Something MYTH Inc m-12

by Robert Asprin

"You can come in now, Boss."

  "All right, Guido," he sez. "What was that all about?

  Now that the crisis is past, I figure it is wise to revert to my normal polite manner.

  "Sorry to barge in like that, Boss," I sez. "You know that's not my normal style."

  "So what were you doing?"

  "What I was doin' was my job," I sez, patiently, still a little worked up from the situation. "As your bodyguard, I was attemptin' to protect you from bein' hurt or maybe even killed. It's what you pay me for, accordin' to my job description."

  "Protecting me? From those two?" he gives me a smirk "C'mon, Guido. They were just arguing. They weren't even arguing with me. It was a family squabble between the two of them."

  "Just arguing? What do you think ..."

  I pause and take a long, slow breath, tryin' desperately to get my nerves under control.

  "Sorry, Boss. I'm still a little worked up over that close call. I'll be all right in a second."

  "What close call? They were just..."

  "I know, I know. They were just arguin'."

  I take a deep breath and flex my arms and hands, tryin' to relax.

  "You know, Boss, I keep forgettin' how inexperienced you are. 1 mean, you may be tops in the magik department, but when it comes to my speciality, which is to say rough-and-tumble stuff, you're still a babe in the woodwork."

  I figure this is as good a time as any to further the Boss's education, so I elaborate.

  "You see. Boss, people say that guys like Nunzio and me are not really all that different from the cops... that it's the same game on different sides of the line. I dunno. It may be true. What I am sure of, though, is that both we and our counterparts agree on one thing: The most dangerous situation to stick your head into... the situation most likely to get you dead fast... isn't a shoot-out or a gang war. It's an ordinary D & D situation."

  "D & D?" he sez with a frown. "You mean that game you were telling me about with the maps and dice?"

  "No," I sez, patient-like. "I'm talkin' about a 'domestic disturbance.' A family squabble... just like you had goin' on here when I came in. They're deadly, Boss. Especially one between a husband and wife."

  "Are you kidding, Guido?" the Boss sez. "What could happen that would be dangerous?"

  "More things than you can imagine," I sez, grim like. "That's what makes them so dangerous. In regular hassles, you can pretty much track what's goin' on and what might happen next. Arguments between a husband and wife are unpredictable, though. You can't tell who's gonna swing at who or with what, because they don't know themselves."

  "Why do you think that is, Guido? What makes fightbetween married couples so explosive?"

  "I never really gave it much thought," I sez. "If I had to give an opinion, I'd say it was due to the motivationals."

  "The motives?"

  "That, too." I frown, wonderin' why he is repeatin' what I said. "You see, Boss, the business-type disputes which result in violence like I am normally called upon to deal with have origins that are easily comprehended... like greed or fear. That is to say, either Boss A wants somethin' that Boss B is relucttant to part with, as in a good-sized hunk of revenue-generatin' property, or Boss B is afraid that Boss A is gonna try to whack him and decides to beat him to the punch. In these situationals, there is a clear-cut objective in mind, and the action is therefore relatively easy to predict and counter. Know what I mean?"

  "I think so," he sez. "And a domestic disturbance?"

  "That's where it can get ugly," I sez with a grimace. "It starts out with people arguin' when they don't know why they're arguin'. What's at stake there is emotions and hurt feelin's, not money. The problem with that is that there is no clear-cut objective, and as a result, there is no way of tellin' when the fightin' should cease. It just keep escalatin' up and up, with both sides dishin' out and takin' more and more damage, until each of them is hurt so bad that the only important thing left is to hurt the other one back."

  I pause and shake my head.

  "When it explodes, you don't want to be anywhere near ground zero. One will go at the other or they'll go at each other, with anything that's at hand. The worst part is, and the reason neither us or the cops want to mess with it, is that if you try to break it up, chances are they'll both turn on you. You see, mad as the are, they'll still reflexively protect each other from any outside force... into which category will fall you or anyone else who tries to interfere. That's why the best policy, if you have a choice at all, is to get away from, them and wait until the dust settles before venturin' close again."

  "1 think I understand now, Guido," he sez. "Thanks. Now tell me, what happened to your arm? And what are you doing back at the palace?"

  The sudden change of subject catches me off balance.

  "Sorry I didn't check in as soon as I got back," I sez, stallin' for time. "It was late and I thought you were already asleep ... until I heard that argument in process, that is. I would have let you know first thing in the morning."

  "Uh-huh. No problem. But since we're talking now, what happened?"

  "We ran into a little trouble, is all," I sez, casual-like. "Nothin' serious."

  "Serious enough to put your arm in a sling," he sez. "So what happened?"

  "If it's okay with you, Boss, I'd rather not go into details. Truth is, it's more than a little embarrassin'."

  "All right," he sez. "We'll let it ride for now. Will you be able to work with that arm?"

  "In a pinch, maybe. But not at peak efficiency. That's really what I wanted to talk to you about, Boss. Is there any chance you can assign Nunzio to be Pookie's backup while I take over his duties here?"

  "I don't know, Guido. Nunzio's been working with Gleep to try to figure out what's wrong with him. I kind of hate to pull him off that until we get some answers. Tell you what. How about if I talk to Chumley about helping out?"

  "Chumley?" I sez. "I dunno, boss. Don't you think that him bein' a troll would tend to scare people in these parts?"

  "Doesn't Pookie have a disguise spell or something that would soften Chumley's appearance?" he sez. "I was assuming that she wasn't wandering around the countryside showing the green scales of a Pervect."

  "Hey! That's right! Good idea, Boss. In that case, no problem. Chumley's as stand-up as they come."

  "Okay. I'll talk with him in the morning."

  "Actually, Chumley's a better choice than Nunzio," I sez, warmin' up to the idea. "Pookie's still kinda upset abut shootin' me, and Nunzio would probably ..."

  "Whoa! Wait a minute. Did you say Pookie shot you?"

  Now I am annoyed with myself. After havin' successfully dodged the question earlier, I have proceeded to re-introduce the subject all by myself.

  I decide to settle this once and for all by takin' it on head on ... with a bluff.

  "Really, boss," I sez, hurt-like, drawin' myself up to my full height. "I thought we agreed that we wasn't gonna talk about this. Not for a while, anyway."

  With that I make my exit, with as much dignity as I can muster.

  THIRTEEN

  "No trouble at all, old boy. Glad to help. Could use a change of scenery, really."

  This is Chumley talkin'. I came to see him as soon as I rolled out in the morning to ask him about bein' backup muscle for Pookie and Spyder. As a Troll, he is probably the strongest, toughest member of our team, next to Nun-zio and me, even if he does talk funny when he isn't workin'.

  "The Boss was sayin' that Pookie could take care of your appearance with her disguise spell," I sez.

  "Actually, that won't be a problem," he sez. "Little sister left me a gizmo that should handle things. Where did I put that?"

  He rummages around in a drawer and comes up with a device I recognize. I had seen his sister, Tananda, use it when we worked together briefly on our last assignment.

  It looks like one of those mirror-compact rigs that the dolls use, except this one has a couple dials that, if you knew how to manipulate them, could change your app
earance just like a disguise spell. That much I know. How to use the thing I haven't a clue.

  "So, you're all set?" I sez. "When do you figure you can get started?"

  "Oh, there are a couple things I've got to finish up first, then I'll be ready," he sez. "It would also probably be discreet to wait until I heard officially from Skeeve before embarking. Don't you think?"

  This takes me a bit aback.

  He's right, of course. Usually team assignments are handed out by the Boss. The trouble is that havin' rigged things to investigate the so-called rebellion without clearin' it with the Boss, plus pretty much captainin' the team while we were in the field, has gotten me in the habit of independent action. Of course, as I mentioned earlier, in the Mob such habits of independence are not necessarily conducive to one's continued health.

  "Of course," I sez, not lettin' on that I overlooked that loop. "I guess I'm just kinda anxious to get things rollin' so's Pookie won't have to operate too long alone."

  "From what I've seen of Pookie," Chumley sez, "she seems quite capable of taking care of herself... and several others, besides."

  I am glad Chumley has not asked for details about my wounded arm. Even though she asked me to do it, I am not really comfortable attributin' Spyder's error to Pookie.

  "Well, I'm off to see Massha," I sez.

  "Tell her 'Hi' for me," he sez. "I may not get a chance to stop and see her before I go. Besides, frankly, I find all her preparations for the wedding to be a little unnerving."

  "You know," I sez, shakin' my head, "I still can't believe that neither the Boss nor Aahz said anything to me about Masshagettin' married. I saw both of 'em when I got in last night, and neither of them even mentioned it."

  "They both seem to have a lot on their minds these days," Chumley sez. "Besides, Massha seems to be taking care of the arrangements herself, so they haven't really been that involved ... so far."

  As I make my way to Massha's room, however, it occurs to me that this is yet another example of how the way the Boss does things differs so radical-like from other Mob operations. In the regular Mob, a marriage is a major event. Comin' in second only to the attention they give funerals.

  "You just sit right there, Guido, honey. Massha has just the thing to fix up that arm of yours ... if I can just lay my hands on it."

  "Will it hurt?" I sez, a little nervous. I have never tried magical healin' before, and am uncertain as to what it involves.

  "A little more than amputation, but you'll still have your arm," she sez, distracted.

  "Are you kiddin' me?" I sez, lookin' toward the door.

  "Of course I'm kidding you," she sez, laughin'. "Don't be such a baby. Honestly. Men. Always so ready to get into a fight, and such little boys when it comes to healing up afterward. Really, you won't feel a thing. Ah! Here we are!"

  She comes up with a tube of something from which she then proceeds to squeeze a glob of creamy goo over my wound. It glows and sparkles for a moment, then seems to soak right into the skin, leavin' no trace behind. I'll have to admit, she is correct. Not only does it not hurt, it feels sort of cool and soothing.

  "There we are," she sez. "The muscle will probably be a bit sore for a while, so you might want to leave the sling on. It should be good as new by tomorrow."

  "Thanks, Massha," I sez, flexing my arm cautiously.

  Frankly, I am amazed. Not by the healin', though I'll admit it was pretty impressive, but by the fact she could find it at all.

  Chumley told me that Massha has changed quarters, but he always did have a gift for understatement. Her new room is roughly the size of a small warehouse, makin' it roughly three times the size of either of the rooms Nunzio and I have. Even with the extra acreage, however, it is crammed to the walls.

  There are bolts of cloth and drawin's piled everywhere. Shoes and fabric samples and jewelry are scattered about in seemingly careless abandon, and there is not one but four full-sized sewin' dummies lined up in the center of the room. Realizin' that Massha is of the extra-extra-extra-extra-enormous size, this gives the feelin' that I am suddenly facin' the front line of a heavy contact-sport team after I have shrunk considerably.

  The fact that she could find a small tube of goo in the middle of this chaos is nothin' short of miraculous.

  I also find myself revisin' my earlier thoughts about this wedding not bein' a big deal. Judgin' from what Massha has goin', this event promises to make the biggest shindig the Mob has thrown look like a Tupperware party.

  "By the way, Massha," I sez, "I guess congratulations or best wishes or whatever are in order. The General is a lucky man."

  I mean this sincerely. After gettin' over the initial shock and thinkin' it over carefully, I have concluded that Massha is a real catch ... ignorin' the possible parallels to big-game trophies. While it is true that she is large to the point of bein' intimidatin', especially takin' into account her taste in clothes and jewelry which run to extreme of loud and flashy, the fact remains that the biggest thing about her is her heart. Underneath her brash and pushy exterior, Massha is perhaps the kindest, gentlest soul it has ever been my privilege to meet. General Badaxe could do a lot worse in pickin' a life partner.

  "Thanks, Guido," she sez, startin' to tear up a little. "I still have trouble believing that it's really happening. I never thought... I mean, with the way I look ..."

  She breaks off and blows her nose loudly, a sight which I will spare you the description of, bein' both a merciful and weak-stomached individual.

  "So, how are the wedding plans coming?" I sez, tryin' to lighten the mood. "How are the pompous and circumstantials goin'?"

  "It's utter madness," she sez, regainin' her composure. "Still, things are staggering along. The Queen has been a big help."

  "The Queen? You mean Queen Hemlock?"

  Things are suddenly adding up a bit. Massha is not only one of the M.Y.T.H. Inc. crew, she is also the Boss's apprentice... and Queen Hemlock has designs on the Boss. Of course she'll spare no expense in helpin' set up this wedding.

  "That's right. She really has been a dear. To be honest, I think she's hoping our little ceremony will be a dress rehearsal for her own wedding."

  "That was occurrin' to me as well," I sez. "What are your thoughts on that, Massha?"

  "Frankly, I have some serious doubts about the whole thing," she sez. "I mean, marriage seems so right for Hugh and me. It's something we both really want, so it's going to happen whatever we have to wade through to get there. It seems to me that the only reason Skeeve is considering marrying Queen Hemlock is that he feels he has to. To me, that's a lousy basis for a marriage."

  Some women get a little crazy on the subject of marriage, especially when they're in the process themselves, thinkin' how it's the best thing in the world for everyone. I am glad to hear that Massha is not of the ilk.

  "Sounds like good thinkin' to me," I sez. "Oh well. I better be movin' along now. You've got lots to do, and I still haven't checked in with Nunzio yet. Thanks again for the healin'!"

  While it has been good to get back and see the various members of our team, I will admit it is a particular relief when I finally get a chance to sit down alone with Nunzio. What with him bein' my cousin, we have known each other since before Don Bruce assigned us to the Boss, and before that, even before we joined the Mob in the first place. If there is anyone I can speak my mind to without first havin' to think things through, it's Nunzio. What's more, because we know each other so well, we also know when to ask each other embarrassin' questions and when to maintain a tactful silence.

  Case in point: when I first come into his room, he cocks an eyebrow at my arm in a sling and sez "Rough opposition?" to which I reply "Nothin' we couldn't handle." Beyond that, he has not pressed for details. That's the way it is with us. One of us will express curiosity, and if the other does not volunteer particulars, we simply let it drop.

  I have given him a sketchy account of our mission, and he has supplied a brief update on the news and gossip in t
he palace.

  "So, how's the Boss holdin' up through all this?" I sez.

  Instead of answerin', Nunzio rubs his chin like he always does when he's thinkin' hard, then shakes his head.

  "I dunno, Guido," he sez. 'To be honest with you, he's been kinda weird."

  Now, I know that the Boss has been under a lot of pressure what with tryin' to get the kingdom's finances squared away and havin' the Queen proposin' marriage to him, but we've seen him under pressure before. 'Weird' is not usually a word that Nunzio uses to describe the actions of a superior in the chain of command.

  "Could you give me a 'for example' on that, cuz?" I sez.

  "Well, you know how I've been workin' with Gleep, the Boss's dragon, to try to figure out why he's been attacking people?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Well, the Boss has it in his head that Gleep is intelligent."

  "So what?" I sez. "The Boss has always had a soft spot for the little dragon. He's said all along that Gleep is a lot smarter than anyone gives him credit for."

  "Not smart," Nunzio sez. "Intelligent. It's not that he's smart about learning tricks or recognizing people. The Boss thinks that Gleep may actually be intelligent, as in planning and scheming. He thinks that Gleep may be attacking people on purpose and trying to make it look like accidents."

  I have to admit that is a crazy thought, though even considerin' it as a possibility is scary. But Nunzio isn't finished.

  "And another thing," he sez, "the other day, the Boss asked me my opinion. Not on rough-and-tumble stuff, mind you. He wanted to know what I thought about his personal habits."

  "He did what?" I sez, blinkin' with surprise.

  Now, this is truly unheard of. When one is workin' as a Mob bodyguard, one observes and adapts to the habits of the body one is guardin' in order to be effective. Com-mentin' on those habits is not only unnecessary, it is ill-advised. Bein' asked to comment on those habits, particularly by the body itself, is inconceivable. It would be like askin' your armor if it thought you had smelly armpits.

  "What? You think I'd make something like this up?" Nunzio sez, a little hurt. "I'm telling you the Boss made a point of asking me if I thought he drank too much. What's more, when I tried to hem and haw my way out of answering, he kept pushing and insisting that I give him an honest answer."