Myth-Told Tales m-13

by Robert Asprin

  “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. Ill 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 giveaway, 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 n
ot 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. “Ill keep it in mind. Personally, I lean toward the killing side, myself. There's usually less risk involved.”

  “Now, I'm not saying you're wrong,” Spyder said, “but Skeeve and his M.Y.T.H. Inc. crew don't seem to fit with what you're saying.”

  “Don't forget that crew is pretty much top-of-the-heap right now,” Pookie said. “As near as I can tell, it's taken them over ten years to work their way up into the position they're in, where people come to them with work. I'll bet you, though, if you look closely at some of their early work, it involved things that wouldn't stand up to close scrutiny. For example, I know for a fact that Tananda was primarily an assassin before she hooked up with Skeeve. And as for Aahz … I probably shouldn't speak ill of my own cousin, but he's always been one of the family's black sheep. If anything, I was surprised to find out he was involved in something that was even vaguely legitimate.”

  “I guess you're right,” Spyder said, sighing. “Even Skeeve had to start somewhere. Of course, he had a Pervect for a trainer.”

  “Don't forget, Little Sister,” Pookie said, winking, “so do you. I'm not one to brag, but if I can't teach you as well or better than Aahz taught Skeeve, I'll hang it up. If nothing else, I think I've got better material to work with from the get go.”

  “Thanks, Pookie.” Spyder smiled. “That means a lot to me.”

  “Don't mention it,” Pookie said, holding up her flagon for her companion to clink with. “If nothing else, it beats the military gig you just got clear of.”

  “No question there.” Spyder nodded. She took a long pull of her own drink, then set it on the table with a decisive thump. “So, how do we go about looking for work?”

  Pookie cocked her head in surprise. “Why, exactly what we're doing now. What did you think we were doing?”

  “The same thing we've been doing for the last month.” Spyder shrugged. “Sitting around a tavern and drinking. Frankly I've been wondering when we were going to get started adventuring.”

  Pookie held her hand over her eyes for a few long moments before responding. “Look, dear,” she said finally, “remember what I was saying about us being pretty much criminals? Well, the old adage that ‘Crime does not pay’ is actually a shortened form of ‘Crime does not pay well.’ Well, in our line of work, that means that either you do a lot of little jobs … which ups the odds of something going wrong … or a few big jobs and live on the proceeds between.”

  “So what does that have to do with us sitting around a tavern?” Spyder frowned.

  “I'm coming to that. Now there's primarily two ways of finding work. Either we roam around and try to pick up a rumor or situation that takes our fancy, or we sit in one place and let the information come to us. Taverns in general are goldmines of information, and ones like this that caters to dimension travelers of all types are prime places to hear about a specific caper.”

  She glanced toward the door. “Speaking of which, here comes a likely prospect now. Let me take the lead here, Little Sister.”

  Spyder turned to follow Pookie's gaze. Just inside the door, steadying himself on the back of a chair, was a warrior. His chainmail, helmet, and sword marked him as such, even though the body that was wearing it was rotund and hairy, topped with a head that sported a pig snout and tusks. Also noticeable was the fact that his left arm was in a sling, and he moved with a noticeable limp.

  “Care to join us, friend?” Pookie said, raising her voice. “You look like you could use a drink and some sympathetic company.”

  The newcomer studied them for a moment, then shrugged and lurched his way over to their table.

  “Thanks for the invite,” he said, dropping heavily into a seat. “It's more than I expected. Whoever said ‘No one likes a loser’ sure knew what they were talking about.”

  “First things first,” Pookie said and waved the barmaid over.

  After another round had been ordered and delivered, including a large flagon of ale for the guest, the three settled into conversation. “Thanks again,” the warrior said, taking a long draught from his flagon.

  “Truth to tell, I was trying to decide between having a drink or getting a room. The war chest is about tapped out after paying the healers. By the way, the name's Trog.”

  “Pookie and Spyder here,” Pookie said, indicating who was who with a wave of her hand. “Looks like you're coming off a rough job.”

  “Darn near got my head handed to me,” Trog said, taking another drink. “Sounded easy going in, but they all do until you're up against it”

  “What was the job, anyway?” Pookie asked. “You look to me like someone who could handle most anything and anybody.”

  “It was one of those Kill or scare off the beast that's terrorizing the countryside' deals,” Trog explained. “This time around, it was a Hefalump. Never tangled with one before, but, like you say, I can handle most things without much problem.”

  “Don't tell me, let me guess,” Pookie said. “No money up front. Just a reward if you're successful. Right?”

  “Got it in one,” the warrior confirmed. “That's where the it always looks easy going in' part caught up with me.”

  “Where was this anyway? Around here or another dimension?”

  Trog leaned back in his seat and studied them with narro
wed eyes.

  “Not to sound ungrateful,” he said carefully, “but you're asking a lot of questions. More than one might expect from casual curiosity. What's your interest in all this?”

  “It's no big secret.” Pookie shrugged. “We're in the same line of work as you and looking for a job. Since it sounds like your last find is still open and from the looks of things you won't be up to trying it again for a while, we might just look into it ourselves if the pay's right”

  Trog set his flagon down with a loud think. “And what makes you think two females could pull it off when I couldn't?” he demanded.

  “For one thing, as you pointed out, there are two of us.” Pookie smiled. “And don't downcheck us because we're female. We've been around for a while and are still here. A lot who went up against us aren't.”

  Trog started to say something, then stopped and cocked his head. “Wait a minute,” he said. “A Klahd and a Pervect working together? Are you two Aahz and Skeeve?”

  Spyder choked on her drink.

  “Right lineage, wrong gender,” Pookie said. “Like I said, we're Spyder and Pookie. We know Aahz and Skeeve, though.”

  “You do?” Trog said, visibly impressed.

  “Yeah. We worked with them on our last job,” Spyder put in, wiping her chin.

  “Let me handle this, Little Sister,” Pookie said with a warning glance. “Since you seem to have heard of them, Trog, you should know that if we can hold our own free-lancing with the M.Y.T.H. Inc. crew, we might stand a chance with your Hefalump.”

  “Got to agree with you there,” Trog said. “That gang has be tough rep.”

  “So where is the job you were talking about?”