myth-taken identity m-14

by Robert Asprin

  "We missed something," I acknowledged, going through the memory of the night before. "Where? What?"

  "I say, don't berate yourself, Aahz," Chumley offered sympathetically. "If Rattila is so emboldened as to venture out, into our very environs, it means that he thinks he is becoming stronger, or that we are vulnerable." My keen ears picked up the rustle of footsteps. I looked around. They seemed to be coming from everywhere. They became louder, multiplied. I sprang to my feet and braced myself.

  Suddenly, the owners of the feet hove into view: the shopkeepers and clerks returning to The Mall.

  "Good morning, Aahz!" The Faery owner of Adorable Tchotchkes threw a smile our way as she waved a wand and disenchanted the night lock.

  The big pink-and-blue doors flew wide, and tinkly music poured out of the store. Others called out greetings to us as they opened for the day.

  "False alarm," I grunted, sitting down again.

  "Aren't you opening up today?" asked Pitta, the Impish owner of Pitta's Petite Pitas, the food shop two down from ours.

  "Huh?"

  Pitta blushed pinkly. "I want to get a garter to surprise my boyfriend."

  "Oh," I replied, feeling a little stupid. I had been concentrating so hard on how we failed to track Rattila that it slipped my mind that we had a perfectly good trap already armed and set. "Yeah. Of course, we're opening up."

  I nudged everyone awake.

  "Mine!"

  "Mine!"

  "Get your claws off it! It's mine!"

  A three-way brawl in the middle of the shop between two Deveels and a Dragonet didn't faze the shoppers bumping one another to get to the wall displays. In The Mall it was just business as usual. I kept a close eye on Cire to make sure he didn't let any more "false positives" go by.

  "They all look nice," Eskina insisted impatiently to an Imper female who stood in front of a mirror unable to make up her mind among half a dozen garters she was modeling on each leg. "It doesn't matter which one you choose."

  "Well, I don't know ..." the Imp dithered.

  Eskina reached out and pulled out a loop of black lace and yellow ribbon roses, and let it snap back against the Imp's pink thigh. "Take that one. Don't argue."

  I sighed. It wasn't worth it, trying to turn a lifetime, hardbitten investigator into a tactful and patient salesperson.

  To my surprise, the Imp beamed with gratitude. "Oh, thank you! Yes, that's the one I like best!" She peeled off the others and put them back.

  Eskina turned away with a smirk.

  Marco Djinnelli floated in. "Everything looks so wonderful!" he exclaimed, gesturing at the decorations. "All of the little touches ... you have good taste, Aahz."

  "Not just me," I grunted, though I was pleased. "My team likes to get down to those little details."

  The Djinn beamed effusively. "And you have made them. Er—as we agreed, half my payment today, please?"

  "No problem," I assured him, leading him to the counter. We had counted out his share into a small bag that I left in a box with the remaining security bees. They hummed fiercely at me as I retrieved the bag, but we had had words earlier, and they didn't even come close to stinging. "As we agreed."

  "Thank you, my friend, thank you!" Marco declared, winding the bag into the sash that went around his ample middle. "I will be back in a few days, also as we agreed. I wish you a profitable day, eh?"

  "Thanks, pal," I grunted.

  Marco floated off, and I locked up the box. That was out of the way. Now to earn the other half of his fee and clean up a little profit for ourselves.

  "Now, when you fasten the buckle it turns on the alarm on the grouch bag, honey," Massha informed an eager purchaser as she folded a zebra-striped leg bangle into a box. "If you forget to disarm it before you take it off, it's going to howl bloody murder and deafen everybody for three blocks around. Let me get the bee off there. Enjoy it." She tucked the money into a bag.

  A Deveel woman stepped up with a stack of frou-frou items and the light of battle in her eye.

  "How much?" she asked.

  Massha tucked the bag of coins into her generous cleavage and started out from behind the counter.

  "Hey!" the Deveel protested.

  "What?" Massha asked, startled. Probably a little dazed from lack of sleep. I sidled in beside her.

  The customer pursed her lips. "You're not going to tell me the prices are fixed here. Not when they're so high!"

  Massha seemed to snap out of it and smiled sweetly at the Deveel.

  "They're fair. I defy you to find lower prices for this quality anywhere else in The Mall."

  "You know perfectly well no one else in The Mall is selling garters!"

  The smile became tooth-achingly sweet. Massha was fine now.

  "Of course I do, honey. Now, do you want them gift-wrapped?"

  The Deveel wouldn't have been a Deveel if she hadn't tried one more time for a bargain. She gave a friendly, woman-to-woman grin.

  "Discount for volume?"

  I showed all my teeth. "Priced as marked. If you don't want them, the broads behind you will grab them the second you put them down."

  The Deveel gave me a look of disgust and clapped the items into Massha's hand. "All right! Perverts."

  "Pervect," I corrected her, but I didn't really care.

  She was counting out coins, resentfully but accurately. More sales in spite of the jacked-up prices meant we were really making a splash. In a little while I was going to have to head back to Deva to pick up another shipment.

  A flipperlike limb emerged from the gap in the purple curtains at the rear of the store and signaled frantically. I glanced at Massha. "I'm fine, Big Shot," she assured me, elbowing me in the ribs. "I just took a little standing nap. I'm going to sleep well tonight. Better see what he wants. Don't worry about old Massha."

  "If you're certain ..." I began, leaving her an out if she wanted one.

  "Yes! I'm just not as young as I used to be. Hustle. Cire's getting a little wild there."

  She was right. The hand waved more energetically. I signed to Chumley, who moved up a little to support Massha, and headed toward the back room. As casually as I could, I slid behind the curtain into the recessed niche. There wasn't much room beside the excited Walroid, and he nearly whacked me with his flipper.

  "What's up?" I asked.

  His broad face came up from the magikal black-rimmed lens, a commercial spyglass that we used to monitor the goings-on in the dressing room.

  "I've got two," Cire whispered. "The alarm spell went off, very strongly. I wasn't going to let you down again, Aahz. This time I'm sure. I got accurate facial overlays from the globes that the Djinni merchants are using. These two are the goods!"

  "Let me see," I growled.

  I peered into the lens. I recognized the two-headed female and the sharklike being as two of the bodies I had tried on.

  "They've stuffed about eight garters into their handbags and clothing," Cire explained over my shoulder. "They brought about twenty apiece in there with them. They're still trying them on. After that they're going to figure out they can't get out. What do you want to do?"

  "Let me think a minute," I breathed, staring into the magikal peephole.

  We could just tear in there and interrogate them, but that would kick up a fuss and maybe scare off any other shapechangers moseying around the store.

  "Can you throw a silence spell on the room, keep anyone out there from hearing through the walls?" Cire frowned. "The detection spell needs constant attention, Aahz. It's pretty intricate. You don't want me to have to rebuild it from scratch. It takes a lot of concentration."

  "And you can't concentrate on more than one thing at a time?" I asked.

  Cire folded his arms. "Okay, big mouth, you throw the silence spell!"

  "All right, all right," I growled. I hated being powerless. Chloridia wouldn't have given me such an argument. "I'll go in and chat with them. Disguise me as one of the salesgirls. You can multitask on a simple disguis
e, can't you?"

  "Yes!" he responded peevishly. "Boy, anyone would think you'd remember the last time we were together in Miniam."

  "I DO remember the last time we were together in Miniam," I rejoined.

  "All right, there's no need to be huffy about it," Cire replied, more subdued. He closed his eyes and concentrated. "Okay. You're done. You make a cute Djinnie."

  "Thanks a heap," I grumbled.

  "Which one of you is Massha?" a harsh voice bellowed over the music and the usual screaming of the customers out in the showroom.

  "That's me, Tall and Indigo. What can I do for you?"

  I listened with half an ear while I studied our prey.

  "We've got to separate them from their decks of cards," I told Cire. "Where do you suppose they're keeping them?"

  "I didn't notice them in the two-headed gal's handbag. The one with the teeth's got a bigger bag, but she's not wearing any clothes."

  "You're operating in this Mall illegally," the rough voice exclaimed.

  "No, we're not," Massha replied, still friendly. "Got a business license and a lease, right up there on the wall."

  "That isn't enough, and you know it!" the voice growled, low and threatening.

  "No, I don't know anything of the kind," Massha answered, patiently but more firm than cordial. "Trouble," Cire muttered.

  I glanced out between the curtains at the speaker. The athletic-looking Flibberite in the dull plum-colored tunic reminded me a lot of Woofle, with businesslike mien, and the big guys behind him reminded me of Woofle's muscle men, or maybe the Mob that held sway in Klah. It occurred to me that there might be an equivalent to Don Bruce's boys in The Mall. Maybe we hadn't greased all the palms we had to.

  "Change of plans," I snapped out. "Drop the disguise. Now!"

  "Make up your mind," Cire grumbled, but he shut his eyes. As soon as he opened them, I hustled out into the showroom, wearing a conciliatory grin.

  "Couldn't help overhearing you," I informed him. "Can I help you?"

  "I was just talking to the owner of this establishment," the Flibberite stated dismissively, and turned away.

  I grabbed his arm and turned him back. The two muscle men started forward.

  "She is the owner, but I'm the business manager. Name's Aahz. What can we do for you?"

  The speaker shook off my hand and plunked a card down in front of me.

  "Inspector Niv Dota, Flibber Revenue. Have you filed for a tax identification card? The department has no record of an application from any firm doing business as Massha's Secret."

  Taxes!

  "Er—" I glanced at Chumley, who raised his hands to his shoulders. "I thought so. We filled out a whole ream of forms with The Mall's administration." I grinned even more amiably, which caused him and his escorts to backpedal a few paces.

  The inspector recovered his aplomb faster than Woofle had, but, then, tax people had to have ice water in their veins.

  "The Mall is not empowered to issue tax identification cards. You must apply in person at a licensed Flibber Revenue Office."

  "Really?" I asked, my eyes wide with innocence. "We weren't informed of that fact."

  "Any business, especially demon-owned, must have proper documentation," Dota snapped out. "And that information is part of the language of any commercial lease issued anywhere in this dimension, so I am sure you were informed. So I have to ask myself," he continued, leaning toward me, his eyes slitted dangerously, "did you skip over reading all of the fine print in the papers you signed, or did you decide you might... get lucky? Maybe we wouldn't... notice?"

  "Of course not," I replied smoothly, coming around the counter and dropping an arm onto his shoulders. He cringed. I held on. "Inspector, I am sure that we can work this out to everyone's satisfaction. Naturally we want to be law-abiding members of society—"

  "Hey! Let us out!" a shrill female voice howled.

  "The door's stuck!" two more voices joined in, as the two-headed woman added her complaint.

  I looked innocently at the inspector's frown. "Malfunction in the dressing room. We'll take care of it in a minute."

  "You're going to have to close down," the inspector gritted.

  "Sure!" I agreed. "At the end of the day. You see, we're not really—"

  "No. Now."

  Eskina moved up, protest in her eyes. I shook my head surreptitiously.

  "Excuse me a minute."

  "What'll we do, sugar?" Massha asked in an undertone.

  I leaned over to her and Eskina. "Go shut them up if you can. Let Chumley take the register. I'll take care of this." I turned back to Dota. "Now, about that card—like I was trying to tell you, we're not really businesspeople trying to run a store." "No kidding," the inspector replied, with the air that he'd heard this story before. I felt my temper rising, but I pushed on.

  "Look," I stated flatly. "We're interdimensional investigators tracking down a ring of dangerous thieves in this Mall. My colleague over there has a badge from the dimension of Ratislava. All we need is a few days."

  Dota interrupted me. "Even if such a wild story was true, it's not my jurisdiction. You ought to have applied for the correct credentials in the first place. You can't operate this place without it. I'm padlocking this place until you fill out the correct paperwork."

  "What?" I bellowed. "No!"

  At that moment, the door of the dressing room exploded outward.

  The shoppers in the store scattered, screaming, and the inspector's two sides of beef hit the floor and rolled, coming up with cocked and loaded crossbows, not unlike Guido and Nunzio's Iolo Specials, but the tips of these quarrels were glowing.

  "The door was locked," the shark explained coyly, swimming on the air rapidly toward the exit.

  The two-headed woman minced beside her, holding a handful of tasteful, pink, pocket-sized grenades. Out of her open handbag peeked a black satin legband and a stack of rectangular cards.

  "Clear the store!" Inspector Dota shouted. "You, ladies, out the door. Now!"

  The two impostors were happy to oblige, making for the door as quickly as they could.

  "Stop those two!" I yelled. "They're stealing our merchandise."

  I shoved toward them. Dota's muscle grabbed my shoulders and yanked me back.

  "It's illegal to operate here," the inspector insisted. "Let them go."

  'The hell I will," I snarled, shaking their hands off me. The two had nearly made it to the door. "Massha! Cire!" Cire flung himself out of the alcove and leveled his hands at the two females, who doubled around a display. The rest of the customers still in the store started screaming. Cire let fly. The thieves doubled around a rack near the doof. The orange ball of flame hit the rack head-on. It blew up, sending garters flying everywhere. The thieves found themselves pressed against the backs of frantic shoppers, all trying to get out of the store at the same time. Massha took to the air, her hands fumbling for a necklace pendant.

  The shark tried to wiggle her way into the crowd. Now was not the time for niceties. With a flattened hand I chopped upward at the wrist of one of Dota's goons. The crossbow went flying. I seized it out of midair and leveled it at the shark's tail. She saw me and went low. I took a bead on the two-headed broad. She shoved hard into the crowd.

  BZZZZZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZ!

  The alarm around the door went off. All the customers jammed there started screaming and slapping at themselves as the theft-control bees installed on the unsold garters realized they were being stolen and went into action. The frauds couldn't escape now. Grinning fiercely, I dropped the crossbow and dove after them.

  And hit the ground sprawling with a ton of weight on my back. I wrenched my head around. One of the goons was sitting on me. Dota came around to loom over me.

  Chumley saved the day. In two quick strides he reached the doorway and grabbed each of our subjects by the nape of the neck.

  "Let 'em go," Inspector Dota ordered.

  Chumley turned his moonlike eyes disbelievingly tow
ard the tax man. "Huh?"

  Dota nodded to his goons, who leveled their crossbows on him.

  "Let 'em go now," he repeated, in a voice of quiet menace.

  At that range the quarrels could not miss, and whatever the glowing arrowheads meant, it couldn't be good. Very reluctantly, Chumley released our prisoners.

  Dota turned to point at Massha and Cire. "The rest of you employees, freeze!"

  "But they're ripping us off!" I protested from the ground. "I, er, want them to come back and pay for those items."

  Dota was unmoved. "It would be an illegal transaction. You can't be selling this merchandise anyhow until you have an identification certificate."

  I gave in and flopped on the purple carpet. "How long's processing time?"

  "Three to four weeks."

  'Three or four what?" I bellowed.

  The jam at the door cleared. The shoppers fled, most of them dabbing at stings. The shark and the two-headed broad paused just long enough to wave sweetly at me before disappearing into the usual thick crowd wandering The Mall's corridors.

  Dota's goon got off of my back. I didn't bother pursuing the two impostors. We'd lost that round. I turned to the inspector.

  "Look, we're investigators trying to clear up a ring of thieves in this Mall. We've got the cooperation of the administrators and half the shopkeepers here. This is our best shot at capturing the criminals!"

  "You'll have to find some other way to do it," Dota insisted. He glanced at his enforcers. "We're done here. Have a nice day."

  Massha settled down next to me.

  "It's not your fault, Hot Shot. Moa must have forgotten to mention the tax forms. He's not the finance guy."

  I felt steam shoot out of my ears. "But Woofle is. I bet he deliberately kept the facts back. I'm going to have a word with him."

  Chumley patted me on the back. "Forget about it, Aahz. You can't prove it. Really, it's my fault, what? I could have read through all of those documents in full detail, but truthfully I would still be there now if I had tried. I thought I had noticed all of the important provisions."