M.Y.T.H. Inc in Action

by Robert Asprin

  M.Y.T.H. Inc In Action

  Robert Asprin

  Content

  Author’s Note

  The Fan Mail

  Introduction

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Next

  Author’s Note

  I am not a fast writer,

  I am not a slow writer,

  I am a half fast writer!

  R.L. Asprin

  The Fan Mail

  I’ve received has been pretty much split on the subject of my last Introduction; some found it interesting and insightful, while others thought it was boring and a waste. If you are of the latter group, please feel free to jump ahead directly into the story, since there is nothing in this message you need to know to understand (and, hopefully, enjoy) the book.

  For the rest of you, this note is mostly an apology ... or, more accurately, a string of apologies.

  Back in M. Y.T.H. Inc. Link, I optimistically stated that I would be trying to write two Myth episodes a year . . . and things have not been the same since. I, my publishers, and many bookstores and dealers have been flooded with queries and demands for “the next Myth book,” with each reader being sure the books were in existence somewhere because of the schedule I had so foolishly “committed to” in that introduction.

  To belabor the obvious, I haven’t been able to write at the speed I anticipated at the time. While the popularity of the series and the loyalty of its readers is both gratifying and profitable, any publisher can tell you that trying to get a book out of an author when “it isn’t happening” is like pushing on a rope. You see, when I made my writing “guesstimate,” I had just finished writing MIL, and the speed with which the prose goes onto the page when I’m closing on the end of a book was still fresh in my mind. That is, when it’s flowing, it flows very fast. What I had overlooked was the months of outlining and false starts that go on before things get flowing (These books only look spontaneous and easy to write. Honest!) Anyway, the cruel realities of the situation surfaced when I tried to meet my promised schedule, and I fell far behind my anticipated timetable. As the queries and demands from the readers grew, the tolerance of the publishers for late delivery grew less and less, and the pressures on me increased “to get the manuscript in” with, less and less time for rewrites and polish.

  Finally, in 1988, things blew up. I got into a dispute with Donning/Starblaze (the prime Myth publisher . . . the mass market [small paperback] editions from Ace are subcontracted reprints) over royalties. The dispute has been settled, and the only reason I mention it here is that it lasted the better part of a year . . . delaying my writing that much more.

  In addition to the negotiated terms of that settlement, however, there is an additional apology that I owe the management of Donning. You see, part of the settlement was that the next book (the one you’re holding) would not be advertised nor orders taken until the manuscript had been delivered. This was an effort to take some of the “deadline” pressure off my writing as I tried to get back into stride. There were two unfortunate side effects of that condition, however. First, I was unable to reply to the many readers and fans asking when the next book would be out ... as it would be less than fair to insist that Donning not advertise a release date, then banter it about myself. Secondly, at one point I gave my assurance to Donning on the phone as to when the manuscript would be completed . . . then promptly forgot that I had done so. This meant that when I encountered problems with my writing, I neglected to warn Donning of the delay, and in that absence of revised information, they launched an extensive and expensive advertising campaign for the release of the book in late ‘89 ... only to suffer embarrassment and loss of credibility when the manuscript failed to appear for production.

  While I am not in a position to repair the financial damage caused by the “false start” advertising campaign, I feel it only honorable to offer public apology to Donning for the professional embarrassment which my memory lapse caused. For the record, the late appearance of this volume is due to delays at the author’s end, not the publisher, distributor, bookstore, or dealer. Writers are often quite loud in voicing horror stories about having their works mishandled by the publishing industry, yet not so vocal when it comes to admitting their own shortcomings. Folks, this time the confusion and delays were my fault, and the distress I feel because of that will only be compounded if I allow others to take the blame by remaining silent.

  While I’m prattling, let me try to head off another potential round of misunderstanding and confusion. In July of ‘90, another humor series of mine, science fiction this time, will premiere with the publishing of Phule’s Company. Please do not panic. This new series is in addition to, not replacing, the MYTH novels. As promised back in MIL, the MYTH novels will continue at least through #12.

  (More than) Enough said. While this intro hasn’t been as much fun as the last, look at it as a different sort of insight into the “carefree life of an author” and the frustrating complexities of the publishing industry. Enjoy the book. I only hope it justifies the wait.

  Robert Lynn Asprin

  February 1990

  Introduction

  “What am I doing here?”

  Any Recruit, Any Army

  “NAME?”

  Now, in those circles within whose company I am accustomed to travelin’, it is considered impolite to ask questions in general . . . and that question in specific. Unfortunately, I was currently well outside those circles, and as such felt compelled to answer the inquiry, however rude.

  “Guido.”

  “Home address?”

  “The Bazaar at Deva.”

  “What?”

  “The Bazaar at ... Oh! Uh . . . just say . . . ‘varies.’”

  The joker what was takin’ down this information gives me a hard look before continuing with his questions. I give him my best innocent look back, which as any jury can tell you is most convincing though deep down inside I am more than a little annoyed with myself. Bein’ a smarter than average individual, I should have recalled that even though my travels and adventures with the Boss have accustomed me to other dimensions, to most folks here on Klah such places as the Bazaar at Deva are unheard of, and therefore suspicious. As I am makin’ a specific effort to be inconspicuous, this is not the wisest answer to have given.

  “Height and weight?”

  This question makes me feel a bit better, as it serves to remind me that whatever I say or do, I will never be totally inconspicuous. You see, I am what is politely referred to as “a large person” . . . or less politely as “a knuckle-dragging monster.” While this is of invaluable assistance considerin’ my chosen profession, it does, however, make it difficult to blend with any given crowd. In fact, I would be the largest person in the line if it were not for Nunzio who is maybe an inch shorter, but a bit bulkier.

  I can see the guy with the questions has noticed this all by himself, since he keeps glancin’ back and forth between the two of us as he jots down my responses.

  “Next of kin?”

  “I guess that would be Nunzio, here,” I sez, jerkin’ a thumb at my colleague.

  “You two are related?”

&n
bsp; “He’s my cousin.”

  “Oh.”

  For a second I think he’s about to say somethin’ more, but then he just shrugs and scribbles a little more on his pad.

  “Do you have a criminal record?”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “A criminal record. Have you ever been arrested?”

  “No convictions.”

  That earns me another hard look.

  “I didn’t ask about convictions. I asked if you’ve ever been arrested.”

  “Well . . . yeah. Hasn’t everybody?”

  “What for?”

  “Which time?”

  “How many times have you been arrested?”

  “Oh, three . . . maybe four dozen times . . . but no convictions.”

  The joker has his eyebrows up now.

  “You’ve been arrested nearly fifty times with no convictions?”

  “No witnesses,” I say, showin’ him my teeth.

  “I see,” the guy sez, lookin’ a little nervous, which is one of the customary side effects of my smiles. “Well . . . lets try it this way ... are you currently wanted by the authorities?”

  “No.”

  “Good . . . good,” he nods, fillin’ in that blank on the form in front of him.

  “Okay . . . one final question. Do you know of any reason why you should not be allowed to enlist in the army of Possiltum?”

  In the actualities of the situational, I knew of several reasons not to enlist . . . startin’ with the fact that I didn’t want to and endin’ with the godawful wardrobe that I would be forced to wear as a soldier-type.

  “Naw.”

  “Very well.” he sez, pushin’ the form across the table at me. “Just sign or make your mark here, please.”

  “Is that all?” I ask, scribbling’ my name in the indicated spot.

  “Is that all, sergeant,” the joker smiles, pickin’ up the paper and blowin’ on the signature.

  Another reason for not joinin’ the army occurs to me.

  “Is that all, sergeant?” I sez, bein’ careful not to let my annoyance show.

  “No. Go to the next tent now and you’ll be issued a uniform. Then report back here and you’ll be assigned to a group for your training.”

  ‘Training?”

  This is indeed somethin’ what had never occurred to me or Nunzio, and could put a serious crimp in our projected timetable. I mean, how much trainin’ does it take to kill people?

  “That’s right . . . training,” the sergeant sez with a tight-lipped smile.

  “There’s more to being a soldier than wearing a uniform, you know.”

  Bein’ a survival oriented individual, I refrain from speculatin’ out loud as to what this might entail. Fortunately, the sergeant does not seem to expect an answer or additional comment. Rather, he waves me out the door as he turns his attention to the next unfortunate.

  “Name?”

  “Nunzio.”

  Now, those of youse what have been followin’ dese books all along may be wonderin’ just why it is that Nunzio and me is signin’ onto Possiltum’s army instead of performin’ our normal duties of bodyguardin’ the Boss . . . who you probably think of as the Great Skeeve, as you is not employed by him and therefore have no reason to think of him as the Boss.

  This confusion is understandable, as this book is happenin’ right after the book before the last one, (M.Y.T.H. Inc. Link) . . . and at the same time as the one before this (Myth-Nomers and Im-Pervections). Add to that the fact that this is one of the M.Y.T.H. Inc. volumes, and is therefore bein’ told from my viewpoint instead of the Boss’s, and it becomes clear why your eyes is perhaps crossed at this point in the narrative. The only consolin’ I can offer youse, is that if youse think my life whilst workin’ for the Boss is confusin’ to read, youse should try livin’ it for a month or five!

  Actually, to be totally honest with youse, dis book is not startin’ where I was the last time you saw me, so let me refer youse back to the meetin’ which started us on this particular chain of events . . .

  Chapter One

  “What do you mean my characters talk funny?”

  D. Runyon

  IT IS INDEED a privilege to be included in a war-type council, regardless of what war it is or who in specific is also attendin’. Only the very elite are involved, which is to say those who will be furthest from the actual fightin’, as such gatherin’s are usually concerned with which portions of one’s forces are expendable, and exactly how and when they are to be expended. Since it is demoralizin’ for those who are to be dropped into the meat grinder to know they have been chosen as “designated receivers,” they are logically excluded from the proceeding, seein’ as how if they are made aware of their roles in advance, they are apt to take it on the lam rather than dutifully expiring on schedule, thereby botchin’ up many hours of plannin’ on both sides of the dispute in question. From this, it is easy to see that attendin’ these borin’ but necessary plannin’ sessions is not only an honor, it greatly improves one’s chances of bein’ alive at the end of the fracas. To get killed in a battle one has had a hand in settin’ the strategies for is an indication that one’s plannin’ abilities are sorely lackin’ and will count heavily against youse when bein’ considered for future engagements.

  In this particular circumstantial, however, it was no special honor to be included in the plannin’ session, as our entire force consisted of a mere five personages ... six if you count the Boss’s dragon. Needless to say, none of us was inclined to think of ourselves as fallin’ into the “expendable” category. Realizin’, however, that we was supposed to be trying to stop a renegade queen with a sizable mob of army-types at her disposal, one was not inclined to make book on our chances for survival . . . unless, of course, one was offered irresistible odds and maybe a decent point spread.

  While there wasn’t all that many of us, I, for one, had no complaints with the quality of our troops.

  Tananda and Chumley are a sister and brother, Trollop and Troll team. While they are some of the nicest people it has ever been my pleasure to encounter, either of them is also as capable as any five knee-breakers ever employed by the Mob if they find it necessary to be unpleasant. In the Boss’s absence, they have taken it on themselves to be the leaders of our expedition ... an arrangement which suits me fine.

  You see, my cousin Nunzio and me is far more comfortable takin’ orders than givin’ them. This is a habit we have acquired workin’ for the Mob, where the less you know about why an order is bein’ givin’, the better off you are ... particularly if at a later point you should be called upon to explain your actions under oath. (For those of youse who have failed to read about our activities in the earlier books in this series and are therefore ignorant as to our identities and modus operandi, our job description refers to us as “collection specialists” . . . which is a polite way of sayin’ we’re kneecappers.)

  The fifth member of our little strike force is Massha . . . and if that name alone is not sufficient to summon forth an identifyin’ image in your mind, then it is obvious you have not yet met this particular individual in the flesh. You see, Massha has a singularly unique appearance which is unlikely to be mistaken for anyone else, though she might, perhaps, be mistaken for some-thing else . . . like maybe a dinosaurous if said saurous was bein’ used as a travelin’ display for a make-up and jewelry trade show. What I am tryin’ to say is that Massha is both very big and very colorful, but in the interest of brevity I will spare you the analogous type comparisons. What is important is that as big and as tough as she is, Massha has a heart even bigger than her dress size.

  We had been holdin’ the start of our meetin’ until she got back from droppin’ the Boss off on Perv, which she had just done, so now we are ready to commence the proceedin’s.

  “So you’re tellin’ me you think King Rodrick was whacked by Queen Hemlock? That’s why Skeeve sent you all here?”

  This is Big Julie talkin’. While me and Nunzio have never met
this particular individual before, we have heard of his reputation from the days when he also worked for the Mob, and it seems he and the Boss are old friends and that he’s one of our main sources for information and advice in this dimension. In any case, we are usin’ his villa as a combination meetin’ point and base of operations for this caper.

  “That’s right,” Tananda sez. “Hemlock’s always been big on world conquest, and it looks like her new husband wouldn’t go along with her schemes.”

  “Realizing she now has the combined power of her kingdoms’ money and the military might of your old army,” Chumley adds, “it occurred to Skeeve that she might be tempted to try to . . . shall we say, expand her holdings a bit. Anyway, he asked us to pop over and see first hand what was happening.”

  “I see,” Big Julie nods, sippin’ thoughtfully at his wine. “To tell you the truth, it never occurred to me that the king’s dyin’ was a little too convenient to be accidental. I’m a little surprised, though, that Skeeve isn’t checkin’ this out himself. Nothin’ personal, but he never used to be too good at delegatin’.”

  “He’s busy,” Massha sez, cuttin’ it short like a casino pit boss.

  Tananda shoots her a look then leans forward, puttin’ a comfortin’ hand on her knee.

  “He’ll be all right, Massha. Really.”

  Massha makes a face, then heaves one of her big sighs.

  “I know. I’d just feel a lot better if he let a couple of us tag along, is all. I mean, that is Perv he’s wandering around in. They’ve never been noted for their hospitality.”

  “Perv?” Big Julie scowls. “Isn’t that where that weirdo Aahz is from?”

  “Where he’s from, and where he’s gone,” Chumley supplies. “He and Skeeve had a falling out, and friend Aahz has quit the team. Skeeve has gone after him to try to bring him back . . . which leaves us to deal with Queen Hemlock. So tell us, Jules, what’s the old girl been up to lately?”

  “Well, I’ll admit there’s been a lot of activity since the king died,” Julie admits. “The army’s been on the move almost constantly, and both they and the kingdom are getting noticeably bigger . . . know what I mean? It’s kinda like the old days when I was running the army, only on a bigger scale. I get a postcard from one of the boys sayin’ how they’re visitin’ a new country, than ga-bing-ga-bang that country’s suddenly a new part of Possiltum.”