“Friends? Is that what she told you?”
He rounded on the Djeanie again.
“You know, babe, for someone who keeps accusing me of lying, you play pretty fast and loose with the truth yourself!”
“Don’t be silly,” the Djeanie said. “If I had told him I was your wife, he would have just covered for you. You think I don’t know how you men lie to protect each other?”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Did you say ‘wife’? Are you two married?”
Whatever was left of my interest in Daphnie died without a whimper.
“Sure,” Kalvin said with a grimace. “Can’t you tell by the loving and affection we shower on each other? Of course we’re married. Do you think either of us would put up with this abuse from a stranger?”
He gave a brief shake of his head, and for a moment seemed to almost return to normal.
“By the way, Skeeve, good to see you again,” he said, flashing a tight smile. “Sorry to have forgotten my manners, but I get ... Anyway, even though it may be a bit late, I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Daphnie.”
“Well, at lest now I know what it takes to be introduced to one of your business friends.”
And they were off again.
There was a knock on the door.
I answered it, thinking as I did that it was nice to know at least a few people who came into my room the normal way . . . which is to say, by the door . . . instead of simply popping in unannounced.
“Is everything okay, Boss? I thought I heard voices.”
“Sure,” I said, “it’s just . . . Guido?”
My mind had to grapple with several images and concepts simultaneously, and it wasn’t doing so hot. First was the realization that Guido was back from his mission as a special tax envoy. Second, that he had his arm in a sling.
The latter probably surprised me more than the former. After all our time together, I had begun to believe that my bodyguards were all but invulnerable. It was a little unsettling to be reminded that they could be hurt physically like anyone else.
“What are you doing back?” I said. “And what happened to your arm?”
Instead of answering, he peered suspiciously past me at the arguing Djins.
“What’s goin’ on in there, Boss?” he demanded. “Who are those two jokers, anyway?”
I was a little surprised that he could hear and see my visitors, but then I remembered that it’s only while a Djin is under contract that he or she can only be seen and heard by the holder of their bottle.
“Oh, those are just a couple friends of mine,” I said. “Well . . . sort of friends. I thought they were dropping by to say ‘Hi,’ but, as you can see, things seem to have gotten a little out of hand. The one with the beard is Kalvin, and the lady he’s arguing with is his wife, Daphnie.”
I thought it was a fairly straightforward explanation, but Guido recoiled as if I had struck him.
“Did you say ‘his wife’?”
“That’s right. Why?”
My bodyguard stepped forward to place himself between me and the arguing couple.
“Get out of here, Boss,” he said quietly.
“What?”
At first I thought I had misunderstood him.
“Boss,” he hissed with aggravated patience. “I’m your bodyguard. Right? Well, as your bodyguard and the one currently responsible for the well bein’ of your continued health, I’m tellin’ you to get out of here!”
“But ...”
Apparently Guido wasn’t willing to debate the point further. Instead, he scooped me up with his good arm and carried me out the door into the corridor, where he deposited me none too gently against the wall beside the doorway.
“Now stay here,” he said, shaking a massive finger in my face. “Got that? Stay here!”
I recognized the tone of his voice. It was the same as when I tried to give Gleep a simple command ... for the third or fourth time after he had been steadfastly ignoring me. I decided I would try to prove that I was smarter than my pet by actually following orders.
“Okay, Guido,” I said, with a curt nod. “Here it is.”
He hesitated for a moment, eyeing me as if to see if I was going to make a break for the door. Then he gave a little nod of satisfaction, turned, and strode into my room, closing the door behind him.
While I couldn’t make out the exact words, I heard the arguing voices cease for a moment. Then they were raised again in angry chorus, punctuated by Guido’s voice saying something. Then there was silence.
After a few long moments of stillness, the door opened again.
“You can come in now, Boss,” my bodyguard announced. “They’re gone.”
I left my post by the wall and re-entered my room. A quick glance around was all it took to confirm my bodyguard’s claim. The Djins had departed for destinations unknown. Surprisingly enough, my immediate reaction was to be a little hurt that they hadn’t bothered to say goodbye.
I also realized that I wanted a goblet of wine, but suppressed the desire. Instead, I perched on the side of the bed.
“All right, Guido,” I said. “What was that all about?”
“Sorry to barge in like that, Boss,” my bodyguard said, not looking at all apologetic. “You know that’s not my normal style.”
“So what were you doing?”
“What I was doin’ was my job,” he retorted. “As your bodyguard, I was attemptin’ to protect you from bein’ hurt or maybe even killed. It’s what you pay me for, accordin’ to my job description.”
“Protecting me? From those two? Com’on, Guido. They were just arguing. They weren’t even arguing with me. It was a family squabble between the two of them.”
“Just arguing!” my bodyguard said, looming over me. “What do you think ...”
He broke off suddenly and stepped back, breathing heavy.
I was genuinely puzzled. I couldn’t recall having seen Guido more upset, but I really couldn’t figure out what was bothering him.
“Sorry, Boss,” he said finally, in a more normal tone. “I’m still a little worked up after that close call. I’ll be all right in a second.”
“What close call?” I pressed. “They were just . . .”
“I know, I know,” he said, waving me to silence. “They were just arguing.”
He took a deep breath and flexed his arms and hands.
“You know, Boss, I keep forgettin’ how inexperienced you are. I mean, you may be tops in the magik department, but when it comes to my specialty, which is to say rough and tumble stuff, you’re still a babe in the woodwork.”
A part of me wanted to argue this, since I had been in some pretty nasty scrapes over the years, but I kept my mouth shut. Guido and his cousin Nunzio were specialists, and if nothing else over the years I’ve learned to respect expertise.
“You see, Boss, people say that guys like me and Nunzio are not really all that different from the cops . . . that it’s the same game on different sides of the line. I dunno. It may be true. What I am sure of, though, is that both we and our counterparts agree on one thing: The most dangerous situation to stick your head into . . . the situation most likely to get you dead fast . . . isn’t a shoot-out or a gang war. It’s an ordinary D&D scenario.”
“D&.D,” I frowned. “You mean that game you were telling me about with the maps and the dice?”
“No. I’m takin’ about a ‘domestic disturbance.’ A family squabble . . . just like you had goin’ on here when I came in. They’re deadly, Boss. Especially one between a husband and wife.”
I wanted to laugh, but he seemed to be utterly serious about what he was saying.
“Are you kidding, Guido?” I said. “What could happen that would be dangerous?”
“More things than you can imagine,” he replied. “That’s what makes them so dangerous. In regular hassles, you can pretty much track what’s going on and what might happen next. Arguments between a husband and wife are unpredictable, though. You can
’t tell who’s gonna swing at who, when or with what, because they don’t know themselves.”
I was beginning to believe what he was saying. The concept was both fascinating and frightening.
“Why do you think that is, Guido? What makes fights between married couples so explosive?”
My bodyguard frowned and scratched his head.
“I never really gave it much thought,” he said. “If I had to give an opinion, I’d say it was due to the motivationals.”
“The motives?” I corrected without thinking.
“That too,” he nodded. “You see, Boss, the business-type disputes which result in violence like I am normally called upon to deal with have origins that are easily comprehended . . . like greed or fear. That is to say, either Boss A wants somethin’ that Boss B is reluctant to part with, as in a good-sized hunk of revenue generatin’ territory, or Boss B is afraid that Boss A is gonna try to whack him and decides to beat him to the punch. In these situationals, there is a clear-cut objective in mind, and the action is therefore relatively easy to predict and counter. Know what I mean?”
“I think so,” I said. “And in a domestic disturbance?”
“That’s where it can get ugly,” he grimaced. “It starts out with people arguin’ when they don’t know why they’re arguin’. What’s at stake there is emotions and hurt feelin’s, not money. The problem with that is that there is no clear-cut objective, and as a result, there is no way of tellin’ when the fightin’ should cease. It just keeps escalatin’ up and up, with both sides dishin’ out and takin’ more and more damage, until each of ‘em is hurt so bad that the only important thing left is to hurt the other one back.”
He smacked his fist loudly into his other hand, wincing slightly when he moved his injured arm.
“When it explodes,” he continued, “you don’t want to be anywhere near ground zero. One will go at the other, or they’ll go at each other, with anything that’s at hand. The worst part is, and the reason neither us or the cops want to try to mess with it, is that if you try to break it up, chances are that they’ll both turn on you. You see, mad as they are, they’ll still reflexively protect each other from any outside force . . . into which category will fall you or anyone else who tries to interfere. That’s why the best policy, if you have a choice at all, is to get away from them and wait until the dust settles before venturin’ close again.”
This was all very interesting, particularly since I was in the middle of contemplating marriage myself. However, my bodyguard’s wince had reminded me of the unanswered question originally raised by his appearance.
“I think I understand now, Guido,” I said. “Thanks. Now tell me, what happened to your arm? And what are you doing back at the palace?”
Guido seemed a little taken aback at the sudden change of topic.
“Sorry I didn’t check in as soon as I got back, Boss,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “It was late and I thought you were already asleep . . . until I heard that argument in process, that is. I would have let you know first thing in the morning.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “No problem. But since we’re talking now, what happened?”
“We ran into a little trouble, is all,” he said, looking away. “Nothin’ serious.”
“Serious enough to put your arm in a sling,” I observed. “So what happened?”
“If it’s okay with you, Boss, I’d rather not go into details. Truth is, it’s more than a little embarrassing.”
I was about to insist, then thought better of it. Guido never asked for much from me, but it seemed right now he was asking that I not push the point. The least I could do was respect his privacy.
“All right,” I said slowly. “We’ll let it ride for now. Will you be able to work with that arm?”
“In a pinch, maybe. But not at peak efficiency,” he admitted. “That’s really what I wanted to talk to you about, Boss. Is there any chance you can assign Nunzio to be Pookie’s backup while I take over his duties here?”
Realizing how infatuated Guido was with Pookie, it was quite a request. Still, I was reluctant to go along with it.
“I don’t know, Guido,” I said “Nunzio’s been working with Gleep to try to figure out what’s wrong with him. I kind of hate to pull him off that until we have some answers. Tell you what. How about if I talk to Chumley about helping out?”
“Chumley?” my bodyguard frowned. “I dunno, Boss. Don’t you think that him bein’ a troll would tend to scare folks in these parts?”
Realizing that both Guido and Nunzio relied heavily on intimidation in their work, this was an interesting objection. Still, he had a point.
“Doesn’t Pookie have a disguise spell or something that could soften Chumley’s appearance?” I suggested. “I was assuming that she wasn’t wandering around the countryside showing the green scales of a Pervect.”
“Hey! That’s right! Good idea, Boss,” Guido said, brightening noticeably. “In that case, no problem. Chumley’s as stand up as they come.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to him first thing in the morning.”
“Actually, Chumley’s a better choice than Nunzio,” my bodyguard continued, almost to himself. “Pookie’s still kinda upset over shootin’ me, and Nunzio would probably ...”
“Whoa! Wait a minute! Did you say that Pookie shot you?”
Guido looked startled for a moment, then he drew himself up into a wall of righteous indignation.
“Really, Boss.” he said. “I thought we agreed that we wasn’t gonna talk about this. Not for a while, anyway.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Marriage is a fine institution . . . if one requires institutionalizing.”
S. Freud
“HI, CHUMLEY. MIND if I come in?”
The troll looked up from his book, and his enormous mouth twisted into a grin of pleasure.
“Skeeve, old boy!” he said. “Certainly. As a matter of fact, I’ve been expecting you.”
“Really?” I said, stepping into his room and looking around for somewhere to sit.
“Yes. I ran into Guido this morning, and he explained the situation to me. He said you were going to be calling on me for a bit of work. I was just killing time waiting for the official word, is all.”
I wondered if the briefing my bodyguard had given Chumley was any more detailed than what he had told me.
“It’s all right with you, then?” I said. “You don’t mind?”
“Tish tosh. Think nothing of it,” the troll said. “Truth to tell, I’ll be glad to have a specific assignment again. I’ve been feeling a bit at loose ends lately. In fact, I was starting to wonder why I was staying around at all.”
That touched a nerve in me. It had been some time since I had even stopped by to say ‘Hello’ to Chumley.
“Sorry if I’ve been a bit distant,” I said guiltily. “I’ve been . . . busy . . . and . . .”
“Quite right,” Chumley said with a grin and a wink. “Caught a glimpse of your workload when you rolled in the other night. Bit of all right, that.”
I think I actually blushed.
“No really,” I stammered. “I’ve been . . .”
“Relax, old boy,” the troll waved. “I was just pulling your leg a bit. I know you’ve been up against it, what with the Queen after you and all. By the by, I’ve got a few thoughts on that, but I figured it would be rude to offer advice when none had been asked for.”
“You do? That’s terrific,” I said, and meant it. “I’ve been meaning to ask your opinion, but wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”
“I believe you just have, actually,” Chumley grinned. “Pull up a chair.”
I followed his instructions as he continued.
“Advice on marriage, particularly when it comes to the selection of the partner to be, is usually best kept to oneself. The recipients usually already have their minds made up, and voicing any opinion contradictory to their decision can be hazardous to one’s health. Since you’ve actually gotten a
round to asking, however, I think you might find my thoughts on the matter to be a tad surprising.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, most blokes who know me . . . the real me, that is, rather than Big Crunch . . . think of me as a bit of a romantic.”
I blinked, but kept a straight face.
While I have the utmost respect for Chumley, I had never thought of him as a romantic figure . . . possibly something to do with his green matted hair and huge eyes of different sizes. While I suppose that trolls have love lives (otherwise, how does one get little trolls?) I’d have to rate their attractiveness in relation to dwellers of other dimensions to be way down near the bottom. Their female counterparts, the trollops, such as his sister Tananda, were a whole different story, of course, but for the trolls themselves . . . on a scale of one to ten, I’d generously score them around negative eighteen.
This particular troll, however, old friend though he might be, was currently sitting within an arm’s length of me . . . his arm, not mine . . . and as that arm was substantially stronger than two arms of the strongest human . . . which I’m not ... I decided not to argue the point with him. Heck, if he wanted to say he was the Queen of May I’d probably agree with him.
“For the most part, they’d be right,” Chumley was continuing, “but on the subject of marriage, I can be as coldly analytical as the best of them.”
“Terrific,” I said. “That’s what I was really hoping for. ... An unemotional, unbiased opinion.”
“First, let me ask you a few questions,” the troll said.
“All right.”
“Do you love her?”
I paused to give the question an honest consideration.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Of course, I really don’t know all that much about love.”
“Does she love you?”
“Again, I don’t think so,” I said.
I was actually enjoying this. Chumley was breaking things down to where even I could understand his logic.
“Well, has she said she loves you?”
That one I didn’t even have to think about.
“No.”
Sweet Myth-tery of Life Page 13