Myth-Told Tales

by Robert Asprin

  “And if anyone were actually successful going up against the Hefalump, he could renege on the payment and it still cost him nothing,” Spyder finished. “That is kind of clever. But we outfoxed him with this escrow thing, huh.”

  “Not really.” Pookie shrugged. “Remember the sheriff here answers to the Duc. That’s why the Duc agreed so readily. Tell me, Sheriff, were your instructions to send the money back as soon as we went after the Hefalump, or were you supposed to wait until tomorrow?”

  Silence answered her.

  “Hey! He’s asleep!” Spyder said.

  “Yes,” Pookie said without looking. “And with what I put in his drink, he should be out until well after midnight.”

  She rose to her feet and stretched. “So, Little Sister, gather up that lovely gold and we’ll be on our way.”

  “What?” Spyder exclaimed. “You mean we’re just going to take the gold without going after the Hefalump at all? But that’s . . .”

  “Stealing,” Pookie said. “If you want to pretty it up, the Duc was ready to swindle adventurers by taking advantage of their short-sightedness. We’re just returning the favor. Remember I told you that adventurers are thieves or killers . . . and you specifically said that, if possible, you’d rather be a thief?”

  She paused and considered the sleeping sheriff. “Of course, if you’ve changed your mind, we could slit his throat on the way out.”

  “But won’t they come after us?”

  “And admit that they’ve been flimflammed? By a couple females?” Pookie smiled. “I doubt it. Even if they do, they don’t even have our names when it comes to tracking us down. Looking for a Klahd and a Pervect, they’d be lucky if they didn’t run smack into Aahz and Skeeve.”

  MYTH-CALCULATIONS

  By Robert Asprin and Jody Lynn Nye

  I eyed Guido as he slid into the booth opposite me. We were at the very back of the inn in the Bazaar, a favorite spot of ours to relax, but also to do business. It was one of the few places where a Troll such as I fit behind the tables as readily as Deveels, Klahds, and Imps, probably a tribute to their high-fat cuisine. I signed to the innkeeper to bring us the specialty of the house.

  “Three strawberry milkshakes,” I said. “Will that suit you, Tananda?” My little sister nodded, still keeping her attention on Guido. The Mob enforcer, as dapper as ever in his big-shouldered sharkskin suit, seemed uncomfortable, shifting on the slick bench. I caught the bartender just before he turned away. “Oh, and if anyone’s looking for us, we’re not here.”

  “Whatever you say, Chumley,” the proprietor said, with a cheery wave.

  “Thanks, Chumley,” Guido said, keeping his fedora in front of his face.

  “Well,” I said, keeping my voice low, since Guido had asked for confidentiality. “To what do we owe this meeting? We always welcome a chance to chat with friends.”

  Guido worked a finger under his collar as if to loosen it. “Dis is by way of bein’ business,” he admitted. “Don Bruce has gotta problem.”

  Tananda’s eyebrows went up, and I know mine were the mirror of hers. Though my face was masculine, enormous, and covered by fur, with tusks at the corners of my mouth, and hers was female, elfin, and beautiful, those people who knew our family could easily see the resemblance. “What kind of problem would he have that he can’t handle by himself?” I asked.

  “It’s kind of embarrassin’,” Guido said, hesitating again. “It’s a financial problem. He’s still flush, for now, but if word gets around he might start havin’ to reach further down in his pockets, and dat he does not like to do.”

  I was cognizant of that. The Don was generous to his friends and those of his relatives on whom he doted, but he disliked having to “shell out,” as he would say. “Word of what?”

  “Well, it’s somethin’ goin’ on here in the Bazaar, which is why I come to youse.” Guido shot a quick glance around to make certain we were not overheard. Several Deveel merchants had noticed the three of us for, though we were in a private booth at the rear of the establishment, my size did not lend itself to subtle concealment. When I turned toward them and bared my teeth, they quickly not-looked at something else. Guido continued.

  “You know how the Don’s interests stand here on Deva. He takes a . . . personal interest in the well-bein’ of the businesspeople here. For this service he expects a small weekly kickba—I mean, honorarium. That’s just for goodwill. It ain’t supposed to put no one out of business, and it ain’t supposed to make anyone hurt. That comes if somethin’ goes wrong. In exchange, we are, like, on call in case there’s trouble. No one leans on one of our clients without us comin’ in and makin’ ’em stop.”

  “I understand all that, but where does the problem arise?”

  Guido’s face darkened. “There’s someone else hornin’ in on our deal here, you should excuse the expression. The deveel’s in the details. The Don suspects dese same individuals have been runnin’ small loans for the little guy. Now, you know how it’s hard for anyone to operate in the Bazaar. Once in a while you need a little extra cash. Normally they go to one of the usual establishments, or they come to us. Everything’s fine if you pay back on time. Anyone who tries to skip out gets leaned on. Now between the loans and the protection . . . I mean, insurance payments, all the action is with dis new group, and we’re not gettin’ our cut. The way they do it is not so different on the way youse guys were helpin’ run the Don’s operation, but when defaulters get the treatment from these new people, they ain’t the same anymore. Geddit?”

  “I believe so,” I said. “Would you mind elucidating further?”

  “I don’t do no elucidatin’,” Guido said, “but I’ll tell ya some more. This action has been cuttin’ into the profits the Mob has come to expect. I’ve tried talkin’ to ’em myself, but they’re not answerin’. And they’re not trottin’ back into the fold, like the Don wants. He sent me here, but I’m out of my depth. I need an enforcer to bring ’em all back into line.”

  “Why ask us?” I inquired. “Why not someone like Aahz?”

  “Well,” Guido admitted, “he ain’t felt what you would call motivated lately, since the Boss left.”

  “He’s the logical person, being, well . . . formidable.”

  “Yeah,” Guido said, glumly. “I got him to go and lean on one of the, uh, clients, but they was too scared to comply.”

  “They wouldn’t comply? With a Pervert?” Tananda asked, astonished.

  “Pervect.” I quelled my little sister with a look. Aahz was an old friend, and shouldn’t be referred to by a derogatory title, especially one he personally eschewed. “What could possibly cause such a breakdown in authority?”

  “More to the point,” Tananda asked, interrupting me, “who is it? A rival gang?”

  “I dunno,” Guido said. “The, er, clients can’t talk about it. We used . . . a li’l magikal persuasion, but I gotta tell ya, the results was not what you would call pretty. A guy explodes rather than give with the information like we asked him. And I know me and Nunzio didn’t use nothin’ that would have caused that kind of effect. It was self-inflicted.” Guido toyed uneasily with his empty mug. “I’m askin’, like, as a pal, to see if youse can’t get these accounts back into the tidy line like Don Bruce prefers to see.”

  Thoughtfully, I ordered another round of milkshakes. The bartender, usually a loquacious soul, delivered our beverages, then departed hastily. I am accustomed to the looks of strangers, the horrified expressions when they gaze at me, a full-grown, and, if I may say it (as it is my stock-in-trade), a ferocious-looking Troll, but this Deveel was an old acquaintance of ours. Nor did any of the males in the immediate environ deliver the generally lascivious, speculative leers I have observed when they behold my sister the Trollop.

  I might add that many have made the foolish assumption that because of my size and demeanor that I am the more formidable opponent of the two. It is not the case. Tananda is the fiercer sibling. I am proud of my little sister. For anyone
who believes that I am at all jealous of her prowess, I remind them of my above-mentioned characteristics and invite them to take up the matter with me, personally, some time when I feel like enjoying a spot of freelance exercise or, as our friend Aahz calls it, a free sample reminder. No one has ever asked for two.

  Guido was clearly hoping it would take only a visit from one or both of us to redirect the flow of funds toward Don Bruce’s coffers from whatever inappropriate stream into which it was currently running. We were willing to give it a go, for old time’s sake.

  “Whoever it is must be packing some serious magikal hardware,” Little Sister mused. “Guido, do you have a list of the merchants who are, uh, not complying?”

  The enforcer pulled a hand-stitched leather document case from the inside breast pocket of his immaculately pressed suit. He extracted therefrom a small scroll and gave it to Tananda. She held it up to the light, frowned, then pointed a long-nailed finger at it. There was a POP! and a puff of green smoke.

  “Not my color,” Tananda said, wrinkling her nose at the acrid smell. “Don Bruce isn’t taking chances on anyone reading this, is he?”

  “That is the middle crux of the issue,” Guido agreed.

  “What was sealing the scroll?” I asked curiously. Magik is not an entirely closed book to me, but I may say that my expertise runs in the direction of physical exertion, not elder lore.

  “Nasty Assassin’s trick, Big Brother. You really wouldn’t want to know the details. You’d call the results insalubrious or some other two-gold-piece word.”

  As I said, I am proud of my little sister. To detect and disarm such a trap in two economical motions is the hall-mark of the consummate professional, sometimes defined as one that is still alive after more than one mission.

  Tananda unrolled the document and spread it out. “Hmm. Cartablanca, the manuscript merchant, Vineezer the herbalist, Bochro, who deals in exotic toys—plenty of mixed technology in that shop . . .”

  “What about Scotios?” I inquired.

  Guido shook his head. “He’s behavin’ himself.”

  There were several more names on the list. Tananda and I read it several more times. She met my eyes with a puzzled glance. “What do all these people have in common?”

  “I couldn’t say,” I admitted. “They’re all Deveels, but that is the only trait I can detect.”

  “Most of ’em work alone,” Guido said. “That’d make them vulnerable to a shakedown . . . I mean, an insurance proposal. That is why the Don takes so much interest in protectin’ them.”

  “Not Melicronda,” I pointed out. The wine merchant was in a tent not far from M.Y.T.H. Inc.’s own. “She employs three of her sons full time.”

  “What about the quality of their merchandise?” Tananda suggested. “All of them sell fragile or ephemeral goods.”

  Guido shifted in his seat, suddenly sweeping a glance at the other patrons of the inn. Inadvertantly, all of them retreated a half-step. “So does Palaka the rug dealer, but she’s not on the list. And some of these are what you might call service providers. Though not the kind of service providers Don Bruce likes to keep under his protection.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “It’s no good,” Tananda said, rolling up the scroll and re-bespelling it before tucking it into her cleavage. “We’ll have to visit each of them and find out for ourselves.”

  “No comment,” said Vineezer, edging past me with a bubbling retort in his hands. The old Deveel put it onto a stone slab and reached for a big open jar and a minute spoon. The small shop smelled very pleasant with its heady aromas of drying herbs hanging in bunches all around the ceiling. A bit too heady, I thought, as I fought to contain a titanic sneeze.

  “Atishoo!”

  Plant matter went flying in every direction. The old Deveel was rendered momentarily green with powdered snakewort. A wreath of laurel hung drunkenly from one of his horns.

  “I am so sorry,” I said, attempting to brush him off. “Quite by accident, I assure you.”

  In the close confines of the tent I succeeded only in knocking him over. Guido grabbed his arm and heaved him up to a standing position.

  “Why’s he talking like a book?” Vineezer asked, eying me uneasily.

  “Eloquence curse,” Tananda said, leaning against the center tent pole with her arms crossed. “Plays merry hell with his strength. But that will be back soon. Maybe very soon, if I can’t persuade you to tell me what I want to hear.”

  “I . . . I can’t,” Vineezer said, retreating from the fierce look in her eye. His normal red complexion paled to an almost Imp-pink. “They’ll put their mark on this place—they did it once already.”

  The three of us looked around.

  “I don’t see no mark,” Guido growled, his hand moving toward the inner pocket where I know he stowed his miniature crossbow.

  “They did!” Vineezer protested desperately. “Look at this place! Look at that!”

  We all did. “Place okay,” I said, remembering to use my Big Crunch voice. “Place clean.”

  “That’s just part of it,” the merchant wailed. “A herbalist’s shop isn’t supposed to be clean. The dust floating in the air is full of magik. I use it to tweak potions too delicate for enhancement spells. A millionth part of dragon scale—I can’t afford a balance sensitive enough to weigh that out. When this place is properly dusty I can snatch a fragment out of the air. I haven’t made a decent scrying potion in a week!”

  “They cleaned out your shop?” Tananda mused.

  “Yes, and that’s not all they’d do . . . if I talked. So, please go away. I can’t tell you any more.”

  Guido muscled up to the trembling Deveel. “You don’t really want me to go back to Don Bruce and tell him you was unwillin’ to fulfill the part of the bargain that he was so obligin’ to make with you, do you? He might have to ask me to interfere wit’ you personally.”

  Vineezer’s face flushed burgundy red, and he shoved us back toward the tent flap and out into the street.

  “It’s better than being alphabetized,” he hissed. The tent flap swished down between us and clicked locked with an audible snap. I set my shoulder, prepared to charge back inside so Tananda could ask him again, but she laid a hand on my arm.

  “Never mind, Big Brother,” she said. “Maybe some of the others will be more communicative.”

  Her assumption proved to be incorrect. If anything, our further researches were less fruitful than our first attempt. Yet we did not return to the tent empty-handed. We gleaned certain points concerning our unknown quarry.

  “They’re very neat,” Tananda said, glancing around at our tent and appearing to compare our housekeeping unfavorably to that of our foes’.

  “They are more cautious in the way they phrase their verbal contracts,” Guido said, sitting down and putting his fedora on his knee. “Not one word concerning their appearance can be gleaned from our converse with our clients. It appears to be a condition of the protection racket—I mean, arrangement.”

  “And they aren’t very greedy,” I added. “With no disrespect to Don Bruce, their demands are relatively modest.”

  “But they go by a flat fee,” Guido protested. “Don Bruce prefers a percentage. When times is good, he prospers alongside his clients. When times is hard, well, they all get a break. This way, they all give the same even if business is bad. And you saw how scared the clients were not to miss a payment.”

  “It strikes me that this means they’re not in this for the long haul,” Tananda concluded. “If they did they would take market fluctuation into account the way the Mob does.”

  “But who knows how long this short haul will run?” Guido asked. “Don Bruce ain’t gonna wait for them to get out. He wants ’em gone now.”

  “Right,” I said. “That will take decisive action on our part. We need to catch them in the act of collection and dissuade them from doing any further business in the Bazaar.”

  “Right!” Guido agreed, smacking one b
ig fist into the other palm. “We’ll teach ’em they just can’t march in an’ take over somebody else’s territory.”

  The easiest place to observe was Bochro’s Toy Shop. His tent stood next to Melicronda’s wine shop, nearly opposite the M.Y.T.H. Inc’s establishment on the same thoroughfare. Since none of our associates were presently in residence, we three took the vigil in turns.

  Naturally it was our business to know something of the comings and goings throughout the Bazaar, but I had never before made a close study of the traffic that came and went over the course of a day. The streets were as empty as they ever were: the perfect time for someone to pass unnoticed. I peered through the gathering gloom. It was no use looking for strangers. The nature of the Bazaar as a nexus in between so many dimensions meant that only one in twenty passersby was familiar, and only one in two hundred was a friend. I knew that there was little that could not be had for a bargain, but even I was not prepared to see some of the goings-on. It was just after twilight, when most of the merchants had folded up their tents for the day, but before the night life of the Bazaar really got under way.

  Directly in front of our tent two tough babies, clad in black leather diapers, toddled up and kicked the legs out from underneath a plump, insectoid shopper, and stole its bags. Since officially we were not supposed to be at home I had to restrain myself from leaping out there to assist. In any case my help was not needed. The insectoid extended its carapace to reveal a long, sinuous body and a dozen more legs. The babies hadn’t made it past three store fronts before their victim stretched overhead, retrieved its possessions, and delivered a sound spanking to each one of them. They sat down on the ground to cry until another likely victim came their way.

  As night fell, the character of the transactions became more personal. Beings of the evening made offers to passersby for various services of the usual and unusual kind. A token or two would change hands, and a pair or trio or group would wander off to a handy tent.