“Are you talking about Hermalaya of Foxe-Swampburg, then?” she asked me.
“Yes,” I said.
“They're nice people,” she said firmly. “I've done a lot of business with them over the years. I'd love to bear what has been happening to her. Go ahead and let me see her diary. Sit down. Would you like a whisky?”
Ayerish whisky was the best in the dimensions. I ac-cepted a “wee, small” portion that filled a glass large enough to drown in, and opened up my scroll.
By the end of the tale, Elliora was weeping into her own whisky. I waited until she had dried her tears with a beau-tifully embroidered handkerchief.
“Well, if there is a thing in this world that I can do for her, you have but to ask mc. Go on, then, ask!”
I launched into my speech about helping her to restore the kingdom to its former prosperity, and how although her people loved her, she had no real means of pulling the place out of debt or advertising to the rest of the dimensions that Foxe-Swampburg was once again open for business.
“And you want to force this nasty, rotten prime minister out of the picture by overwhelming him with debt that can only be satisfied by restoring the rightful princess to the throne?” Her green eyes twinkled. “You're a wicked, aw-ful boy. What else'?”
I pressed on, encouraged that when I mentioned further loans or grants, she nodded enthusiastically. When I got to the part about offering a Cake ceremony in exchange for Elliora's consideration, she bounded out of her chair and danced around the room.
“What a wonderful idea it is!” she declared. “That's a fine exchange for my time.” “Great''' I said. ”So can I tell Hermalaya you want to meet her?"
“Oh, yes, and do all the fancy bibs and bobs that she does with her Cake. I've heard a lot about that in the past weeksas you know.” The eyes twinkled again. I had to shake myself not to fall into the
Leprechaun's spell. “There's only one thing I would ask you in return, my lovely lad. I want to have my Cake ceremony done in the castle. In the throne room, if you don't mind. I've lent a lot of money to the royal house of Foxe-Swampburg over the last few years, but I've never been there. I want to see the place. I've heard it's a fine old building. It would please my sense of humor if the throne itself could be included in the ritual of Musical Chairs, but I'll live without that if the princess balks, of course.”
I gulped “Uh, did you hear the part where she was con-demned to death, and going back would mean her life is forfeit?”
Elliora frowned at me. I could see the steel that had al-lowed her to become a powerhouse even among other fi-nancial advisors in Aver, “And did I hear the part from you that with my help you can get the vile usurper out of the castle and her back in her rightful place?” She stood up “When you can do what I want, then we'll do what you want How about that tor an idea?”
I couldn't argue with that. “We would have to sneak in. but I bet I can figure out some way,'' I said. ”Let me check with Hermalaya."
“Good lad,” she said, clapping her hands. “I'll wait to hear from you.”
I hopped back to Possiltum, elated and worried at the same time. Elliora and I discussed how much paper she held on Foxe-Swampburg. Some of it had been incurred since Matfany had taken over. I had a list of the sums involved, and they were astronomical.
“We really have him now,” I finished, gleefully.
“Attaboy, Skeeve,” Massha cheered. “I knew Aahz couldn't keep us down forever. That Matfany is as good as exiled.”
“Hear, hear,” Chumley added, holding his cup of tea on high. “Likewise,” said Nunzio. Hermalaya sighed.
“It's okay,” I said to her. “Once we get the visitors com-ing back, you won't need him anymore. You can find a better prime minister.”
“I guess so,” Hermalaya said, but she looked unhappy with the prospect. I was puzzled.
I looked at her. The Swamp Vixen princess kept her gaze down, playing over and over with her Cake server. “What's the matter?”
She lifted large, woeful eyes to me.
“Well, Mister Skeeve, I appreciate everything that you have been doing. It just seems as if in order to make me sound more vulnerable to our kindly patrons, you are well and truly blackening Matfany's name. You make him sound like he is a terrible man, and he's not! I really do like him.”
“You do?” I asked, surprised. “After all that he did to you?” “I do,” she replied. “How much?” Massha asked, immediately.
“Well, you know, he's honest, and hardworking, and even a little funny, and he's generous when he isn't being so worried. He's ... well, he's the kind of guy I might have wanted to marry one day.” She gave a fetching little sigh.
“He's the kind of guy, or he IS the guy?” Massha asked, bobbing over to her on the air. Hermalaya dropped her eyes modestly.
“He is.” “Well, well, well,” Massha said, beaming. “Can com-moners marry royalty in your country, honey?”
“There are some precedents. About three generations back my great-grandfather married a seamstress who be-guiled him. He became the best-dressed monarch in all Foxe-Swampburg history. And there was a great-aunt about nine generations ago, too.”
“Sounds like you've been looking into it.”
Hermalaya's little white nose turned pink. “Just out of curiosity, Miss Massha, nothing else.”
“It's good to know, though, just in case?”
I was shocked. “How can you even THINK of frater-nizing with the enemy!”
“Matfany's not the enemy ...” Hermalaya began. “Well. I guess maybe he is, but he isn't really.”
“Matfany is the one who threw you off the throne, Miss Hermalaya,” Nunzio said.
“I know,” she said with a sigh. “But he's not a bad guy, honest. But he doesn't know any of what I just told you, so don't you go telling him!”
“You have my promise,” I said.
“Us, too,” Massha said. She squeezed Hermalaya's hand. The two of them giggled. I was disgusted. It was completely illogical for her to feel that way.
“But that isn't our problem right now,” I said. “At the moment we have to work out how to have a Cake ceremony in your castle without getting caught.”
THIRTY-THREE
“Who let these people in?” KING VORTIGERN
“I'm so excited,” Elliora said, as I escorted her from her office directly into the throne room of the Foxe-Swampburg castle. We arrived in an outrush of air. Hermalaya, in her headcloth and apron, knelt quietly beside the low table where the Cake sat.
I'd seen the chamber only once before, when I had de-livered Hermalaya there to get everything set up. In the space of only two hours, the princess had mustered my friends to decorate the vast room. The change was as-tounding. Colored bunting lined the stone walls. Pride of place was given to the Dragon tapestry, which hung on the wall opposite the main doors. The thrones had been taken off the dais and were arranged back-to-back in a circle with several lesser seats. The war banners and suits of ar-mor that hung from the rafters over our heads had been festooned with colored ribbons, making them look like the last battle they had waged was in a toy store. Massha must have been responsible for the aerial bombardment of glit-ter and streamers. She wore a lei made of braided crepe paper over her orange harem costume. Chumley's purple fur was sprinkled well with glitter. Only Nunzio had es-caped any festive ornamentation. Hermalaya wore only her plain white-silk apron and headcloth Elliora was so taken by the decor that she danced around in a circle.
“Oh, it's marvelous,” she exclaimed. “Is that it?” She homed in on the Cake. It was frosted in purple, but in EIliora's honor, was also adorned with gold and green. Hi-malaya headed her off, but the Leprechaun peered around her waist at the table. “What a gorgeous Cake that is! I have never seen anything so beautiful in all my days.”
“Shhh!” I hissed.
“Ah. that's right, then.” the Leprechaun said. “I
'll be quiet. I know the problem you're facing. But isn't every-thing marvelous!”
“Thank you, ma'am,” Hermalaya said politely. “And was the Cake made in these very kitchens?”
“We couldn't do that.” I told her. “We couldn't risk tip-ping off anyone else that we're here. But Hermalaya baked it in the royal kitchens of Possiltum, in Klah ”
Elliora wasn't disappointed. “That's right, you're a Klahd, aren't you? I won't hold that against you. lovely boy.”
“Then let us begin,” Hermalaya said, taking a box of candles out of the drawer in the low table. “How old are you?”
A certain amount of noise was obligatory in the cere-mony, so I couldn't use a blanketing spell as I had when I helped Marmel search for his family heirloom. Instead, I modified a silence charm that should deaden the sounds we made and prevent them from escaping. I pictured the spell as a big balloon that enveloped the throne room. The trouble was, it created only a thin barrier. A really big bang would be audible on the other side of the door. I hoped that none of the real balloons that Hermalaya had used to decorate would explode, or at least not until we were finished and ready to jump out. The princess crooned her weird little song and let Elliora blow out the candles stuck in the top of the Cake.
Normally, the smoke rising from the wicks just dissi-pated into the air. Instead, they curled around and over, spiraling around Hermalaya's hands as she cut the Cake deftly into slices and slid them onto the plates.
“That's marvelous,” Elliora said. “Just a little bit of magik.”
Massha and I exchanged glances of professional ap-proval. There was something special about this particular ceremony that had been lacking in the others. Either Her-malaya had gotten so much practice lately, or performing it in her own country added an element that had been miss-ing elsewhere. She really connected somehow with the sa-cred elements she always talked about. I was beginning to pick up nuances I had not noticed before. In any case, it was hypnotically fascinating. I enjoyed it as never before.
Nevertheless, I had to keep a mental watch upon my noise-deadening spell. I'd been upset to find that the big fancy doors had no lock on them. That, too, was symbolic for the royal house of Foxe-Swampburg, telling their peo-ple that their rulers were always available to them. The penalty for violating Matfany's order was death. That meant that anyone could walk in at any time, burst our bubble, and take the princess and the rest of us away for execution. I kept a transference charm half-brewed the whole time. If anyone interrupted us, I would grab her and get her out of there. Both Guido and Massha were armed to the teeth with their own particular forms of defense. Chumley didn't need any weapons, but I was more afraid of someone getting hurt.
My preoccupation meant that I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have to the rituals. The four of us obeyed Hermalaya's instructions to race around the chairs in the middle of the room. Her chanting stopped. I raced for a spindle-backed seat. I plopped myself down on it. Alarmed, I jumped up again. “Yiii!”
“What's the matter, Boss?” Nunzio asked. “There's no one there!” I exclaimed. “I just sat down on someone's lap.” Hermalaya looked at the empty chair. “Oh, that's just Uncle Cyrus.” she said. “We are blessed.” “Who is Uncle Cyrus?” I demanded.
Hermalaya put a pretty finger to her chin to puzzle it out. “He was king about, oh, three hundred years ago? I am so delighted. The Old Folks have come to show us that they approve of our endeavors. They just love Cake.”
“Are they always here?”
“They protect us,” Hermalaya said, as though I must be feebleminded not to know that. “That's how come no one was killed in the pinchbug epidemic. Those pesky little creatures drilled right through solid rock. You think they couldn't have gone through plain flesh and bone?”
“I never thought about it,” I said honestly.
“Well, that's why. They didn't think about clothes, though? That's why people came to me for help.”
“The family ghosts?” asked Elliora, curiously.
“Does that upset you?” I was afraid she wanted to leave.
The Leprechaun laughed. “Ach, no, not at all. We've got plenty of ghosts of our own in Ayer! Let's keep on, shall we? I've never had such a good time in my life.”
Hermalaya's eyes shone with delight. “Well, you are out, Skeeve, because Uncle Cyrus beat you to the chair? One fewer seat, please!”
Nunzio courteously went to move a chair, but the fam-ily ghosts beat him to it. The gold, hoop-backed Windsor with ball-and-claw feet slid toward the wall before he could touch it. The remaining chairs moved by themselves to fill the gap.
I moved away from the ritual area, worrying whether I was going to run into another one of Hermalaya's deceased relatives. The Old Folks seemed to be having as much fun as the living. Chumley really got into the spirit of the games, letting out a refined hoot of pleasure when he successfully pinned the tail on the Dragon's rump. Five more tails at-tached themselves in the same vicinity.
“Cheating!” Chumley declared. The Old Folks didn't say anything. I never saw or heard any of them.
“And this is for you, my dear,” Elliora said, when the festivities were finished. She handed Hermalaya a little, round, green ceramic pot sealed at the top with parchment. “Tradition begs for tradition, you see. It's how we like to keep our money.” She had tears in her eyes. “I had no idea how it was here, dear princess. It's not my intention to im-poverish a whole kingdom. I'll inform Matfany that we'll keep the line of credit open only if he lets you come back. You will have to keep up on the payments, you know. We're not in the kingdom-running business, but we ARE in business.”
“I understand,” Hermalaya said. “I will do better in the future? I know I just have so much to learn. Thank you so much for coming.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” Elliora said. She winked at me. “Don't show me out. I know the way.”
BAMF!
I waited nervously as Hermalaya undid the ribbon on Elliora's pot of gold. The princess poured the coins out into her palm. They overspilled her hand and bounced to the floor. Guido and Chumley bent to gather them up, but they just kept coming.
“How many are in there?” Massha asked, her eyes wide. The pool of gold scattered around the princess's feet.
“I don't know!” “Oh, isn't she generous!” Hermalaya said. “This is go-ing to help my people so much?”
I shoveled coins into my belt pouch, into Massha's handbag, into anything that would hold them. I was elated.
“We did it,” I said. “Elliora's gift really is the tipping point. Between this and the loans she can call in on him, we have enough leverage to force Matfany out of business and get the kingdom back on its feet. We've won. No mat-ter how much Aahz can raise, we can drain it. He'll be in negative equity.”
“Hooray!” Massha yodeled, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oops! Sorry.” I ran to the door and planted my ear against it. I heard running footsteps. Someone had heard us.
“What's that?” Hermalaya asked. She looked at me in concern. “Auntie Xantippe says that there are guards on the way. We have to get out of here?”
Gold kept pouring out of the little pot. “How do we make it stop?” Massha asked.
“If I may suggest,” Chumley said, “a modicum of com-mon sense dictates that if changing the orientation to hori-zontal precipitates the flow, then restoring it to vertical should stem it.”
“Oh!” Hermalaya said. She tipped the pot upright. The jingling avalanche halted at once. “Is that what you mean. Mister Chumley?”
He smiled at her. “Just so, your highness.” “Whew,” I said.
“We still have to get all those coins,” Nunzio said, filling his pockets from the heap on the floor. They caused the pockets of his beautiful suit to bulge out of shape. I prom-ised myself I would pay his cleaning bill when we got back. “Bunny won't give you credit for money she can't see.”
“You're right,” I said.
I let go of my escape spell. Instead, I channeled the en-ergy into a mass of magik like a ball of sticky clay. I sent it rolling all over the room, picking up coins.
“Get ready,” I said, holding out my hands like a catcher. The ball rolled toward me, a little sluggishly now that it was heavy with gold. “We're going to get out of here as soon as I have”
The doors slammed open. A troop of guards in leather mail, headed by a silver-furred fox holding a wand, charged into the room. The wizard glared at us sternly. Magik crackled around him like a cloud.
“I'd advise none of you to make a single move.”
I stood up very slowly with my hands over my head.
Myth 18 - MythChief
THIRTY -FOUR
“Just when you think you've won, they move the finish line.”
M.CORLEONE
“Take it easy, fellahs,” I said. “We were just leaving, if you don't mind. Uh, you can keep the rest of the gold on the floor here. We don't need all of it. If you would just let us get out of here ... ?”
The captain of the guard, a russet-colored Fox, raised an eyebrow. “Attempting to bribe royal officers? Is that what you are trying to do?”
“Only if it will work,” I said, winningly. “I'd rather not cause any trouble. My friends and I just want to get out of here.”
“Who are your friends?” the captain asked, suspiciously.
“No one,” I said, trying to get a disguise spell going on my companions, but I wasn't fast enough. The wizard coun-tered me with a blast from his wand. “No one at all,” I added lamely.
Myth 18 - MythChief Page 20