“You ruined this whole event,” Carnelia said.
“I ruined it? How? By not surrendering the first time you brought in a nonstandard baby? Or by not going to sleep on the job?”
“That’s enough!” Bunny said. “I declare a tie.”
“You can’t do that!” Carnelia and Orlow said in unison.
Bunny smiled sweetly. “Sure I can. You put me in charge of this contest, as well as this election. I am invoking paragraph three point one eight of the contract. Mr. Mayor, would you like to make the announcement? We’d be honored to have you do it.”
The mayor blinked at her. “Why, yes, little lady, I would consider it a privilege!”
She turned to the campaign managers. “Both of you go back to your headquarters. I don’t want either of you or your candidates out doing anything until the debate starts this evening. I don’t care who’s to blame for what just happened.”
“My goodness, you’re strict,” Carnelia said.
“I don’t like it, but we’ll go along with it. Emo Weavil is known for sticking to the rules! He stands for fairness and justice!”
“That’s why I hate being involved with politics,” Bunny whispered to me as the mayor held up his hands for silence. “I can’t tell which one of them is lying!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Be careful not to step in the katunga.”
—B. HILL
BAMF!
I had never been so glad to get back to M.Y.T.H., Inc., headquarters. The smells of dust, dung, perfume, and hot sun drifting through the tent door were a welcome change from the overwhelming odors of sickly perfume and unchanged baby in the Bokromi town square. I felt like a wrung-out rag.
“Excuse me, Skeeve,” Bunny said. “I need a little time to myself.”
“Would you like a cup of wine first?” I asked. “I could sure use one.”
She smiled at me. “Not at the moment, Skeeve. Thanks.”
She went into her room and locked the door. I poured myself a welcome goblet from the pitcher on the table by the wall and settled into one of the comfortable couches in the atrium. The fountain played gently, and the pale gray glow that passed for sunlight in Limbo slanted through the skylight. Gleep bounded into the room and put his head in my lap.
“Hey, boy,” I said, scratching his ears.
“Skeeve . . . okay?”
“I’m fine.” I sighed. “That was exhausting! And we’re not finished for the day.”
“So, how is it going?” Aahz appeared at my side, holding a bucket-sized stein. He took a swig from it.
“Aahz! You’re here!”
He winked at me. “Where else would I be? I was just letting someone out.”
Suddenly I noticed that there was a second cup on the table between the couches. It was considerably smaller than the one he was holding. I smelled a flowery, nutty fragrance—perfume—and looked around with a guilty start.
“Did I interrupt something?” I asked.
Aahz shook his head.
“No. She was ready to leave anyhow.”
“Oh.” Aahz didn’t offer any more details, and I didn’t ask. His personal life was none of my business. I looked Aahz straight in the eye.
“I thought you were pretty upset yesterday when Bunny threw you out of the meeting.”
“You fell for the act, too?” Aahz asked, nonchalantly. “Pretty good, wasn’t it?”
I stared at him. “That was all an act?”
He put a hand to his chest. “Of course! Do you think I care if I am involved in a penny-ante local election? Those two are so small-time they could duke it out in a matchbox.”
“Bunny shouldn’t have made you leave.”
“No, she was right, kid. The customer is always right. What’s the difference? You’ve got my wisdom to draw on, no matter where I am. I’d rather be the power behind the throne than Target Number One any time. You think I stomped out of there because my feelings were hurt?”
“Well, I . . .”
Aahz cut off my speculation with a gesture. “Of course not! They wanted to win something, so I let them. It’s good strategy. It made them more inclined to say yes to whatever else Bunny wanted. It worked!”
That was pretty much what Bunny had said.
“So you goaded them on purpose?”
“Not especially. I did it because it was fun. Also, I wanted to see just how thick their skins were. Pretty solid, not a surprise, but every bit of information gives you insight into how they’ll behave. Not that I’m that interested in it. I’ve got some other business to take care of.” He finished with an expression that caused me to doubt his words.
“Are you really all right?” I asked. He waved the question away.
“Ha! I’m fine. Are you? You look like the last man standing in a jitterbug contest.”
“What kind of bug?” I asked.
“Forget it,” Aahz said. “How are our clients doing?”
“Well, they lie. And they cheat,” I said. “On everything. We were supposed to make the statement about the scheduled vote, but they spread the word right after we left last night. And they have arranged all kinds of events that they never discussed with us.”
I handed Aahz the scroll. His scaly eyebrows rose almost to the top of his head as he read. He grinned as he handed it back.
“That’s some creative time-wasting,” he said. “They don’t want to talk about the real issues. This way they get lots of attention without discussing anything substantial.”
“Well, they won’t get away with it,” I said, resolutely. “We want to run this like a real election.”
“Kid, I have some bad news—this is stuff that they do in real elections.”
“You’re joking!”
“Were you old enough to vote before you left home?” Aahz asked. “No? Well, you never saw any real action. People running for office will do anything to gain an advantage, even if it’s temporary.”
I felt my temper heating up. “They made Bunny cry.”
“That just means she’s mad, not sad. I would worry more about you than her.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about me.”
“I know that.” Aahz swigged his beer. “So, what’s next on the agenda?”
“The first debate,” I said. “I gave them Chumley’s questions so they could prepare their answers.”
“They won’t bother.”
“Sure they will! We’re making the rules. They said they would follow them.”
“Kid, I will bet you a hundred gold pieces that they do not answer one single question substantively at any time,” Aahz said.
Aahz never made any kind of wager that he considered had even a minute chance of him having to pay out. I eyed him. “So why are they going through with it?”
“To give the electorate the illusion that they are choosing the best candidate in the field. Don’t worry about it. Enjoy it. It’s theater. You might pick up a few pointers in how to lie effectively. You could use the help.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said.
Bunny’s door opened. We looked up. She emerged in a bright red suit that had been ironed to a low sheen.
“Oh, hi, Aahz.”
“Hey, Bunny. Nice power suit.”
“Thank you, Aahz.” She smiled at him. “You want to come along and hear the fairy tales?”
“No, thanks. I’d rather stay here and pound myself on the foot with a jackhammer.”
“Me, too,” Bunny said with a sigh. “But it’s part of the job. Are you ready, Skeeve?”
“Gleep!”
I glanced down at my dragon. His large blue eyes were beseeching. I saw something else in his gaze.
“I want to bring him with us, Bunny.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Skeeve.”
“I do,” Aahz said suddenly. “That pesky dragon might be useful.”
“Gleep!” my pet exclaimed. He leaped up on Aahz, trying to slime him with his long, agile tongue.
“Down!” Aahz bellowed. “When are you going to teach him some manners?”
“He’s just showing he likes you, Aahz,” I said, pulling Gleep’s long neck back so he dropped to all fours on the floor. “You’re one of his favorite people.”
“I think I could live a few more centuries before hearing that I was number one on a dragon’s hit parade,” Aahz grumbled.
“He didn’t hit you!” I said, in defense of my pet. Gleep put his head against my legs and looked guilty. Aahz waved a hand.
“That’s not . . . never mind. Go on, or you’ll be late for the show.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Lies, damned lies, and statistics.”
—THE AGENDA IN ANY POLITICAL DEBATE
And a show it proved to be. As we didn’t want any accusations of favoritism, the debates were to be held in the open air, in a field miles from either campaign headquarters. We hired a local carriage from our point of arrival in Bokromi to take us there. It took about half an hour through the gathering twilight. We discussed strategy on the way.
“I arranged for a stage ten feet high, with lecterns for each candidate and a desk for us, the moderators, in the middle,” Bunny said. “I also wanted about ten Echoes to repeat our voices all the way to the back of the crowd. The contractor said he could get it all here on time.”
As I got out of the enclosed carriage, I saw a small wooden stage. A small table lined with green and purple bunting stood on it alone.
“The desk is there,” I said, “but where are the lecterns?”
“And what are those flagpoles on either side?” Bunny asked. The standards stood at least two hundred feet high. I squinted into the dark sky.
“I can’t tell.”
As we watched, the poles grew taller, first on one side, then the other. I could feel erratic surges of magik. It came from a narrow white force line running about a hundred feet away.
“What is going on there?” Bunny asked. A small crowd had gathered in front of the stage. We joined it. Ecstra was already there. I guessed from their hats, sharp-brimmed fedoras with a card in the brim, that they were fellow reporters. They all had notebooks. Shutterbugs fluttered overhead, snapping exposures with the filmy wings under their hard shells.
“Miss Bunny!” Orlow greeted us. “And Mr. Skeeve.” He grabbed my hand, pulled me close, and turned his head to smile for the Shutterbug.
“Well, hello, there,” Carnelia added, throwing a companionable arm over Bunny’s shoulder. “We are just making a few little bitty changes to the arrangement here.” The reporters scribbled busily in their notebooks.
“What happened to the speakers’ tables?” Bunny asked. “Where is Thorwald?”
A Tipp with silvery gray fur raised a forefinger. “Right here, ma’am.”
“You said you could have everything ready for this evening.”
“And I did, ma’am, until these folks got here.” He shot an accusing look at Orlow and Carnelia. “Everything’s gotten a little out of hand.”
“What has?” Bunny asked, planting her hands on her hips. “Where are the speakers’ platforms?”
Thorwald pointed. “Up there.” I craned my head back to look. The narrow staffs were surmounted by a tiny square.
“Why are they so high up?”
“It was him,” Carnelia said, sneering at Orlow. “He started it.”
Orlow huffed, expanding his cheeks.
“Well, as the leading candidate, I felt that Emo should have a slightly higher stage. So I had my magician, Riginald, lift it a bit.” One of the campaign workers, a paunchy middle-aged male, raised a hand and wiggled his fingers at us. “Not very much, you understand. Purely symbolic.”
“Well, that little symbol was an insult to Wilmer as the senior candidate,” Carnelia said. “So Morton had to raise ours.”
“We want Emo to be outstanding in this field, as he is in all others,” Orlow said, pitching his voice so the gang of reporters behind me could hear him clearly. “So that meant bringing him up just a little more. Then they jacked theirs up!”
“Then he did it again!”
“Then she did!”
I turned to Carnelia. “What about Wilmer?” I asked. “Why did his have to go higher?”
“Well, he wants to show that Wilmer rises above any and all petty issues,” Carnelia said. “Especially those brought up by his opponent.”
“But they’re too high,” I said, reasonably. “How can we see how they stand on their platforms if they’re above anyone’s eye level?”
The assembled reporters leaned over their notebooks so as not to miss a word.
“We’ll reduce the height temporarily,” Carnelia said, aware that she was being overheard. “But we want credit for wanting to meet the people on their level first. Before the opposition.”
“We were already willing to bring our stage down!” Orlow complained.
“So bring them down,” Bunny said. “Pronto. We’ve only got a couple of minutes before the debate starts.”
“He has to do it first,” Carnelia said, pointing at Orlow. “As a gesture of good faith.”
“I want assurances first that if we move on this point, she will respond in kind,” Orlow said. “It’s the ladylike thing to do.”
Bunny groaned with frustration. She turned to me. “Skeeve?”
Reducing the size of platforms wasn’t in my skill set, and Bunny knew that, but she trusted me. I kicked off from the ground and flew up to the top of the teetering platforms. It took a good deal of magik, but I lifted both lecterns off their perches and brought them down with me to the ground. Thorvald’s grips took them from me and arranged them on the dais.
“There,” Bunny said brightly. “They can be on the stage with us, on either side of our table. Let’s get started.”
Bunny and I took our places in straight-backed chairs behind the bunting-covered table. We had a pitcher of water and glasses, the list of questions, and an hourglass and a little silver bell that we were supposed to ring if either candidate went over time in his answers. Gleep lay on the stage behind us, curled up in case we needed him. I had spread the word that he would personally eat anyone who physically attacked any of us on stage. In reality, I knew Gleep wouldn’t do such a thing. For a dragon he was very gentle.
The candidates came out. They shook hands and sauntered to their lecterns as the crowd went wild cheering. The bands played rival fight songs, and the air filled with confetti.
“My dear friends! Thank you for your attention!” Wilmer bellowed.
“Welcome, all!” Emo shouted.
The debate was meant to give both candidates a chance to show off for their adoring fans. Thousands of them had gathered, along with two marching bands and confetti cannons. Emo was at his adorable best. I kind of liked the gaudy green coat and tie he had on, though Bunny had rolled her eyes at his clothes. I admit I wasn’t much of a judge of fashion. His eyelashes had been augmented even more outrageously. He looked as if he had a brush over each eye. His eyes, too, seemed larger and more luminously brown than usual. Whenever Wilmer was answering a question, Emo took the time to flirt with the audience, smiling and pointing at individuals.
Wilmer, too, found opportunities to look dignified and grandfatherly. His wig was freshly styled and bleached to blinding whiteness. When Emo went off on high-flying prose jaunts, Wilmer shook his head gravely in disapproval. He clutched the lapels of his white flannel coat and bowed from the waist whenever one of his supporters called out his name.
I suspected both campaign managers had orchestrated at least some of the outpourings of approval. On the other hand, ordinary townsfolk, those without an obvious Wilmer or Emo badge or colored button, were showing a lot more interest in the proceedings than before. I wondered if they were waiting for another disaster to strike as it had at the baby-kissing contest. I kept my eyes open for any obvious attempts at sabotage, though I had no idea what those would be.
Apart from the obvious, that was. Mrs. Weavil was i
n the front row, clutching her handbag close. When she heard answers she didn’t like, which was almost every time Wilmer spoke, she dipped into her inexhaustible supply of gooey ammunition hidden within. So did the rest of the green-wearing crew, as well as the purple-banner wearers. Bunny and I were untouched so far because of a magikal shield I had erected, not to mention a rumor I had let get around that Gleep would personally eat anyone who threw something at one of us.
“In answer to your question on the economy, little miss,” Wilmer said, his voice deep and ponderous, “I can’t say that my opponent is an unscrupulous scalawag, as I have heard others say, but I can’t disprove it, either. However”—he ducked just in time to avoid a handful of sticky goo that sailed past his head—“I can add that his announced plans give me no confidence. And you should feel the same. Thank you.”
A rain of sodden vegetables hit the stage in front of him, spattering his immaculate white trousers. Gleep bounded over and began to eat the missiles with relish. He even liked the mud.
“Mr. Weavil-Scuttil,” Bunny said, pitching her voice so the Echoes, huge-eared, sunset-hued cliff dwellers from Desybell, would hear it and repeat it to the enormous crowd, “you haven’t answered me. What will you do to improve the economy on Bokromi? What are your specific plans?”
“Why, little miss,” Wilmer began, not realizing how much his continued use of the phrase was trying Bunny’s temper, “I promise you that I rely upon trusted advisors who have their finger, their very finger, on the pulse of the local merchants!”
“All that proves is that you know they’re not dead,” Emo quipped. It earned him laughter from most of the crowd and a bunch of rotten onions from a burly Wilmer supporter. He dodged them neatly. Gleep slithered around behind his feet to retrieve them. The sound of my dragon noisily munching could be heard to the last row of the audience.
One point for Emo. I made a note on the slate in front of me. That had to have been improvised on the spot. Most of their answers, especially the lengthy ones, suggested the employment of professional scriptwriters. I doubted that either Emo or Wilmer was capable of such verbal pyrotechnics. It was entertaining, since I had given up during the first half hour any hope that this would be a discussion of the issues. Bunny had not. She persisted in trying to get them to answer her questions.
Robert Asprin's Myth-Quoted Page 9
