MYTH-Taken Identity

by Robert Asprin

  The pyrosaurian didn't know what to say. "Er, thanks!" she threw back as she was swept away in the stream of fel­low shoppers.

  "There," Massha announced, dusting her hands togeth­er. "Now I'm ready to kick some shape-changing tail."

  FIFTEEN

  "Everybody was kung fu fighting—hyah!"

  The skinny figure under the spotlights executed a few side kicks as he pranced about the small round platform over the heads of the crowd.

  "Retuuuuuurrrrn to me, and always be my meeee-lody of looooovve!"

  I winced. I had always suspected the Imps of inventing karaoke: It had a way of taking innocuous music and ren­dering it so tasteless and painful that it induced hopeless­ness, even suicidal tendencies, in its listeners.

  The gadget could be set to hover almost anywhere, pro­viding a slate showing lyrics, backup music, and, natural­ly, a mirror ball for atmosphere. Not surprisingly, Klahds were another big market for the gadgets, so no one thought twice about the fact one was making a fool of himself by singing in public there at The Mall.

  "At the Copa! Copacabana!"

  Chloridia's face wore a more aghast expression than mine.

  "Is that your friend?" she asked. "I'd advise him not to quit his day job."

  "He did," I retorted, "but not to sing."

  The impostor on the stage hit a sour note.

  "I can't stand that anymore," Chloridia insisted.

  She raised her hand, and a lightning bolt exploded from her joined fingertips. The mirror ball over the phony's head exploded in a burst of shards. The music halted, and the lights died away.

  "Thanks," I growled.

  I appreciated it, but time was when I didn't need that kind of help. At least Chloridia wasn't inclined to rub it in.

  "Glad to oblige."

  The security force mustered from several sides, pikes at the ready. Parvattani was among the group to my left. He looked tired. He must have been chasing Skeeve sightings since morning, same as we had.

  To my surprise, the impostor didn't flee when his magikal music box blew up.

  "Any requests?" he shouted.

  The crowd, as usual, loved a spectacle. They didn't want the show to end either, and began to yell out the names of songs. The impostor got them clapping in rhythm and burst into song again.

  "Oh, I wish I was in Dixie! Hooray! Hooray! In Dixie Land I'll take my stand—Come on, everybody sing!"

  I understood what he was doing. If the crowd dispersed, he had no cover. I had to raise my assessment of the intel­ligence of Rattila's shapeshifters, or at least this one up one notch.

  Massha, now confident that her gadgets were going to behave normally, launched a burst of blue light toward the figure on the stage. It enveloped him in a beam of light that pierced right to the back of one's eyeballs. Whether they wanted the show to go on or not, the audience had to stop looking at him. I thought it was a pretty clever move on Massha's part. The people started to drift away, leaving only a few standing and staring.

  "Wait, everyone!" the impostor cried. "Look!" He held up his hands, and began to make fire-shapes on the ceiling. "Look! A duck! A horse! A rabbit!"

  Chloridia threw a whammy of her own, and the phony froze in place, his hands making a birdie.

  I grinned ferally. He had nowhere to go and no way to get there.

  Now we had him. All around us were Parvattani's guards, halberds at the ready. I gestured to them to follow me in case the impostor suddenly figured out he didn't need a voice or hand gestures to defend himself magikally, using Skeeve's talent. We couldn't be too cautious.

  We closed in on the fake. I took the time to decide what I was going to do to him first. Punch him out? Pull out his fingernails? Make him invoke each of his cards one at a time and snap them while he was still wearing the faces? For a change I didn't have the visceral reaction, thanks to Massha's blue fire spell hiding Skeeve's stolen face.

  The nearby bards had stopped playing. It was so eerily quiet that I could hear the sound of my own breath, that of my companions, and the sound of exhalations coming from just behind my shoulder.

  I spun.

  Hundreds of faces surrounded us, all with red-rimmed eyes, pale complexions, and gaping mouths.

  "Who are you?" I asked.

  The zombie faces didn't respond. I shrugged, headed for the burning figure on the platform. The closer I got, the closer they got. The nearest one was a Troll with long, pale gray-blue fur that smelled like an old sofa.

  "Bathe much?" I inquired. It didn't answer.

  Massha waved a hand in front of their faces. "Aahz, I don't like this. They're not conscious."

  "So what?" I asked. "Describes most talk-show audi­ences. What matters is what they do."

  The impostor was still burning like a Roman candle. I kind of hoped that the spell hurt. I reached for him.

  Before my hands could touch the sparkling flames, two big, hairy hands reached around and grabbed me.

  A Troll in good condition is no match for a Pervect, in the sense that a dragon is no match for a Zippo lighter. I was lucky. This one was under autopilot, or at least remote control. I shook him off. A couple of Imps jumped on me from behind. I hauled one of them over my shoulder and beat the Troll over the head with him. When I was done with those two, I launched the other Imp into the crowd. A female Deveel, a slimy, yellow slug with two heads and six arms and a werewolf, all with half-lidded eyes, launched themselves in my direction. Their eyes looked bored, while their fists, feet, and even teeth attacked me.

  "Yow!" I howled, as the werewolf latched onto my ankle with his fangs. I kicked out. "Back off, Lassie! Hey, Chumley!" I called, no longer able to see my friends in the throng. "Massha! Anybody!"

  A loud roar sounded from my left. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a squidlike creature flying in a low parabola, followed by a red lizard, an adolescent Gargoyle (you could tell by the punk patterns chiseled on its skull), and a batwinged beast with bright red fur.

  The guards were outclassed and outnumbered, but they fought pretty well. Though they might not have been used to weapons of Mall destruction, they were used to working in teams. Two or three would stun a shuffling shopper unconscious, then an officer with bamboo finger traps would leap on the body and immobilize the arms. In short order, they put away three Deveels, four Klahds, and a fly­ing shark-creature.

  Massha kept trying to get close to the dais, but she was in a dogfight with another of the red-winged bat-birds. Eskina galloped by, clinging to the ear of a howling Bugbear whose ear she was biting. I looked around for Chloridia. She had to make this capture. Each of us had agreed on the priorities during the briefing: get the impos­tor. I flipped a Klahd over onto three Kobolds. They col-

  lapsed under his weight. I fought my way one more step. Then another.

  "Aiyeee!"

  A body dropped on top of me. I came up fighting, grab­bing my new opponent around a furry middle.

  "Aagh!" a familiar voice cried.

  I halted just in time to keep from throwing Eskina into the face of an oncoming Dragonet.

  "They are too many," she panted.

  "Naw," I insisted. "We'll get through. Stay with me." I knocked out another Imp, and she accounted for a crazed Gnome.

  Where was Chloridia?

  At last I spotted her. She rose straight up out of the crowd, her bright green dress gleaming.

  "How dare you?" she shrieked, pausing to slap a zom­bie Flibberite in the face.

  I watched her float toward the pseudo-Skeeve. A fold of her long dress swished over my head, covering my eyes, but I didn't have a hand free to brush it away. It whisked off, and I glanced over where she had the impostor in a headlock.

  But she didn't. She was gone. And the spell she had put on the shapechanger was wearing off. There wasn't time to wonder what the hell had happened to the Kallian. I threw myself toward the Skeeve-clone. The zombies surged in on me, their blank eyes rolling as if they were auditioning for Night of the Living Dead. I
pushed one after another out of my way, but the sheer numbers overwhelmed even my strength. The weight pushed me to the floor, pinioned my arms and legs.

  "Can't breathe," Eskina gasped, her tiny figure almost invisible under the Klahd who had tackled her.

  I could keep breathing, but I really couldn't move. The zombies seemed to have fallen over on me like so much cordwood. I looked up into the blank eyes.

  "Coffee," I choked out.

  "What?" Eskina asked in disbelief.

  "They're in a trance. They need coffee. We need Sibone."

  "She cannot hear you here!" she squeaked.

  "She can," I insisted. "She's a seer. She's watching out for us. Sibone!"

  I felt my back flatten farther and farther into the floor. My physique was more resistant to crushing than the diminutive Ratislavan, but I was reaching my limit. Suddenly I smelled that unmistakable, delectable aroma.

  "Oooo-oooooh!"

  The zombies were entranced beings of few words, but their meaning was obvious. Little by little the weight start­ed to lift off my body. As soon as I could, I flipped over and crawled to Eskina's motionless body. I listened to her chest. She was only unconscious. I hoisted her over my shoulder and stood up.

  Bubbles tumbled out of the sky like spherical snow. The zombies ignored us now, pursuing the iridescent bronze spheres. As the cups of life-giving brew materialized in their palms, the zombies gulped them down, then held out their hands for more. I never saw anyone who wasn't pulling an all-nighter before an engineering final drink so much coffee at one time.

  Soon, consciousness returned to the diverse faces. Most of them looked confused, others angry, and the rest embar­rassed for their current behavior. One large Whelf female actually had the grace to apologize for having her foot in my face.

  "I am so sorry! I don't usually step on people I don't know!"

  "No problem," I assured her. "Go back to your shopping."

  "Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, as if the opportunity had just occurred to her. "I was looking for a new wand for my hus­band's birthday!"

  "Pay cash," I warned her, as she minced away.

  All but one of the former zombies departed. Of course, the Skeeve was long gone.

  I found Massha sitting on the stairs of the dais wrapping herself around a mocha lattecino with double whipped cream. Chumley was lying on the floor with an ice pack clutched to one big eye.

  "What happened back there?" Massha asked.

  "We were ambushed," I stated grimly. "Chloridia poofed out, so we don't even have the phony under wraps."

  "Where'd she go?

  "I don't know," I replied. "But we're still at a net profit, magicianwise."

  I dragged the last zombie survivor, a half-conscious Walroid, away from his extra large cappucino. He goggled at me, his wiry mustache puffing out indignantly.

  "We found Cire."

  "They almost got me," Strewth panted, tearing back toward the Rat Hole.

  In the cover of the riot he had switched identities, assuming that of a bicycle messenger he had once encoun­tered in a bar. He jingled his handlebar bell. Shoppers jumped out of the way of his front wheel, diving into foun­tains or behind bards if they had to. He pedaled grimly.

  "But they didn't get you," Rattila's voice echoed in his mind. "Hurry back! I need the power you gathered."

  Strewth slithered into the hidden entrance and divested himself of the bicycle messenger's form. He scrabbled on all fours into Rattila's presence and lay panting at the huge rat's feet.

  "They got all the raiders," Strewth gasped. "They're no longer out of it. They're back to normal."

  He expected Rattila to be furious. Instead, the Big Cheese looked jubilant.

  "Why aren't you mad?" he asked.

  "They're rejuvenated," the Ratislavan gloated, his red eyes gleaming. "Don't you see the benefit? We can milk them all over again. The magicians! The technicians! The

  artists! The inventors! Everyone! Their special talents will be mine. And when we've drained them again, we can restore them, and start the process all over. I shall have more power than any magician has ever dreamed of!"

  "Oh, I dunno," Wassup put in, speculatively. "I bet when you get right down to it they all want the same thing. Yeowww!"

  Rattila blew out his smoking finger as the brown mall-rat hopped around trying to put out his burning foot.

  "There is nothing I hate more," he hissed, "than a min­ion who doesn't understand hyperbole."

  SIXTEEN

  "Outnumbered," Chumley grunted, staggering back to our suite. He unlocked the door and stood aside.

  "Only physically," I grumbled, throwing myself into an armchair. I was more dismayed than I was letting the oth­ers see. "If I didn't want to kill them, I'd have to admire their tactics."

  "Yeah," Massha added glumly. "The way that one Skeeve-impersonator ran into the crowd and two of our Most Wanted split off from there. The hesitation blew my catch. I didn't know which was the fake Skeeve. I couldn't decide which one to go after."

  "We want all of them," Eskina argued. "We must cap­ture all of Rattila's workforce, so he cannot gather any more power. Who knows when he will accomplish his goal?"

  "We'll have to wait until we see the Skeeve again, then make sure he cannot escape us," Chumley suggested. "But how to ensure his appearance? And how can we cut off all routes of egress?"

  "I don't know," I growled. "I've got to think."

  "So, man," Cire asked, throwing himself into a chair near me and letting his flipperlike hands hang over the arms, "why did you hit me?"

  "A better question might be," I snarled, raising my eyes to his, "why did I stop?"

  "Hey, you're not still mad about that scam back on Pokino, are you?" Cire inquired, trying on an expression of injured innocence.

  "I liked you better as a zombie," I grumbled.

  Cire looked embarrassed. "Thanks, pal. I really appre­ciate it. You know what it's like, wandering around with someone's voice in your head telling you what to do?"

  "No."

  "We're going about this all wrong," Massha exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "He's got us running around all over this place. It's too big! We can't cover it all. We knew that from the beginning."

  "We put the ball into his court," I realized, in annoy­ance, tossing the atlas onto the table. "It didn't work out the way it should have. Instead of cornering him and mak­ing him give up the impersonation, we've liberated him."

  "You made him come up with some new innovations anyhow," Massha pointed out.

  I grimaced. She was trying to be kind, but it stung.

  "That is not what I have in mind. I hope word never gets back to the kid about being seen diving naked into a foun­tain full of guacamole, or cavorting drunkenly with a host of ugly females."

  "Or singing," Eskina added. "He is very bad at singing."

  "He won't hear it from me," Massha promised.

  "Or me," Chumley agreed.

  "What happened to Madama Chloridia?" Parvattani asked. "She leave-a so quickly."

  "Probably had another appointment," I replied. I was a little torqued that she had taken off in the middle of things like that. "She's a busy woman. Probably had to conduct an interview. I hope she'll check in with us again soon."

  "In the meantime you have me," Cire interjected bright­ly. "That's more than a fair trade."

  "Yeah," I stated curtly.

  "Oh, come on, Aahz," Cire wheedled. "You're not still sore about the time I landed you in the Hoppenmar jelly mines, are you?"

  I eyed him. "Let's just say you're off my holiday list for the foreseeable, okay?"

  Cire opened large green eyes in play wistfulness. "Make it up to you any way I can. C'mon, we used to be partners!"

  "No!" I shouldn't have shouted, but that word set off associations in my mind.

  "Pals, anyway," Cire continued, not at all put out by my protest.

  Truth be told, I wasn't displeased to have him on our team. He was a pretty good magic
ian. Not in the class I had been when I had my powers, or even in Chloridia's, but adaptable and teachable.

  "We cut off all the stores too soon," I began, thinking hard. "We ought to have left one outlet where he could make purchases unmolested. Something small, but irresistible. The merchandise would have to be unique and attractive, and just costly enough that the value feeds into Eskina's formula for power reward. A shop that he can't resist coming into, where he wouldn't see the trap until it sprang closed on him."

  "But which of these stores fits your specifications?" Chumley asked, pointing at the atlas.

  "None of them," I replied, a long, slow grin pulling the corners of my mouth outward toward my ears as my idea coalesced into shape.

  Massha's eyebrows went up. "But if it doesn't exist, then how can he shop in it?"

  "When we open it, he'll shop there. If we build it, he'll come. I guarantee it."

  "We open a shop?" Massha echoed. "Aahz, you're insane."

  "No, it's the only logical step," Chumley contradicted her. "He's right: we narrowed our options too quickly, what. It is in our interest to create a shop to our own design, using our specialized knowledge and what information we have so far been able to glean about Rattila's power-collection tactics."

  Eskina shook her head, admiringly. "I cannot get used to you talking like a professor."

  Chumley lowered his head modestly. "It's very kind of you, but I had only a brief academic career. It made more sense to go into the personal-security business. Teaching pays so poorly in comparison."

  "Can we table the mutual admiration society?" I demanded, now on fire with my idea. I pushed everything on the table to one side and spread out the map. "What we need is a smallish shop, but with some room to move around, plus a space we can use to set the detention spell. It needs to be situated close to one of the big attractions, like the cinema or the most popular restaurant."

  "Or one of the anchor stores," Massha interjected.

  "Yeah." I started to scrutinize the listings and circled the biggest and most popular.

  As usual, stores moved around a little, but the big ones tended to stay where they were. From my experience, the best prospects seemed to be the Gnome Life Department Store, The Volcano, Beezul's Club, a membership-only warehouse stocked directly from Deva, Troll Music, Hamsterama, and a shop that made me gag even from across the hall, Adorable Tchotchkes.