Myth-Told Tales m-13

by Robert Asprin

  Behind a tree I found a mousy little Djinn in blue robes with his wire-rimmed glasses hanging from one pointed blue ear. He was bound and gagged with snare-ropes, magikal bindings that never let go unless you knew the release word. Fortunately, they're commercially available in nearly every dimension, and few people ever bother to reset the factory passwords.

  “Undo,” I commanded. The ropes collapsed from him like overcooked pasta.

  “You!” the Djinn said, leveling a finger at me. I noticed it was shaking. It took guts for a little Djinn like that to threaten a Pervect. We had a reputation throughout the dimensions, and it was well-earned. “How dare you restrain a representative of the most august Council of Wizards … wait a moment, you're not the one who tied me up!”

  “No. It was a female, right?” I asked, helping him out of the bushes.

  He adjusted his spectacles and peered up at me, wonderingly. “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Ask the king,” I said, hoisting him up into the now-empty litter. “His royal majesty, King Henryarthurjon of Brakespear.”

  “Temolo, of the Council of Wizards,” the Djinn said, extending a hand, which was swallowed up by the king's huge paw. He straightened his spectacles. “Dear me, there seems to have been a terrible mistake.”

  The three remaining riders were in a line directly behind Glory. We five judges flew directly over them, making sure that no funny stuff would happen in the last few minutes of the race. For the first time, I saw Glory slow down slightly. In spite of her excellent condition, she was getting tired. She'd been running all day, a hard feat even for a Brakespearan.

  The hunters were alone. The last three big dragons had been clotheslined by an almost invisible wire stretched from the top of one huge, ancient oak on one side of the castle to another. The trees bowed slightly as three adult dragons rammed into the wire, then sprang up taut. The dragons were flung backward, and lay in a heap wondering what had happened to them. Gleep sat down on the ground in front of him to chew mud out of his nails. Nunzio emerged from the crowd of trainers and courtiers to help groom him. His work was done.

  But mine wasn't yet. Glory hadn't reached the drawbridge. She was panting with exhaustion. The 'hippuses drew closer, and closer, and closer. The Samiram reached out one long, scaly hand, almost grabbing hold of the running girl's long tail of blond hair.

  Suddenly, I lost my grip on the Samiram's dragon-control device that I was holding. It fell out of my hands and landed on his head. He bellowed a curse. The 'hippus between his knees, sensing a change, slowed a little. The Samiram looked up at me, his tongue flicking furiously.

  “Oops.” I said, holding my hands up to my shoulders. “Sorry.”

  Glory and the other two were by now far ahead. A hundred yards. Eighty. Sixty. The castle courtiers were lined up on the battlements yelling encouragement to their princess. Forty. Twenty. She was going to make it. I was afraid to breathe.

  Suddenly, Alf, the Deveel, threw a handful of powder into Bosheer's face.

  “Ten points off!” Carisweather boomed. And, mysteriously (my fingers were crossed), the cloud of dust rolled back into Alf s face, never touching the Prince. Alf went into a coughing and sneezing fit, and fell off his 'hippus.

  Ten yards to go. Five. Two. One. Glory's foot was almost on the planks of the drawbridge, when Bosheer's strong arm scooped her up and deposited her onto the withers of his steed.

  “Got you, ray lady!” he yelled.

  The cheers of the courtiers faded away. Glory looked upset for a moment. Then she looked up into the face of her captor, and grinned.

  “Congratulations, my lord.” she breathed. The two of them exchanged glances that left the princess's cheeks even more pink than before. Bosheer's face turned red, and he smiled. Zing! I thought. The cheers redoubled.

  We judges wheeled around the couple on the drawbridge, compared notes, then Carisweather floated a dozen yards up into the air to make an announcement.

  “My lords and ladies! I have the honor to announce the winner of today's hunt Prince Bosheer! And here comes his majesty to award him his most desirable prize!”

  Over the last rise came the king, followed by Aahz, followed by the 'hippuses carrying the litter with the chest on it. I blinked. The chest was not on it. Instead, it contained a bemused-looking Djinn, and nothing else. Aahz's face was grim. His eyes met mine. The chest had been stolen. In spite of all our precautions, we'd failed.

  The king rode over, and though she didn't look in any hurry to get down, helped his daughter dismount from Bosheer's saddle. The king shook hands with the prince, then held up his hands for silence.

  “We wish to give thanks to our servants and friends, and especially to our new friend Aahz, who came to our assistance a few moments ago,” he said, indicating me with a hand. “I'm sorry to say that the prize we'd originally intended to grant this most gracious winner has been foully robbed from our person.” Bosheer looked crestfallen. Henryarthurjon slapped him on the back. “We apologize most heartily to Prince Bosheer. It would seem that crime may touch even the highest in the land. But this brave and puissant man will not go without a reward. Instead, I shall give him from among my many treasures …”

  Gloriannamarjolie pushed forward, her hand hooked through Bosheer's arm. “… his daughter's hand in marriage!”

  “What?” asked her father, then noticed the solid grip Glory had on the Whelf. “Oh. Jolly good. Yes. My daughter's hand in marriage.”

  The crowd cheered. Glory and Bosheer looked radiantly happy.

  Massha settled down near me where I stood at the edge of the crowd with my arms crossed. “Well, all's well that ends well, I guess. I saw sparks shooting between those two even before the race started. I knew he was Mr. Right”

  “He's satisfied,” I said, nodding at the prince. “He got something he liked better than a safe.”

  “But what happened to the safe?” she asked. “You were following the king. How'd someone manage to rob him with you so close?” I scowled No one likes to fail, even if it was in a good cause. Her face softened. She felt sorry for me.

  “I didn't see a thing,” I said, impassively. “It had to have happened when he went into that thick clump of woods on the other side of the hill.”

  “Well, did you notice any footprints? Can you tell which way the thieves went?” she demanded.

  “Massha,” I said, with infinite patience. “I came here to do you a favor. I blew it I apologize. You deserve better, but I'm done. No one is paying me to track down a missing treasure chest.”

  “Sorry, Big Guy,” Massha said. “I'm actually happier the way things came out.”

  “Me, too,” I agreed. Nunzio and Gleep came up to join us. He and I exchanged comradely nods. Gleep leaped up, aiming for my face with his tongue. I pushed him away. “Let's go in. I bet they're pouring a toast to the happy couple. I could use a drink.”

  “So could I, Hot Stuff,” Massha said, tucking her hand into my arm. “So could I.”

  M.Y.T.H. INC. PROCEEDS

  By Jody Lynn Nye

  The Klahd with the pinstriped suit coat stretched tight over his massive shoulders accepted the cup of tea offered to him by Bunny. Guido declined cream or sugar, as his habit, which I knew well, dictated. His cousin, Nunzio, not quite so muscular but more affable, accepted both. The fact that both were of a mind to take tea in the sitting room of our renovated inn when they were clearly rushed by other concerns told me how deep those concerns were. I settled myself at their feet to eavesdrop openly upon the proceedings.

  “Much obliged,” Guido said, taking a deep draught — less, I believed, to assuage thirst than to get the courtesies out of the way. He was never one for a cup of tea where coffee or ale were also on the menu, and he knew both were to hand. Bunny, who knew his mores, seemed to be using his acceptance of the ritual as a test to find out how desperate the Mob enforcers were to obtain the help of my pet. Bunny was nearly as protective as I of Skeeve's studies. The ruffled white pinafore tha
t the red-haired female wore over her tight, green dress was a concession to her attempt to play hostess as well as guardian, but it did not conceal her voluptuous figure any more successfully than her mannered hospitality hid her annoyance and worry. Guido turned to the lanky, blond-haired male reclining in the chair to his right.

  “Like I was sayin', Skeeve …”

  “Cookie?” Bunny asked, handing around a plate of tiny, pink-sugared dainties. Guido obediently reached for one.

  In my long study of the lesser species, the ability to juggle a container of hot liquid, a plate of delicate comestibles, and a difficult conversation was the mark of a being with its wits about it Guido passed the test. Nunzio went him one better. When the plate came to him, he selected two of the sweet biscuits, one for himself, and one that he held out on his palm for me. In deference to my pet's affection for this creature, as well as my taste for the sweets, I scooped the cookie off the hand with my tongue. Nunzio reached out to ruffle my ears.

  “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,” Skeev
e 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. “As 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 hunter-gatherer. 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.