Myth 18 - MythChief

by Asprin, Robert

  “When did this start?” I shouted at Matfany.

  “Not long after I saw her highness in your office, sir,” he said. “But it has gotten considerably worse after those started appearing.” He pointed toward a distraught vixen who waved a copy of The Princess's Diary at him. “Is this the work of your rival? Is he trying to destroy what is left of our fair country?”

  “I'm taking care of it,” I promised him. “What's the deal with the others?” I aimed a thumb toward the “Keep Foxe-​Swampburg Beautiful” contingent. “You will see, sir.” Matfany assured me.

  I did.

  From the castle gates, which overlooked the resort and the seaside, I could see the range of mountains that the Geek had put his name on.

  “It wasn't supposed to be literal,” I said. “It seems as though your friend misinterpreted that concept,” Matfany said.

  The whole range looked as though it had been hit by a squad of giant, hyperactive subway taggers. From one end to the other, the sixteen peaks were covered with brilliant designs in colors that gave me a headache, even at that distance. In the middle of the largest and most prominent peak, the words “The Geek” flashed on and off in a blaze of orange light. I gawked.

  “Oh.” Dervina said. “I thought this was a quiet beauty spot.”

  “It was, ma'am,” Matfany said. He glared at me, “And it will be again. Mister Aahz, I believe that's your problem.”

  “Down with the outsiders!” someone bellowed.

  That's when the tomatoes started flying. The last I saw of Dervina, she vanished before the first one splatted just where she had been standing. I groaned.

  There went my thousand gold coins.

  Myth 18 - MythChief

  TWENTY -FIVE

  “What is the matter with you?” I bellowed at the Geek. He retreated to the back room of the tiny office he had rented on the resort's main street and tried to slam the door on me. I threw my whole weight against it and it banged open. The Geek cowered against the rear wall.

  “You .. . you don't like it?” he said, attempting a shaky smile.

  “Like it?” I slammed my hand against my forehead. “What part of 'you only own naming rights' was so hard to understand? What is all that out there?”

  “Well, Aahz, you can't blame me for that! I didn't start it. It was my partners.”

  “What difference does that make?” Matfany asked, looking down at him like a stern professor. His sleek, black fur was amazingly untouched by the rotten-​vegetable cascade thrown by the crowd. On the other hand, I was dripping with liquescent salad. “A contract is a contract.”

  The Geek scowled at us. “Look at it from my point of view. I got a lot of other people ... I mean, my business partners, to put down money. I had to cover my own ... I mean, a lot of expenses, so I made them some unimportant little promises.” “Like what?”

  “Well, I said they ought to be able to designate their purchases in some way. I mean, it's a lot of money. No De-​veel with any pride is going to pay something for nothing. So, I thought maybe a nice small sign with each person's name on it on top of their own peak. Not as big as my sign was going to be, since I'm the senior partner. It kind of.. . escalated a little.”

  “A LITTLE?” I bellowed. The Geek recoiled from the gust of wind. “You want to tell me why your name is writ-​ten in Salamanders covering five or six square miles of terrain?”

  “The first guy who arrived to see his mountain, he wasn't happy, but he was okay with the sign. The next few guys didn't like it. They said they wanted something differ-​ent than the first guy. So I let them design their own signs. Bo-​Fort, you know him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He came to me and said he was going to write his name in Fireflies on the mountain.” “That's not in the contract!”

  “I know! He said to me, 'Well, how is anyone going to know that I own it?' I said. 'That's a good point.'” “You don't own it.” I said. “It's named after you. Own-​ing it would cost about ten thousand times more.”

  “So, what did I buy?” the Geek asked, abandoning his imaginary partner's arguments. “I want my name on it. If I endowed an arena, my name would be right over the door.”

  I threw up my hands. “All right, we'll discuss it, but you are going to have to turn off the Salamanders!” “I can't do it right away, Aahz,” the Geek whined. “I paid for the first month in advance.” “Too bad. You can go as far as having a tasteful label with your name on it. So can your other suckers.”

  The Deveel frowned. “I don't want tasteful, I want read-​able. The range is more than ten miles from town. A taste-​ful sign isn't even a dot in one of those coin-​operated telescopes! Not that there's anyone here to look at it. This place is as deserted as a shop offering free tax audits! We want some satisfaction for helping bail it out.”

  “Satisfaction! Did you see the protesters out there?” I pointed through the window. The picketers had followed me. They were shaking their fists and pointing. Any min-​ute they were going to start throwing things again. I was pretty sure they were out of vegetables, so they'd have to resort to dead animals and dung.

  “I figure that's just their little way of welcoming us to town,” the Geek said, hopefully. “I could tone it down a little. Have the Salamanders only operate at night?”

  “What about the size of the displays? You could feed a starving country on what you're spending to cover that kind of real estate!”

  “I must tell you, Mister Geek, that I am disappointed in your lack of restraint,” Matfany said, in a quiet voice that impressed the heck out of the Deveel. “Some of your part-​ners have actually put up signs that are larger than the feature itself that they have named. Is that sponsorship as you know it?”

  The Geek rose to the occasion. “Uh, well, I could go down a half.” “You can go down to nothing,” I countered. “Forget it, Aahz! This isn't the deal we agreed to.” “If you read the contract, that is exactly the deal you agreed to.” “Then I want out! I want a refund!”

  I felt as if my heart was being torn right out of my body. “You want... a what? No way!” “That sounds like a reasonable response,” Matfany said.

  “You can take all that nonsense off our mountain. I will find a means of returning your funds to you at once.”

  “What?” the Geek asked, off guard. “What about my investment? What about the money I put into that display? What about all the subsidiary rights I sold on the logo? What about the advertising I paid for to get people to come and visit Geek's Peak?”

  The prime minister shrugged. “I suppose that we are both going to suffer a loss. That's business. We've been broke before. As you so tactfully point out. We will give him back his money, Mister Aahz.”

  I was still hyperventilating. “Give ... it... back?” I saw the president's desk gallop away from me on little wooden legs. “I can't do that!”

  “Then what's your offer?” the Geek asked.

  Matfany peered over his glasses at him. “I want you to lessen your . . . logos to something not so intrusive, is what I want.”

  “Intrusive's the name of the game, pal. Where did sub-​tlety get you? In the hole, that's where. This is the way out.”

  “I'd rather be in the hole than desecrate our landscape, sir,” Matfany said. “I thought you understood the nature of our agreement.”

  “You wetlanders are all alike,” the Geek yelled. “You don't know what civilization's really like.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” I bellowed. I pulled Matfany aside. “What's the harm in letting him have a few little fireworks? When the crisis is over, you can national-​ize all the geographical features again. In the meanwhile, it's a way of drawing people back here and getting some serious cash flow going. After all, you are going to have to figure out a way to pay M.Y.T.H., Inc.'s fee, aren't you?”

  Matfany's proud shoulders slumped a little. “Necessity makes traders of us all, Mister Aahz. Very well, then.”

  After two hours of solid a
nd loud negotiation, Matfany agreed that the Geek and his partners could have a display on each of the items they sponsored, but such displays were to be limited to a standard billboard in size. The Geek's Salamander crew could operate for three hours af-​ter sunset every night, no more. Neither side was happy, but at least no refunds had to be issued.

  Matfany shook his head when the Geek disappeared to inform his partners of the changes. “I don't like it, Mister Aahz,” he said.

  “Don't like what?” I asked, peevishly. This investment was saved, but I was still feeling the sting of losing Dervina. That thousand coins was going to be hard to replace, and I would never get another appointment with the Gnomes over Foxe-​Swampburg.

  “I must say I doubt that those Deveels are going to stick to the agreement we just made. Just a feeling I have.”

  “A newborn baby would get that idea from talking to a Deveel,” I said. “Look, the Geek agreed to tone down his fancy sign. You'll hardly know it's there.”

  “I would have preferred to have no lights at all. / under-​stand why we have got to put up with it for the term of the contracts, but it is gonna upset the Old Folks. They like the way things are.”

  “So what?” I asked. “I can talk to a bunch of senior citi-​zens. Where are they?” “Well, that's kind of hard to explain. They're just around. They sort of enforce the old ways.” “Are they Swamp Foxes?” I asked. Matfany nodded. “Yes, sir. Well, they were Swamp Foxes. When they were alive.” I felt the scales at the back of my neck prickle. “They're dead? Are they undead now?”

  “No, sir, they're just dead. But they don't go away. Why would they? Foxe-​Swampburg is their home. They like it here. And I don't think they're gonna like your changes too much, even if you do think they toned it all down.”

  “What can a bunch of ghosts do?” I asked, with a laugh. I opened the door. SPLAT!

  A long-​dead fish hit me in the face.

  “Who threw that?” I demanded.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” a courteous voice shouted from the middle of the crowd. “I meant to hit that rapscallion next to you. This one's for you!” A hunk of decayed seaweed smacked into me.

  I bamfed out. I had had enough of Foxe-​Swampburg for one day. I had to locate some more prospects to replace Dervina. At least the investment here was safe.

  Myth 18 - MythChief

  TWENTY -SIX

  With friends like these, who needs enemies?"

  R. MONTAGUE

  I frowned at Gimblesby Ockwade. The Imp tycoon crossed his arms over the breast of his blue houndstooth suit. “So that's your final word on it? You won't even listen to the transcript of The Princess's Diary? Your letter to us was downright enthusiastic.”

  “That was before I heard more about it,” Ockwade said. “I don't really go in for prurient literature.”

  “Prurient?” I repeated, not sure I had heard him right. “But it's just the observations of a young woman . ..”

  “Enough!” he said, throwing up a hand. “I don't want to hear any more. I have a weak heart, and I can't take too many shocks. Just go away, please.”

  “May I just ask who told you what was in her diary?”

  The Imp turned pink. “I have my sources. I consider them reliable.”

  “You know my reputation, don't you?” I asked, though I knew it was a lost cause to make any further appeal to him. “I'm considered very reliable, and I think you should recon-​sider using that source. He's lying for his own purposes.”

  Ockwade turned pinker. “I don't remember giving you a name.” I allowed myself an imperious smile. “I am a magician, you know. I have ways of knowing.”

  “Reading minds without permission is rude! Good-​bye, Mister Skeeve. Good to meet you, Mistress Massha.”

  “Just Massha,” the court magician of Possiltum said, with a wicked wink. “Gave up being a mistress a long time ago when I got married.”

  The Imp's bright pink cheeks turned even pinker. He glanced at Nunzio, but thought better of addressing him.

  “Thank you for dropping by,” he said, all but pushing us through the ornate doors of his office “Miss Selquiff, send in my three o'clock appointment.”

  “What a disaster,” I said, as we got outside the gaudily painted office building. I ducked around the corner and leaned against the wall.

  “You said it, Big Shot,” Massha said, fanning herself with a length of the filmy violet cloth she wore around her ample form. “That's four in a row.”

  The Imp tycoon had been nice enough to listen to my explanation of the difference between the princess's Cake ceremony and the knockoffs that Aahz had spawned across the dimensions, but he had flat out refused to reschedule Hermalaya's appearance. Most of those who had canceled wouldn't even take my calls. The people I did speak with were apologetic. Some of them renewed their invitations, but most of them didn't want anything to do with me. The controversy and the sudden onslaught of imitators were poisoning our appeal.

  “This is all Aahz's fault,” I said, shaking my head. “How could he do this to me?” “Now, Boss,” Nunzio said, with a bitter kind of satisfac-​tion. “Now he sees you as a threat.”

  I slammed my fist into my palm.

  “We've just got to keep going,” I said. “Hermalaya said she trusts us. She'll keep doing the ceremony as long as we can get anyone to host us. I'm just afraid of falling behind in income. I'll have to think of something else. I don't want Aahz to get ahead of us.”

  “No problem there,” Massha said. “Why, the royalties on The Princess's Diary alone should cover . ..”

  Massha's words were cut off at the same time as my eyesight. I never saw it coming. Hoods dragged over our heads and light bonds dropped around our arms made it impossible for me to do anything but try and kick loose, which I did. To no avail. Whoever had grabbed us outnum-​bered us about ten to one at least.

  I heard the explosion of air that informed me we were being moved, to another location, if not another dimension.

  The arms holding me shoved me roughly forward, then pushed on my shoulders to force me to sit down. My bot-​tom hit a flat surface that creaked under my weight. The hood was swept off my head. My eyes narrowed in the light of a fiercely burning candle that made me wince and draw back.

  Shadows stood behind the candle. One of them leaned in toward me, but not enough so I could really see its sil-​houette.

  “So, you're Skeeve the Magnificent,” it said. I thought it sounded female, but I couldn't be certain. “Who wants to know?” I asked. “Just answer me.” Out of the darkness, an object flashed and came down on my head. Honk!

  “Ow!” I yelled. The object fell at my feet. It was a bright blue and yellow rubber hammer, the kind used to play Whack-​a-​Gnome. Suddenly, I saw something silver leveled at my nose. It was a cake server, a very fancy, heavily or-​namented solid silver handle with a well-​sharpened blade, even more venerable-​looking than Hermalaya's. I looked up into a pair of glittering black eyes. A black cloth con-​cealed the rest of the face.

  “Are you Skeeve the Magnificent? Answer! I don't have time to play games with you!” “I'm Skeeve. Where are my friends?” “In the corner with a couple of my friends. They're fine for now, as long as you answer my questions.”

  Another candle flared into light. I saw Massha near the wall. Her filmy veil had been tied over her mouth, and col-​ored streamers were bound around her wrists. Two black-​clad figures stood by her with servers at her throat. One of them held up a filmy bag that contained all of Massha's magikal jewelry. I winced. Without her toys, as site called them, Massha was almost as helpless as an ordi-​nary person. Nunzio was dwarfed by an enormous figure who held his miniature crossbow up by two fingers. He was tied up with green cloth streamers that I recognized as Dragon-​pinning tails.

  We can escape from this situation, no matter how badly outnumbered we are, I thought. I reached out for a force line to gather some power to untie them. I ran into a magikal wall. I tried again.
Nothing.

  Although I could picture at least two nearby lines in my mind, I couldn't touch either one. There was a dampening spell on the room. Both of us were powerless, at least for the moment. I tried to keep calm.

  “I don't want any trouble,” I said, amiably. “May I ask who I'm speaking with?” The mysterious female loomed over me. “My name is Ninja. I am a sixteenth-​generation, nineteenth-​layer Cake Master.” “Nineteenth layer!” I asked. “I've never heard of that.”

  Ninja recoiled as if insulted. “You doubt me? Bety! Kroka! Prepare ... the layer!”

  Two black-​aproned and masked females came forward, bearing between them a solid silver platter with a single, unfrosted chocolate cake on it.

  “Hiayah!” Ninja swung the server at the cake.

  Whisk, whisk! Whisk, whisk! Crumbs flew in all direc-​tions. I pulled back out of the way. A claw caught me by the nape of the neck and pushed me forward.

  Ninja halted with an impressive economy of movement and drew the server back. She wiped it very carefully upon her apron tie and slid it into a sheath at her belt. She ges-​tured to the others, who brought the cake close enough for me to examine.

  “Count them,” she said proudly. “Nineteen.”

  Gingerly, I ran a thumb up the edge of the cake, and the edges flipped back like very soft playing cards. I could see that it had been sliced thinly but so evenly that it looked like the side of a children's board book. There were exactly nineteen.

  “Gosh,” I said. “That's amazing.” “Gosh? The Great Skeeve says gosh?” Ninja sounded scornful.

  “Sure,” I said. “When I'm impressed. But why kidnap us? We're trying to help one of your, uh. society. Princess Hermalaya of Foxe-​Swampburg.”

  “We have heard of your so-​called help,” Ninja spat. “We Cake Masters are disgusted by it.”