Myth-Told Tales m-13

by Robert Asprin

  “Spare me, my lady,” he said, laughing. “I'm already in trouble with two women. I don't need a third.”

  The Centaur and the Imp had plenty of suggestions.

  “Flood her with other suitors,” Birkley said. “Shell forget about you.”

  “One thing you have to know about Rennie,” Cordu said, “she is always faithful to promises. The other thing you must know is that she never forgets a grudge. No.”

  “Bribe her father,” the Imp said. “You've got a lot of money.”

  “Money can't buy him off,” Cordu said. “Nothing will buy him from this notion.”

  Chumley looked thoughtful. “What if your lady wife made an appeal to him? She wasn't planning to be supplanted.”

  “She is not supplanted. No matter what the rank of each successive spouse we might take, the first gains precedence. My mother had two husbands. The second one was a prince of Jongling, but my father was a butcher from Karpuling. Rennie loses rank. I know that will make her angrier when she knows.”

  The men turned to Tananda.

  She shook her head. “Sorry, Cordu,” she said. “I've thought it over, and you're going to have to die.”

  The Nob rose to his feet in alarm.

  “What? Call for my guards! Call for my wizard!”

  “Forget them,” Tananda said, toying with her whiskey glass. “If I meant it, you'd be dead already. Big Brother knows that.”

  Chumley gawked. “Little Sister!” She smiled at him. “I mean it, Big Brother. Let's get going. I can explain it all on the way.”

  “Way?” Cordu echoed. “Where are we going?” “Eyarll. We've got a marriage to annul.”

  The heralds honked out a note on their yard-long trumpets.

  “Lord Cordu, heir of Vol Gr—!”

  Before they could finish announcing the new arrivals to the assembly in the throne room, Chumley stepped forward and shoved them aside.

  “Sorry,” he called as they went flying. He cocked his head to Cordu, who stepped into the room and stood framed in the doorway with his hands on his hips. After a deliberate three-count, he strode in. His entourage, led by Chumley, crowded in after him.

  Behind them came the small figure of Larica, draped in sea-blue silk with a wreath around her head, and her ladies-in-waiting. The expression on her little round face clearly said that she did not like what was going on.

  The Tue-Khan, a bulky Nob with a large nose, stood up from his damask-cushioned throne. Cordu swaggered up to him.

  “Where's my bride?” Cordu demanded.

  The Tue-Khan looked taken aback.

  “She's not present at the moment, er, son,” he said. “We weren't expecting you yet!”

  “Well, why not?” Cordu bellowed, his voice making the amethyst chandeliers ring among the ceiling rafters. “Shouldn't take you that long to get her ready. You're her father — command her!”

  The Tue-Khan assumed an indulgent smile.

  “Come now, son, you've known her all her life. She's not that easy to command.”

  “Well, she's going to have to learn how to take orders! Things are about to change! Get her down here! I said,” he repeated, thrusting his face into the Tue-Khan's, who cowered back in his throne, “get her down here NOW!”

  Chumley could have applauded. Cordu always had been the pride of the Footlight Society at university. Such a mild personality as his had to be disguised in an aggressive role. It was an absolute inspiration on Little Sister's part to come up with this scenario. It seemed to be working very well. He tipped a wink in the direction of the rafters, hoping she could see him from her vantage point.

  “You've changed so much, Cordu,” the Tue-Khana, Renimbi's mother said, shaking her head. “I don't like it. You must not be too rough on Rennie. She's entitled to the courtesies as a duchess and daughter of the Tue-Khan.”

  “Yes, courtesies,” Cordu said. He whispered desperately over his shoulder to Krans. “Line!”

  “I want her to meet…” the Imp prompted.

  “Ah, yes,” Cordu said, recovering his aplomb. “I want her to meet my other wife, Larica. She's going to be Rennie's superior from now on. I'd like to see Rennie curtsy to her.”

  The Eyarllian courtiers gasped in unison.

  The Tue-Khan clicked his tongue. “Son, dynastic marriages take time to arrange. We have to send for a priest, and call for guests, arrange gifts, draw up paperwork …”

  “The document I signed is as good as a marriage, isn't it?” Cordu asked.

  “Er, yes …”

  Cordu spread out his hands.

  “Then she is already my bride. I expect you to present her to me so we can get on with the honeymoon!”

  The Tue-Khana looked horrified. “Decent people don't speak of such things in public, Cordu!”

  “Who said I was a decent person? After that, I intend to make some changes around here.”

  “What changes, my son?” the Tue-Khan asked, frowning. “I am sure Renimbi will enjoy discussing them with you, for the day when you and she rule over our joined lands.”

  “In Vol Grun, the man becomes head of the household,” Cordu said. “She will obey my will. But why wait? We signed a contract to join our lands. That means that what is yours is mine. So, I am moving in here, giving myself a little pied-a-terre that I can drop in on when I feel like it”

  “Er … that wasn't exactly what I intended in the wording of our agreement, son.”

  Cordu looked shocked. “It wasn't? I thought you wanted one land, under one rule.”

  “In a way, over time …”

  “Why wait?” Cordu rubbed his hands together and looked around. “For a start, I think this place is too full of decorator trash. I think we'll start to get rid of some of it right now.”

  He signed to the others. Chumley studied the room to see what could be removed or brought down without causing permanent damage. A hundred gilt-edged chairs stood arrayed on each side of the aisle leading to the throne, places for visiting nobles to sit. Only one was occupied. That left ninety-nine to play with.

  “Roarrr!”

  He charged the neat rows. A dozen chairs went flying into the others, knocking them flying. Courtiers raced to get out of the way of furniture. A few cowered behind the Tue-Khan's throne. Chumley picked out a chair that already showed signs of decrepitude and tore the legs asunder as easily as parting a wishbone. CRACK!

  “Cheap!” he declared.

  “No!” the Tue-Khana cried. “Dear, make him stop!”

  “Guards!” the Tue-Khan shouted. “Seize him!”

  A coterie of armored men lowered their spears and charged at him.

  With one hand Chumley picked up a chair, drew it to his chest. He took three careful steps, and bowled the golden chair across the room. It spun over the floor. The guards windmilled their arms as they tried to get out of the way, but the chair caught four of them right in the knees. They fell, scattering. Two of the guards kept coming.

  “Need spare,” Chumley announced, reaching for another chair. “Seventen, not easy!” He rolled the chair at the two guards, but they dove for opposite walls. The chair smashed into the wall. “Darn!”

  “Those are for people awaiting audience,” the Tue-Khan said, agog.

  “Oh, you don't need those,” Cordu said. “I have something better. Bring it in!”

  The chef du protocol who led Cordu's entourage raised a hand, and the huge double doors were flung open. Though they were two spear-lengths wide from lintel to lintel, it was still barely enough room for the huge Nobish beasts of burden, who were led in by a couple of ostlers. A dozen Vol Grun guards sprang to help untie the enormous parcels strapped to their backs. These were a pair of twelve-foot padded sofas that resembled giant cockroaches that had been upholstered in green and gold brocade, with piping around every fat, overstuffed cushion and a wealth of tassels at each end. They were arranged to flank a triangular end table possessed of a stunning orange-varnished finish, and overlooked by a skinny brass standard la
mp with a marabou-fringed shade in brilliant pink. Tananda had spotted this furniture arrangement as they had passed a flea market on the way out of Vol Grun's capital city. The owner, who had inherited it from his rich aunt, had been on his way to deposit it in the dump. They were so ugly that the moths wouldn't touch them. She had bargained with him, and for less than a gold piece, the duke's party found itself in possession of an experiment in extreme distaste. Cordu's men placed the four pieces facing the throne, about five yards away, and lit the lamp.

  “I thought you would be pleased,” Cordu said, flinging himself full length upon the left-hand sofa. “I knew that my moving in here would probably strain the facilities, so I brought my own seats. Like them?”

  The Tue-Khana looked as though she might faint, but the Tue-Khan smiled weakly.

  “They … will take a little getting used to.”

  Clearly he was not yet outraged enough to take action. Chumley signaled to Krans to start the next onslaught.

  The grinning Imp made a beeline for the king's personal wine rack, under the guard of a butler and sommelier. The two Nobs tried in vain to protect it from him, but he levitated them out of his way.

  “Hey, Cordu!” he shouted, holding up a bottle. “Chateau Punding '04. What do you think of this swill?”

  “Only the '03 was any good,” Cordu replied. “Pour it out!”

  “Right-o!” The Imp sent the bottle sailing into the air. The cork seemed to pop, and a cascade of purple liquid glugged down onto the priceless hand-knotted carpet. The two servants ran to intercept it and stop the flow. Krans made the bottle dance around the room just out of their reach. When the last dregs had poured out, he let it drop and chose another.

  “How about this one?”

  Cordu waved a dismissive hand.

  “Vinegar! Get rid of it!”

  “His Excellency's favorite!” the butler cried, racing to stop him. Krans lofted up out of his reach. The butler jumped for him, his belly jiggling.

  “Aha!” Krans cried, drawing a ceramic jug to him with a wisp of magik. “Finiffian brandy!”

  “Ill take some of that,” Cordu said. Krans threw him a priceless balloon glass. Cordu caught it just before it hit the ground. The sommelier fainted dead away.

  Birkley the Centaur, a good-looking male with a long blond mane and beard, galloped around the room, picking up women and heaving them onto his back.

  “May I have this one, Cordu?” he asked. “Or perhaps this one?”

  “Take them all!” the heir called back. The ladies screamed and beat at him, but he grabbed their wrists, laughing.

  Instead of ordering them rescued, the Tue-Khan stood gawking. Chumley thought he ought to cause a little more havoc. He started toward the wall full of tapestries, roaring.

  “I do not like your color scheme!” he bellowed. He yanked the colorful hangings down. They fell on his head. He tore his way out through a seam, and lurched out of them, toward a wall full of gleaming glass vases and sculptures. The Tue-Khana followed him, pleading.

  “Not my granny's crystal, please!”

  At the last moment, Chumley veered off, and headed toward a suit of armor on a stand. He kicked and tore at it until the pieces were scattered all over the costly rug.

  “Not fit me!” he shouted. “Discriminatory against Trolls!”

  “What is all this?”

  Chumley tossed aside the helmet at the sound of the outraged voice. At last, Renimbi had appeared.

  Premier Number One Daughter stood in the archway, a look of absolute horror on her face. Horror changed to fury as she scanned the room and spotted Cordu on the ugly couch, drinking. Larica stood by him, head proudly erect, with an expression on her face that boded ill for her husband once the two of them would be alone.

  She turned to her father. “What is he doing here?”

  “Moving in, it would seem,” the Tue-Khan said.

  “And you let him!”

  “I don't seem to have had a choice, my dear. He … he brought all of his friends. And some furniture.”

  “It's horrible,” Renimbi said. “Like something from a fun fair. And look what else he is doing! They're tearing up the entire room!”

  “High spirits, child. Be a good hostess. We are going to be kin from now on.”

  “No, we're not,” Renimbi said. “I told you I didn't want to marry him. I won't. You can't make me!”

  The Tue-Khan actually dropped his gaze and shuffled his toe on the marble floor. “I'm afraid that you already have, child.”

  “What?”

  The Tue-Khan produced a paper from the inside of his over-robe. “The clauses written in here … the lawyers, you know … insisted I include a consideration to make the contract valid … and I have always wanted to see the two of you together. I was sure you'd be happy, my dear.”

  “You tied me to him? And you didn't tell me?”

  At last the Tue-Khan was beginning to look more angry than doubtful. “I didn't know he had become such a … lout!”

  “Tear up the contract!” Renimbi demanded.

  The Tue-Khan hastily stuck the parchment roll back into his robe. “Child, my dream has always been to unite our lands. It is already accomplished. We are now one great country. Surely you can put up with one another, say on state occasions, and perhaps to give us a grand-child or two? For your dear old father?” He held out his hands to her.

  “No! Never!”

  “What a great idea, Rennie!” Cordu called from his reclining position. “We can give him grandchildren. We can start today.” He patted the couch. “This is comfy.”

  Renimbi's cheeks turned ochre with fury, but she didn't move. Chumley walked over and tucked her under his arm. She beat and kicked at him as he carried her to Cordu's couch. The prince edged out of reach when Chumley plopped her down. She didn't notice. She sprang up and raced back to the steps of the throne.

  “You tied me to him! Now I am stuck with your choice! I hate you! I hate him!”

  “My darling, I have only the best intentions for you in my heart!” The Tue-Khan said. Cordu finished his brandy and tossed the priceless glass over his shoulder.

  CRASH!

  It burst into shards on the floor. The Tue-Khan winced.

  “Rennie, I'm glad you showed up,” Cordu said. He stood up, swaying. Chumley admired his acting technique. Cordu wasn't drunk at all. Most of the priceless brandy had been poured down between the cushions. He hoped Cordu could get through his entire speech without fumbling. This was the one he had been the most nervous about on the trip there. “I thought your father had a great idea. I mean, how else could I conquer a whole country with the stroke of a pen? From childhood, we've been good friends. I want… hie! … I want you to meet Larica. She's my wife, too. You're gonna be good friends. She said she's got some great ideas about how the two of you are going to get along. She wants to change your wardrobe, and teach you needlework. My personal chamber back home needs a whole new tapestry, and you haven't been doing anything useful over the last few years, so this will be a nice change for you.”

  “Urrrrrgggh!” Renimbi shrieked, wringing her hands in anger. “I wish you were dead!”

  “Bingo, what?” Chumley said to himself. “Couldn't have scripted it better myself.”

  “Rennie!” Cordu said reproachfully. “How could you say such a thing? I'm sho…”

  THUNK!

  His words were cut off suddenly, because a crossbow bolt buried itself in the center of his chest.

  “Gack!” Cordu exclaimed. He clutched the feathered end of the arrow. Larica let out a terrified cry. Cordu staggered to the left. He goggled at the Tue-Khan, whose expression of horror matched his own. He grasped at the air with his free hand then staggered back to the right. He held up a hand as though he was about to make a statement, but his knees collapsed under him. As the assembly in the throne room watched in horror, Cordu toppled over. His eyes sagged closed. Renimbi ran to kneel beside him. She took his wrist, feeling for a pulse.


  “Cordy? Cordy? Speak to me!”

  “One side. I examine,” Chumley said, kneeling beside the prone Cordu. Both women clutched each other. The Troll shook his head with magnificent gravity.

  “Dead.”

  “Dead?” Renimbi said.

  Tananda descended magnificently from the ceiling, foot in a loop of rope. The crossbow was slung at her back.

  “As ordered, Duchess,” she said. “I think I've earned my fee.”

  “But I didn't really want him dead,” Renimbi wailed. “He's my best friend.”

  “Did you want him as a husband?” Tananda asked, surprised. “He has been acting like such a jerk.”

  Renimbi wrung her hands.

  “I know, but that's just the way he is … I mean, was. Oh, how could I have been so stupid?”

  The Tue-Khan came down from his throne and stood over the body of his momentary son-in-law. Shaking his head, he took the document out of the pocket in his robe. Sorrowfully, he tore it into strips and let the pieces fall down onto the body.

  “This agreement becomes null and void on the death of one of the couple,” he said. “I should never have let my ambition get in the way of my good sense. I am so very sorry, daughter. Your oldest friend, dead, and all because of me.” He turned and pointed a finger at Tananda. “Seize her!”

  “You really can't arrest me,” Tananda said, as burly Nobs crowded in on her from all sides. “My contract was properly registered with the Assassins' Guild.”

  One of them fastened manacles around her wrists, and bent to loop lengths of chain around her ankles. She winked outrageously at him.

  “You know, I don't usually go in for this kind of thing, but I'll try anything once.”

  The Nob turned away, nervously. Chumley almost laughed out loud.

  “You are very bold for a wench who is about to suffer torture and death,” the Tue-Khan rumbled. “You … you Trollop!”

  “Why, you noticed!” Tananda said, flirting her eye-lashes at him. Chumley surreptitously yanked the arrow out of Cordu's chest.

  “You will die most painfully!” the Tue-Khan roared.

  “Oh, I don't think so,” Tananda said. Her wrist chains jangled as she raised a hand to pat a yawn. “It's not on my schedule, you know.”