Snuff the Magic Dragon (and other Bombay Family Bedtime Stories) (Greatest Hits Mysteries)

by Langtry, Leslie

  Mom continued, “You have another assignment.” She handed us a sheet of coiled papyrus sealed with wax and paused, waiting for our whining to commence.

  “What? No!” I stamped my foot. “We just got done with one!”

  “It’s not fair!” Ria complained. “They think because we work together that they can give us twice as much!”

  Mom rolled her eyes and left the room. She knew there was no way out. As a Bombay herself, she still worked the occasional assignment. Once a Bombay – always an assassin. There was no way out of the family business but death.

  Ria pouted as she cracked open the seal. Stupid parchment. Papyrus was so old school. The Bombays were too old-fashioned. She read the instructions and then a devilish grin grew on her face. “OH. MY. GODS! This is soooo cool! You’ll like this one!” she said to me.

  I snatched the information from her hand and read eagerly. “NO WAY!” I said loudly. “We get to kill Draco? AWESOME!”

  Ria nodded, and the two of us held hands and jumped up and down, squealing with joy. Draco was an asshat. We lived in Athens—the home of asshattery, if you ask us—and Draco was the lawgiver and the reason we killed that dude earlier today.

  Get this! In Athens, because of this jerk, the penalty for virtually any crime was death. That’s right. If you stole a stupid cabbage (although why anyone would steal or even buy a cabbage was beyond me) you were put to death. Why? Because according to Draco, you deserved it. I was personally hoping that once we killed Draco things would get better, right? I mean, who in their right mind would pick up where this jerk left off?

  Oh right, back to the dead guy from earlier, Asp…something or other. Well, if you weren’t part of the aristocracy, and you were in debt to someone, even for as little as five obols, the person who loaned you the money could enslave you. If you were part of the one-percenters, they couldn’t do that to you, because, somehow, you were better than anyone else.

  This douchecanoe loaned his neighbor one obol for a loaf of bread when they were at the store so his neighbor wouldn’t have to make change on a ten. As soon as they got home, BAM! Asparagus or whatever his name was served his neighbor a summons to be his slave and sold his daughters. And this wasn’t the first time Asparagus (I kind of liked calling him that now.) had done it either. But as a member of the upper class, no one could touch him. So he ended up on our assignment roster, and Ria and I happily took him out.

  FYI—we’d rescued the daughters earlier and set them up on Crete with their own fashion design business. No girl was going to be a slave on our watch, and they made some awesomely cute sandals…

  You might think it unusual that Ria and I can work together. Bombays don’t usually do that. But Ria and I are identical twins which is very useful in this field. We’d trained together and could totally read each other’s minds. The Council had no problem with us being a team. Unfortunately, that meant we ended up with twice the assignments everyone else did. Whatever.

  Draco was a big baddie and a choice assignment! Of course this meant that this was also a tricky job. He was an official legislator and part of the ruling class. It would be impossible to get next to him. Unlike the other guy this morning—in which case we just walked right into his home when his family and slaves were at an outing (that we'd organized).

  Ria and I were fantastic organizers! We could throw a party like nobody else. (This one time, we threw a kick-ass school party with gladiator games, a “design your own toga out of toilet paper” contest and we got the coolest singer in Athens—Justinius Beberius—to perform!)! And with two of us handling the hits, we were always successful.

  “That rope from this morning ruined my hands!” Ria whined as she examined her skin and fingernails. She was the more fashion-conscious of the two of us. I was a bit more tomboyish. My nails were super short, and I had calluses everywhere. Our hands were the only way you could tell us apart, really.

  “So,” I said, getting excited now, “how are we going to do it?”

  Ria stopped examining her hands and looked at me with arched eyebrows (perfectly plucked, I might add). “Do what?”

  I threw my hands in the air and rolled my eyes. “The job! Duh!”

  “Oh, right.” Ria sprawled on the settee on her stomach, ankles crossed and in the air as her ponytail bobbed. “We need to think about that.”

  I flopped down beside her. “It has to be an accident or natural causes. I don’t want us to end up victims of his stupid laws.”

  My sister nodded absently. She was already scrolling through ideas in her head. I started munching on grapes. Grapes are my favorite.

  After a while, she stood up and shook her head, her ponytail bobbing behind her. She looked good like that (which meant we looked good like that). “I’ve got nothing. Let’s head to the market.”

  “Great idea!” I grabbed my bag and we were off. The market really was the happening place. You could buy anything there—in fact, they had a new shipment of silk chitons coming in this week. Maybe we’d get lucky!

  Okay, so it’s not all about shopping. The market was also the place where you got the latest news and gossip. We would need to know Draco’s latest if we were going to take him out. Anyone who was anyone knew that.

  The market was super crowded. It must have been delivery day—which also meant that it was a good news day. Bonus! I browsed the red ochre paste, looking to see if they had anything new for lips. Finding nothing, Ria and I made our way to the olive oil merchants.

  We had horrible hair. I know most teens will tell you that, but ours was dark brown and wiry. Ria and I tried everything to tame it with no luck. We were hoping today there might be a new merchant with a miracle cure.

  “This is the best oil for your hair!” a short, fat island man barked at us. He was covered with hair that went in every direction. Clearly his oils didn’t work.

  “I don’t think so…” Ria said as we moved on. The next stall had a woman with gorgeous, glossy hair. We stopped.

  “I used to have hair like you.” The woman was a knockout. She patted her glossy, bouncy curls and nodded. “Use some of my oil.” She looked from right to left and then whispered conspiratorially, “I add a special oil from Morocco to it. Works like a dream!”

  I sniffed at the jar she handed me. The scent was luscious—and didn’t smell like food. I handed over five drachmas for a gallon of the oil. When you found something you liked, you bought in bulk. You might never see the merchant again. Especially under Draco’s laws.

  “Where are you from?” Ria made small talk with the woman.

  “Aegina. Beautiful island!” the woman said through thick, dark pouty lips. I needed to ask where she got her cosmetics. “If you come to the festival next week on Aegina, stop by my shop. I have a lot more than just this.” She spread her hands over her small stall.

  “Festival?” I asked, my ears perking up. I liked festivals. Basically, they were parties with boys.

  The woman nodded and handed us a card with her shop’s information. “And the great Draco will be there! He’s giving a speech in the Aeginatan Theater!”

  Ria and I looked at each other, eyebrows raised. A party, shopping, boys, and a chance at Draco! Perfect!

  We thanked the woman and headed toward the center of the market. Neither one of us spoke—we didn’t need to. We could basically read each other’s minds since birth. The important thing now was to head to gossip central to get the deets.

  The open square was flooded with people and the smell of roasted lamb, citrus fruits, and wine. I snagged some food while Ria found the perfect spot for us to sit. It was quite a coup to pull off, as you had to find the spot where the “in crowd” was, so you could overhear a number of conversations going on at once.

  Ria zoomed in on a couple of legislators chatting to our left, while I focused on the desperate housewives on the right. To look at us, you’d think we were just two teen girls noshing and paying no attention to their surroundings. No one ever gave us a second gla
nce, because they assumed teenage girls didn’t care what went on in politics or for the complaints of wealthy, middle-aged women. And I guess they were right about the second part. I mean, these women were really old—like twenty-nine or something. As if we’d be interested in them!

  “Darling! You simply must go to Aegina for the festival! Everyone will be there!” a bored matron dripping in gold snake bracelets said.

  “What are you going to wear?” a shrill, skinny woman with huge breasts asked breathlessly. Her hair was blonde, which screamed fake! Boy, we think our hair is unruly, but when these rich women used wood ash and lye soap to bleach out their hair, it would eventually have the consistency of straw. Served them right. I stifled a giggle.

  “Well, I was thinking of wearing my new, violet cloak! It’s the softest wool you’ll ever touch!” Bracelets responded.

  Fake Blonde nodded. “It will be the season. I wouldn’t be caught dead without my scarlet cloak. It’s probably heavier than yours.”

  I continued to listen, rolling my eyes internally, as the group of women grew and chatted about their clothes and who had the best of whatever. Intel gathering can be so dull sometimes.

  After an hour, Ria looked at me meaningfully, and we gathered up our things to go. We stopped at a few jewelry stalls, and I bought this fabulous jade broach before we headed home.

  At dinner that night, we told our parents about going to the festival.

  “It’s going to be educational too,” Ria said as she stared at a piece of bread shaped like a lyre. Our cook fancied herself a bit of an artist. “Draco will be speaking.”

  I thought the educational pitch was a nice touch. But Dad wasn’t sure.

  “I don’t know if you should go off alone to a festival on an island…” he said slowly.

  “Mom!” I pleaded, “We can stay with Aunt Lydia—she lives on Aegina! And we want to do some shopping!”

  Mom couldn’t really say no. She knew this was a job. But Dad didn’t approve of our entry into the family business even though he didn’t have a choice. (Those who married into the Bombays never did.) So we couldn’t go at it from that angle.

  She laid a hand on Dad’s arm. “I’m sure if they stay with my sister it will be okay.” Mom used her soothing voice on Dad. “I’ll write to her and let her know they are coming. In fact, I’ll go with them. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Lydia.”

  Ria and I tried not to smile. Dad couldn’t say no to that. And having Mom and Lydia, both trained assassins themselves, would be an extra bonus.

  Dad sighed and shook his head. “You know I can’t argue with you. Go and have fun.”

  “Thanks, Dad!” we said in unison as our cook brought out the fish and fruit. “You’re the best!” we threw in simultaneously for good measure.

  Mom joined us later that evening in our rooms as we started packing. “You have Draco, don’t you?” Her arms were folded across her chest, and she didn’t look very happy.

  My sister and I nodded.

  “I’m not sure about that,” Mom said. “Seems dangerous to take out such a public figure.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like we have a choice, you know.”

  “You of all people know that,” Ria finished.

  Mom sighed. “I know. That’s why Lydia and I are going to help you.”

  My sister and I stared at each other. This was a bit of a breach in protocol. We were the rare exception that worked together, but working in a team was a Bombay no-no. The family business had strict rules about working together. The idea was to train us independently as assassins so we didn’t have to rely on anyone else.

  “And that is the end of the discussion.” Mom narrowed her eyes at us. “We leave in the morning.” And with that announcement, she left.

  “I guess if we don’t tell the other Bombays,” Ria started.

  “Then they won’t get upset about it,” I finished.

  An hour later we were in bed. Staring at the ceiling, I began to think about the concern in Mom's eyes. If she was that worried, I started to worry that we might, in fact, need Mom and Lydia’s help. Which worried me even more. At seventeen, Ria and I were supposed to be working on our own.

  “Sam?” Ria said quietly. “We’ll come up with something. We won’t need Mom.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Night Ria,” I said with a great deal less confidence.

  * * *

  Aegina was a gorgeous little island with full sun and cute boys. Not that we had time for that. After arriving, we made our way to Lydia’s house, and after unpacking (you simply cannot have toooo many sandals!) the four of us made our way into town.

  Ria and I told Mom and Lydia that we were going to check out the theater where Draco was slated to perform in two days. Only two days! Mom and Lydia decided to do some research.

  The theater was the typical round-type arena. Boring. The crowd would enter from two locations, and Draco would already be installed in a dressing room at ground level. At the appropriate time, he would enter the stadium, and the crowd would cheer.

  “You never told me what you overheard the other day,” I said to Ria as we headed back to the festival (with, I might add, no ideas).

  “The big thing,” my sister said, “is that they are worried Draco won’t get a huge, warm welcome. He’s less popular than he was twenty years ago. They want him hailed as a hero.”

  I nodded. “All I heard was what clothes everyone was wearing. Then they had a bit of a pissing match over who had the most colorful and heaviest woolen cloak for the event.” I rolled my eyes for effect.

  Ria clutched my arm and stopped suddenly. “That’s it!” She threw her arms around me and squeezed. “I know exactly what to do!”

  I frowned. What was it? A bunch of talk about how to get the people to honor Draco and the thickness of women’s cloaks? And then it dawned on me. Yes!

  * * *

  It took us a while to find Mom and Lydia, but once we did we dragged them home and told them about our plan.

  Lydia and Mom looked at each other and burst out laughing. They weren’t twins, but were very close. Maybe they could read each other’s minds too?

  “That’s very imaginative!” Mom said as she wiped her tears of laughter away.

  “What makes you think you can pull it off?” Lydia asked between gasps.

  Ria shrugged nonchalantly. “You don’t have to do it with us.”

  “We can do this ourselves,” I finished. “It’s just a matter of marketing.”

  Mom and Lydia looked at each other, then leaned forward. “What are you planning, specifically?” they asked in unison. I guess they were a lot like us after all.

  So we told them. And they started laughing. Again.

  In this day and age in Greece, applause is so, so yesterday. The real way to honor someone is to throw your cloaks, tunics and hats onto the floor of the arena when they enter. It’s considered one of the biggest props you can show. Yes, it’s stupid. And how do you collect your clothing afterward? What if you really, really liked that cloak?

  But the wealthy don’t care. They will do it to show that they can afford another cloak. And they want everyone to see them throw their cloak. That’s the important thing. We’d just use their vanity.

  The Aeginian politicians would love this because it would honor Draco’s visit, and they want to show all of Greece that they revere the idiot who wrote those stupid laws. We’d just use their need for spin.

  And hopefully, we would smother Draco to death under the weight of a thousand wool cloaks and hats before he even uttered a word. It’s brilliant really. You’re welcome.

  It would be expensive. We needed to find a printer to make handbills to hand out to every one of the ten thousand attendees, encouraging them to send their capes to the theater floor. And we needed to volunteer at the theater to hand out the handbills so they went to everyone.

  Actually, that was the easy part. Who wouldn’t want a pair of cute twins working for them? We told the man
agement we were huge Draco fans (gross!), and they loved the idea. Mostly, they loved the idea that we were encouraging the guests to honor Draco. It would make them look great.

  Of course we went to the theater in disguise as blondes. The wigs were pricey, but we’d had them for years just in case something like this came up. We couldn’t go as ourselves—what if someone figured it out? Duh!

  Mom and Lydia, on the other hand, had their own tasks. As wealthy women, they infiltrated the bored housewives club and spread the word that the latest thing would be to take your heaviest, most expensive cloak to the theater that night and throw it away on the arena floor. You might think this would be laughed at – but it wasn’t. Word spread like wildfire, and outrageous competitions arose to see who would outdo whom.

  “I hope this works,” Ria said as she paid five hundred drachmas to the printer. Again, we were wearing our blonde wigs and a bit too much makeup.

  “If it doesn’t, we'll just have to do something else. The great thing about this plan is that it doesn’t seem to be what it is.” I had to be vague because we were in public. Ria knew what I meant.

  Back at the house, Mom and Lydia were drinking wine on the terrace. Lydia had an amazing view of the sea, so we joined them and showed them the handbills.

  “In honor of the visit from the Legislator Draco,” Mom read slowly, “please show your pride and appreciation by tossing your cloaks out of deference to this great man!”

  “Cheesy,” Aunt Lydia said. “But the way the society matrons have leaped on the idea means it just might work.”

  “What I like about it,” Mom replied, “is that there’s very little risk to you girls. It wasn’t like that when we were seventeen, was it Lyd?”

  Her sister shook her head vigorously. “No it was not. If we had an assignment back then, we stabbed the guy and ran like Hades!”