beast is pestering my people,” Petherwick said, indignantly. “Therefore, I expect you to handle it.” A large, fleshy Klahd with a florid face and triple-layered bags under his eyes, slumped in his throne. As we watched, a couple of Imp females entered, and curtsied to the throne before picking up wicker baskets from the stack at the head of the first aisle. Petherwick acknowledged them with a curt nod of the head. “To death, in two cases already! I do not see how is this stuffed toy of yours is supposed to help,” he added, looking down at me with disdain. I opened my eyes as widely as I could, to simulate gentle innocence. “He’ll just make matters worse!”
“He’s not a toy,” Nunzio said gently. “He’s young, but he’s a real dragon.”
Petherwick looked alarmed. “You can’t trust a dragon!”
“Gleep ain’t like other dragons,” Guido said, his thick black eyebrows drawn down over a brow that just missed being Neanderthal in nature. “He don’t wreck things. He’s house-trained. And he’s smart.”
“Your employer assured me that if I agreed to his contract, internal security in my capital would never be a problem. We would be protected from annoyances, as your employer put it.”
“This isn’t a typical example of a security problem,” Nunzio pointed out, with some justice. “Don Bruce meant problems with other people. You say that this is pest control. That makes it your problem.”
“This is not just pest control! I am sure it is sabotage! Someone is attempting to put me out of business. That makes it a security issue. Some of my best men have died! I have lost large sums in gold at least once a week for the last three weeks! And if I start telling other people that Don Bruce had failed to solve a problem that occurred on his watch, that he showed no flexibility in dealing with problems,” King Petherwick said, a sly light shining in his porcine eyes, “then your other contractees might want to stop doing business with you.”
“That,” Guido sighed lustily, “is why we are here. The Don is willing to give you one ‘gimme’ on the basis that you’ve been a good customer, always payin’ up on the dot when the premiums are due. He has noticed this. And you have to admit that we have cleaned up all the other situations that have come around. But you have pushed this contract to limits that the Don did not anticipate.”
The king planted an indignant hand on his overfed chest.
“Do I not have the right to go into business, to support myself and my dependants, now that that harridan has taken over my ancient bailiwick? May I not open a store?”
“Yeah, but no one ever said you were gonna open fourteen of ’em,” Guido said, in frustration.
“Five more opening next month,” one of the courtiers standing by the throne remarked.
“Lord Dalhailey,” Petherwick said, by way of cursory introduction. “My Minister of Marketing, just newly returned from a buying trip. I believe you two have not met before?” The Klahd dipped his head slightly, noblesse oblige. Guido tipped him a casual salute with two fingers off the brim of his fedora hat.
“Pleased to meetcha. Look, there’s gonna be some renegotiatin’ come the expiration of this current contract,” he said, turning back to the king. “I just want to warn you what is in the Don’s mind.”
“There will be no renegotiation if this is not solved, because I will refuse to renew your service contract if you don’t help me,” Petherwick said, majestically. “We have so far successfully explained to shocked shoppers that the dead or dismembered bodies they have come upon unawares as being part of Slay Days, a period of deep discounts symbolized by models of fierce beasts being dispatched by knights and wizards.” He gestured to a pair of displays that flanked his throne room. Cardboard cutouts of reptiles snarled at bay as Klahds in silver mail pierced them with swords or spears.
“I thought you said that these were armored knights that they were finding,” Nunzio said.
Petherwick shrugged. “The dragon doesn’t always lose, my friend. But my customers have been most understanding, and we have responded with generosity if they do not overreact. If they find a dead body in the aisle, they are entitled to a twenty percent discount off one item that day.”
“Thirty percent, if the item comes from that aisle,” Lord Dalhailey added. “We call it our ‘Blue Blood Special. ’ I added that clause myself. As a service to the consumer, of course. We don’t want them thinking that we are bloodthirsty vultures interested only in the bottom line.”
“Even if you are bloodthirsty vultures interested in the bottom line,” Guido said.
Dalhailey looked as indignant as Petherwick had. “Sir, I resent your implication! We have mouths to feed, thousands of them. Almost a third of the population of Shoalmirk followed his majesty into exile.” Here he bowed toward Petherwick, who waved a hand in acknowledgment. “You have no idea how difficult it has been to keep them convinced that this move to Deva is in their best interests.”
“But the chief concern is the depletion of the treasury. This beast is managing not only to attack my people, but to rob us of our legitimate proceeds,” Petherwick said, dragging the enforcers’ minds back to what I believe was his main point all along. “We have been holding a one-week special on luxury dry goods that has proved surprisingly profitable. The proceeds from all the stores are brought in and amassed here in our flagship location. I do not wish to lose any of the gold we have earned from those sales. Do you think that two of you and this . . . this lizard can succeed before we are robbed again?”
“That would be our intention,” Guido said, carefully keeping his tone level.
I felt it incumbent
upon me to make a comment at this stage.
“Gleep!”
Everyone turned to look at me. King Petherwick sneered.
“Not too impressive, is he? I thought your employer would send the wizard he’s got working for him. Sneeze, I think he said the name is?”
“Skeeve,” Nunzio said, restraining Guido with a palm to the chest. “He’s on vacation. This is his dragon.”
“Hardly a substitute.” Petherwick waved an imperious hand. “Well, get on with it. The sooner you find what happened to my gold, the sooner we can talk about the next contract.”
“I knew it,” Guido exploded the moment we were out of earshot of the retail monarch. “I knew this mook would be trouble. When we was signin’ up prospects, once I heard he was from Klah and checked him out a little with Big Julie, I said skip this place. But no, the Don says he’s gotta have a hundred percent subscription in the area. This guy calls us in for all kinds of petty stuff that are none of our Business, and I sez this with a capital B, as you can tell.”
“Are you questioning our boss?” Nunzio asked, with a lifted eyebrow that was the sole skepticism he showed his much larger cousin.
“Not officially, no,” Guido sighed. “The Don tells us to do somethin’ and we do it. I just don’t think this penny-ante loser is worth our time.”
“The Don says he is, so he is. Our allegiance is to our boss, not to King Petherwick. I agree he’s not much of a king, though he’s turnin’ into some kind of hot-shot retailer.”
“Still, there are elements of rank deception involved here. How many times we been called out to one or another of his establishments for what has turned out to be one kind of false alarm or another, just to prove that he has the Don Bruce Protection Plan workin’ overtime for him? I have lost what parts of my girlish laughter I still retained in trottin’ over to here or one of the other many stores. It has caused us to bring in other associate members of the Mob to look after those other places, and with no additional recompense to absorb that expense. And you heard his marketing guy. Five more to come! The guy is a filch.”
Myth-Told Tales Page 15
