Myth 18 - MythChief Read online

  Matfany loped alongside looking worried as I strode to-​ward my next best prospect. Having the map marked up with the Geek's signature was the best spur I could put in front of another buyer. If they saw the good stuff disap-​pearing, they would want in. I jingled the bag of coins in my pocket. The sound added to my good mood.

  “Three hundred and twenty gold coins,” Guido said. “That is a very nice hunk of change for the kitty.”

  “Pretty good,” I smirked. The Geek had negotiated me down to half, but that was to be expected. “I bet I'm win-​ning. Skeeve couldn't possibly earn that much that fast. He just isn't the operator I am.”

  “Don't count him out too fast, tiger,” Tananda said, catching up with me and winding her arm into mine. “He's pretty creative.”

  “Yeah, but would he come up with a way to make some-​thing out of nothing like we just did?” I asked. “And we're about to milk that nothing for a lot more money. All for the sake of Foxe-​Swampburg, of course,” I added, for the sake of the client.

  Matfany's troubled expression finally broke out in words.

  “Mister Aahz, I'm not sure I like this too much. The people in Foxe-​Swampburgthey've always gotten by just calling things by their names.”

  “You don't have to use 'em,” I pointed out. “No matter what you heard me say back there, naming rights doesn't convey any other rights to the sponsors. They get to put their names on a map. Whoop de doo. You don't hear about people trying to get ownership of the points they name in the Interdimensional Star Registry, do you?”

  “Never heard of that,” Matfany said. “Kinda the same thing, is it?”

  “You bet. Some bright thinkerI bet he was a Pervect promised some sucker that if he gave him a couple of gold pieces, that he could pick out any star on the map except the fancy ones and name it whatever he wanted. By the last count there were about a million named for girlfriends, a hundred thousand named after pets, and ten million named for NASCAR.”

  “What's NASCAR?” Matfany asked.

  “Never mind,” I said briskly. “Look, the point is that we've earned three hundred and twenty gold coins, half of it in hand. How much does the kingdom need to get out of debt?”

  “About twenty times that much to start with,” Matfany said, gloomily. "Mr. Aahz, there just isn't enough to sell to get that kind of capital.

  “Leave that to me,” I said confidently. “I've got some more ideas.” “That, sir, is what I fear,” Matfany said.

  Myth 18 - MythChief

  NINETEEN

  “There's no problem with deficit spending.”

  R. MUGABE

  Hermalaya held out one slender hand to the choconut ty-​coon. He took it in his big paw, looking dazed and pleased.

  “Mister Oatis, it has just been a pleasure?” she said. “Oh, no, pretty lady, the pleasure was all ours!” he ex-​claimed. “What a day!”

  Nunzio, Chumley, and I had all of her ceremonial gear locked up in their respective cases. Massha stood beside the princess, an honorary lady-​in-​waiting. We all had the system down to the point where we could get the Cake room cleaned up in under half an hour, including magikal deep cleaning, thanks to a trumpet-​shaped gadget Massha had unearthed in a wizard's estate sale in Plupert. Sebellum Oatis's nine children were lined up wide-​eyed and quiet, waiting for their chance to say good-​bye to the prin-​cess.

  “I don't know how you did it,” Oatis's wife whispered to her, “but they've been good all afternoon! And all with a few little pieces of cake!”

  “It's not what Cake is,” Hermalaya said, smiling. “It's what Cake means.”

  “I know. You have triumphed over such adversity thanks to Cake. I read it in your diary. I bought a dozen copies for all my friends!”

  “Well, that's just so kind,” the princess gushed. “I mean, I didn't want to share my private thoughts all over the di-​mensions? But Skeeve here told me that a lot of people would find the story moving? I kind of guess they have.”

  I grinned a little sheepishly. The publication of The Princess's Diary had been a hard sell with Hermalaya, but I had pointed out she had already given copies not only to Massha's friend Bobbie Jo, but also several of the clients who had requested them as mementos after their Cake ceremonies. I suggested that she find a good publisher who would present the princess's own words in her voice, all the better to drum up support for Foxe-​Swampburg. She agreed, but only for the sake of her kingdom. It had sold thousands of copies already. Bunny was keeping track of the royalties.

  “... I wish I could take lessons from you. And I think my two older daughters are interested, too.”

  “Maybe later on, when things get settled out?” Herma-​laya said, grasping her hand courteously. “I just love chil-​dren, you know. I'd be happy to help you all on the path.”

  “I admire you so much, princess.” “Thank you. You're just too complimentary?” “Uh, here,” Oatis said, offering me a box. “Thanks.” The good-​bye looked like it was getting protracted, so I grabbed Hermalaya's arm. “Sorry, but her highness is getting tired.” “I'm sorry, but we have to go?” Hermalaya said, taking my cue. “You are just all so kind.”

  We hadn't even bamfed out of there before the herd of children started clamoring and running around. I felt sorry for Oatis's wife. But it was another two hundred and fifty gold coins for meI mean, the treasury. Oatis found Her-​malaya charming, but he didn't have any economic hold on Reynardo or Foxe-​Swampburg that was of any help. He did, however, have some friends who had.

  I had met a lot of royalty during my stint as a Court Magi-​cian. One thing that I realized about them was that most of them didn't have access to their countries' wealth. That power lay in the hands of merchants, landowners, and min-​isters. I'd known a number of tightwads among them understandable, since the way to stay wealthy was not to spend the fortune they or their ancestors had spent life-​times amassing, but I had underestimated the curiosity value of royalty to those very people. Among those willing to listen to The Princess's Diary, more than a few were eager to experience the famous Cake ceremony, as con-​ducted by the exiled Hermalaya herself. Those who en-​joyed it passed on word to others.

  “Who've we got next?” I asked Massha, who was keep-​ing track of the letters of introduction and callbacks once I'd let them see the diary spell. We had set up a command center in one of my old chambers in Hemlock's castle. As long as only Hermalaya was imposing on Hemlock's hos-​pitality, the queen let us come and go as we pleased. I transported Nunzio and Chumley in daily from the Ba-​zaar. I was staying in the lonely old inn in the woods there in Klah.

  “Ooh, this is a hot one,” Massha said, holding up a gilt-​edged piece of parchment. “Oatis tipped us off to him. Bobono Macullis Lupercalia. Hey, he's right in Reynardo. He's a Swamp Fox. You would think he has seen the Cake ceremony before.”

  “He might have,” Hermalaya said. “I think I've heard the Lupercalia name before?”

  Nunzio and Guido had been doing some research for me into kingdom finances. I plunged into the piles of pa-​pers.

  “Oh, yes,” I said, my eyes narrowing greedily on the document. It was a copy of a loan agreement negotiated on behalf of the royal house of Foxe-​Swampburg and signed by Matfany and Lupercalia. “This is great. Matfany's been buying building supplies on credit from this guy. He's months behind on payments. Thousands of gold coins! If we can persuade him, he might be just the straw that breaks the camelpaca's back. Let's see when I can get an appoint-​ment to visit him.”

  “Well, you can't go tomorrow. Both of you have got an interview with Boccarella for the Crystal Ether Network in the morning. The Overseer of Mirth in Killinem is expect-​ing Skeeve in the afternoon.”

  I made a note on a scrap of paper. “No problem. Day after tomorrow or later. If that's all right with you, prin-​cess? I don't want you to feel burned-​out. I know we're having you meet a lot of people, but I think we're gaining some terrific allies.”

  I
turned to Hermalaya, who sat on the window seat, turning her Cake server over and over in her fingers.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Massha asked, floating over to sit in the air by her. Massha preferred to be weightless whenever possible, and her gaudy flying ring provided all the buoyancy she needed. The Swamp Vixen turned a wistful face toward us.

  “I just miss my friends, and all my ladies, and the Old Folks,” she said with a heartbreaking little sigh.

  I knew just how she felt. I had been exiled, too. Bunny wouldn't allow me to stay in my new office more than a few minutes at a time. On my rare visits back to drop off money and gifts meant to replenish the Foxe-​Swampburg treasury when Hermalaya was restored to the throne Gleep greeted me with a tongue-​sliming as if I had been gone for years. He and Buttercup were lonely hanging around a half-​empty office. Nunzio volunteered to stay behind sometimes and play with them.

  “Beneficial and educational exercises,” he told me. “It helps increase their intelligence.”

  I knew he'd be surprised if he knew just how intelligent both Gleep and Buttercup really were. Buttercup was still keeping an eye out the back door for assassins. Each time I checked in with him he dropped a wink of his heavy white lashes to tell me that no strangers had yet tried to invade from the extradimensional side of the tent. That informa-​tion was all the more important now that I knew Aahz was working against my client's best interests. If he managed to stabilize Matfany's position, poor Hermalaya would never get to go home

  The best weapons we had were outrage and financial securities. I'd asked the creditors we had met and im-​pressed so far to hold back until we were ready. I figured that public outcry, mixed with a massed call for repayment of capital I knew Matfany didn't have, would force him to resign and allow the princess to return home. I just hoped we could outdraw whatever Aahz was bringing in for the prime minister. No one would tell me how he was doing, or even what he was doing.

  Myth 18 - MythChief

  TWENTY

  “You don't need to know anything, Aahz,” Pookie said, without even looking fully at me as I slid onto the bar stool beside her.

  It had taken me a long time to hunt down my younger cousin and Spider, the Klahd woman she had taken on as a business partner. The two of them had the far end of the room to themselves. No points for guessing why: Pookie was dressed in a skintight silver jumpsuit crossed with bandoliers studded with pouches and holsters, and shiny black hoots that had sharpened points for heels. Spider wasn't as flashy. Her faded fatigues had the air that she had been the one who wore them out instead of buying them from an army surplus store. Either way, no one in the room was going to mess with them without permission. I sup-​pose that also meant me, but I had no intention of taking the hint.

  “C'mon,'' I wheedled. ”You can at least tell me if he's in trouble. You know what the kid's like.“ ”He's not in trouble,'“ Pookie said, her yellow eyes fa-​voring me with a full glare. ”Satisfied?“ ”No. What's the big problem with helping me find out what direction he's taking?“ ”You don't need my help for that, cousin."

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Are you working with him? Any chance I can get you to come over to my side? Spill what you know for the sake of blood ties?”

  Pookie emptied her glass and signaled for a refill. “I'm not on his side or anyone else's side. If you want us to do research, you know our rates. Personally or professionally, we're not interested in this one. Final answer.”

  “Did the others tell you to stand down, or was this your idea?”

  “Whether or not I subscribe to it, your friends there hold to a code. No double-​crossing. No dirty tricks.”

  I shrugged. “I've always thought of it as more of a sug-​gestion, myself.”

  “Whatever. Now, get lost, cousin. We're waiting for a client.”

  Perturbed, I drummed my fingers on the bar top. The innkeeper gave me one look and stayed back out of reach. I could start tearing the place up, but what good would it do?

  “You ought to be more careful about the people you let in here,” I informed him. I slid off the bar stool and headed out into the town.

  Pookie had been my last chance to pry information out of any of my partners or temporary associates. I decided to stretch my legs and see if I could come up with some ideas.

  I stalked through the busy streets, dodging other pedes-​trians and magik-​driven traffic. The locals were at least a foot taller than I was, but thin as fence rails. Skamital wasn't the end of the universe, but nothing was, these days.

  With the growing availability of travel gadgets and spells, it seemed like there was no place I could go where I didn't encounter a familiar face.

  As I passed by a shop window, I thought I recognized someone.

  I backed up a couple of paces and peered through the glass. Yeah, there she was! Matfany's pretty little nemesis, Hermalaya. Not the girl in person, but a portrait of her, on a card standing on top of a pile of thin books on a display table. “The Princess's Diary,” the poster said. This was definitely Skeeve's doing.

  I went inside. The table was surrounded by shoppers, both male and female, in animated discussion. More to the point, they were buying the book. I sidled over to take a look for myself.

  Somewhere in size between War and Peace and the lat-​est graphic novel, The Princess's Diary had been bound in shell pink leather tooled with leaves and thorns intertwined around a tilted crown. I nudged open a copy and started reading.

  In spite of my requisite partiality toward my client, I fell into the story. The first few entries were the usual girly stuff: comments about official function and what dress she wore. When the first pinchbug problems surfaced, far from being unaware, she had her finger on all the facts. The Swamp Fox who had imported them was in deep trouble, but the problem had to be taken care of. Trouble was, the bugs were breeding like crazy. Since they weren't native, they had no natural predators in Reynardo. The cabinet, acting on advice, made the decision to try to keep the prob-​lem confined to Foxe-​Swampburg. Heroic, I thought. Her-​malaya didn't say so directly, but I got the impression she might have been behind the suggestion. She came across in print a lot smarter than she did in person, though I still didn't see that she had what it took to rule.

  I could see that the girl could get a lot of popular sym-​pathy. She had a future as a storyteller, but as a future monarch? Matfany had done the right thing in putting her out the door. You can go only so far on charisma. At some point, you have to have real savvy and business sense to prosper.

  I wasn't too obtuse to see a parallel between my client's situation and mine. I could tell by the looks on the faces of the others in the office the other day that some of them thought I was overstepping the bounds in stating that I wanted to be the president of the company. If they had wanted to work for me,

  they would have said so after Skeeve left. Well, I never asked them to. At that time, the last thing I wanted to do was lead. I missed the opportunity then, but not a second time. Pervects aren't used to coming in sec-​ond place. If the company was going to rebuild with all of us as partners, this time I wanted to be first among equals. Enough was enough.

  I had always kept my association with the others loose because it wasn't my intention to start an organization in the first place. Like them, I only came in because of Skeeve.

  Maybe that was the problem. They knew I wasn't com-​mitted to a group. They were more inclined to be cohesive. Maybe it was a herd thing. Pervects don't have a lot of herd instinct, or trust, for that matter. Where we see a crowd of people running away screaming fire, we always go back to see if there really is one. And if maybe anything interest-​ing got left behind when everybody else fled. I never in-​tended to be an employee of anyone, not then and not ever again. Standing aloof kept me from being vulnerable. Now that the status quo had been shaken up, I was ready to take the lead. I had the most business experience of the group and the most leadership potential, so why not? This was my shot to prov
e it.

  “And did you hear?” one woman beside me told an-​other, as they giggled over a shared page. "I hear that

  Princess Hermalaya is personally going around the dimen-​sions and inducting people into a secret society!"'

  “No!” her friend exclaimed. I aimed an ear in their di-​rection. “What do they do?”

  “I don't know! I heard about it from my sister-​in-​law. Her aunt's father travels in dry goods. He said he was in a dimension where the entire royal family was inducted. It was a big secret, held in a dark room with candles and chanting and glitter!”

  “How did he hear about it?” the friend asked, suspi-​cious. “Oh, well, all the servants knew. They told him when he made his delivery. It just sounds so romantic!” “Oh, it does,” the friend said. “Ooh, I wish I could join!” So that was what Skeeve was up to.

  “Excuse me,” I said, favoring them with my most ingra-​tiating smile. They backed away a couple of paces, so I held up my copy of the book to show I was in the princess-​admiring club along with them. “What dimension was that your uncle went to? I was just visiting a place, and I heard rumors about this society. Was it Imper?”

  “Oh, no!”' the first female said. “It was Octaroo. Did she go to Imper, too? Oh, I wish I could travel all around like she does. I bet she has a fancy car and servants and a ti-​ara!”

  Glamour and mystery, I mused, moving away from them. You can't fight against a couple of concepts like that. If I knew Skeeve, he had figured out a way to make money, substantial money, from it.

  Thinking of herd instinct gave me an idea. I edged to-​ward the clerk and bought the little pink book.

  I had to counteract Hermalaya's appeal somehow. I ought to set a backfire, or at least start some rumors, get a little negative chat going. Secret societies are great for making feebleminded people do things they'd be too em-​barrassed to unless they had drunk at least sis beers. I grinned. Exclusivity was only desirable unless it wasn't any longer. Maybe I could make her more popular still. Too popular, in fact.