Robert Asprin's Myth-Quoted

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “It’s all right, Nert,” Orlow called to him. “They’re official staff!”

  “Whatever you say, Orlow,” Sergeant Boxty. I could tell he was disappointed. He and his men flew off to harass a couple of teenage Tipps who were daring each other to vault the barricade. I found a patch of floor that wasn’t occupied at that moment and set us down.

  “Welcome, Miss Bunny!” Orlow said, coming over to pump our hands. Carnelia sailed through a crowd of workers hanging up bunting to grab our hands immediately afterward. Her rodent stole chittered happily.

  “How do you like the decorations?” she asked, waving a hand behind her. “Aren’t they exciting?”

  The enormous images of Emo and Wilmer made them look friendly and sage, respectively. Streamers and bunting in their signature colors adorned the railings of the gazebo. Tiny Pixies shot green and purple glitter out of small bronze cannons up on the roof. The bright sparkles rained down on the crowds in drifts. I coughed as a cloud of it floated in my face. Shutterbugs flew everywhere, collecting images in their multilayered wings.

  “What is all this?” Bunny asked. “We had a dignified announcement to the press scheduled for this morning, and the first debate this evening!”

  “Well, you see, we talked it over, and that just won’t do,” Carnelia said, her mouth pursed. “Your schedule doesn’t allow our candidates to shine. The way they deserve, you understand.”

  Orlow nodded eagerly. “We went over your schedule, and found it a bit . . . lackluster. We wanted to bring out the electorate, really get them excited about the upcoming vote. So we decided to add a few items to the agenda.”

  Bunny and I looked at each other. I shrugged. “Why not, as long as it’s fair. Both candidates must get equal time in front of the public.”

  “Of course!” both protested.

  “May I see the new agenda?” Bunny asked.

  “Naturally, ma’am,” Orlow said, producing ribbon-tied scrolls. He handed one to each of us, including Ecstra. We unrolled them.

  Bunny read down the list, her eyebrows rising higher the further she went on. “Baby kissing, posing with family, debate. Speeches, shaking hands with constituents, breakfast with the mayor, debate. Press club luncheon, factory visit, debate, pig lifting, opening parks, debate . . . There’s eighty-five items here!”

  “Yes!” Carnelia said. “And there would have been more, but you’ve only given us one month to fit it all in! Now, we’re just about to begin. Would you care to keep score for us? We want this all to be fair and aboveboard. Since you are the chosen arbiter of this election, you’re the logical choice.”

  “Of course,” Orlow agreed. “We would really appreciate it.”

  “All right,” Bunny said, reluctantly. Orlow escorted her to a massive scoreboard furnished with several colors of chalk. Ecstra took up a post at her elbow, notebook in hand. “What do I look for?”

  “You have to grade them on kissing style, efficiency, and lack of crying,” Orlow said.

  “The babies or the candidates?” I asked pointedly.

  “Both. And if the candidates get a baby to laugh or smile, they get extra points.”

  “I understand,” Bunny said. She chose a piece of blue chalk. “Ready.”

  “Let ’er rip!” Carnelia called out.

  Emo and Wilmer took their places on either side of the platform. Mothers had formed two lines leading up the white wooden stairs of the gazebo. A stout and prosperous Tipp in a ridiculously tall, conical hat stepped forward. He held up his hands to the crowd. The hubbub fell slightly. His voice boomed out over the thousands of heads.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! As your mayor, I am proud to present your candidates for governor of this fair island, Mr. Emo Weavil and Mr. Wilmer Weavil-Scuttil! Let the smooching begin!” He stepped back, clapping his hands. The audience joined in the applause.

  Grinning, Emo came forward. He plucked the first infant, a tiny female in a red ruffled dress, out of her mother’s hands and bestowed a resounding kiss on the little one’s cheek. She made a face but did not burst into tears. The crowd cheered. Emo handed her back to her mother with an expression of relief. Bunny etched a line on his side of the scoreboard. Wilmer went next, bussing a boy on the top of the head between his furry little ears. The child ducked but grinned. Bunny scored Wilmer a point.

  “That’s one, plus a half for style,” Carnelia said. “You can see that it was a clever twist on the standard kiss.”

  “Well, all right,” Bunny said, adding a half mark to the board.

  “Thank you for seeing my obvious superiority, ma’am,” Wilmer said, graciously, seizing a green-clad tot from a carriage. Emo, not to be outdone, tossed the next baby into the air and got it giggling before he kissed it on the cheek. Bunny gave him two points. Chagrined, Wilmer danced with the next baby in line. I could see him glancing out of the corner of his eye to see if Bunny was impressed. She was.

  As time went by, though, she began to pick up on the finer points of the event. A flourish that had caught her attention the first time didn’t earn a reward on the fifth or tenth repeat.

  “Look at that,” she whispered to me. “Wilmer is tickling them with his whiskers! He’s making more of them laugh.”

  “But Emo has a more soothing voice,” I noted. “He’s got fewer crybabies.”

  Wilmer bowed to the mother and swept another infant out of his stroller high in the air.

  “Incoming!” an aide warned.

  Too late.

  “Uuurp!”

  The boy spat his breakfast all over Wilmer’s coat. The Shutterbugs zipped in to take a close exposure.

  “A fine child,” Wilmer said, never breaking his smile. He handed the lad off hastily. One of his other aides leaped forward to clean Wilmer up as the next mother came forward. “And what’s your name, you little sweetie?” The little girl poked him in the eye with her rattle. Wilmer didn’t even blink. “Smoochy smoochy smoochy!” He kissed her and went on to the next baby. He was knocking off five children per minute.

  Emo was a little slower, averaging about four, but he showed better scores for style. A very sturdy boy child smacked Emo in the nose with his bottle and kicked wildly. Emo held on to him long enough to give him a peck and passed him back to his mother. The boy didn’t start crying until the mother was halfway down the stairs.

  I had to give the candidates credit. Baby kissing was a task I wouldn’t undertake for anything less than ten gold pieces.

  “Waaaaaahhhh!”

  A pink-dressed infant burst out crying as soon as Emo picked her up. He looked aghast.

  “I didn’t do anything yet!” he said. “That’s not fair.”

  “We have a weeper!” Carnelia said. “No points for you.”

  “It’s not his fault,” Bunny said. “She was already crying.”

  “You’re siding with him!” Carnelia protested. “I appeal the point!”

  “I am not siding with him!” Bunny said. “Fair is fair. He still has to kiss her. Then I can score him.”

  “I call partisanship!” Carnelia said.

  “You haven’t seen a challenge you don’t like,” Orlow complained. “Miss Bunny, I agree with your ruling.”

  “I want you to mark that one as disputed,” Carnelia said.

  I began to see why the campaign managers wanted a referee: so they could have someone to blame if their candidate lost the contest. Bunny looked upset.

  “Don’t pick on her,” I said. “I’ll keep track of disputes. We’ll discuss them when this is all over.”

  I reached for another piece of chalk. Just as I did, Emo let out a strange noise. I turned in time to see pale-blue tentacles reaching up from the baby blanket in his arms. They wound around his neck and started to squeeze. His eyes bugged out and his tongue protruded from his open mouth.

  “Gack!” he choked.

  “No fair!” Orlow protested.

  I dropped the chalk and reached down for a big double handful of magik. “Hang in there, Emo,�
�� I said.

  Carnelia rushed at me and knocked my hands down. “No!” she said. “You can’t interfere with the contest.”

  I looked at the armful of writhing snakes. “But it’s going to kill him!”

  “He still has to kiss it,” she said. “It’s part of the rules.”

  “No one said you could bring in a squid-snake,” Orlow snarled.

  Carnelia looked smug. “It’s a baby. There’s nothing in the rules that you and I agreed on says it has to be a baby Tipp.”

  “Missed that,” Orlow grunted, but he backed away. “Dang.”

  “He’s got to kiss it, or die trying.” Carnelia watched the spectacle with pleasure. Bunny and I were aghast. Wilmer, still pecking away at his file of babies, peered out of the corner of his eye.

  Emo’s eyes had turned red, but he gamely tried to force his mouth close to the huge-eyed face in the midst of the tentacles.

  Smack!

  As soon as Emo delivered the kiss, the tentacles let go. A beaklike mouth under the enormous eyes opened.

  “Gah!” the baby cooed happily. The female who had brought it gathered it back. Emo backed off, gasping.

  “That was a dirty trick,” I said.

  “Not at all,” Carnelia said. “It goes by the rules.”

  “It could have killed him!”

  “Isn’t the high office he is trying to attain worth the sacrifice?” she asked.

  I didn’t have an answer for that.

  Wilmer let out a howl. The baby in his arms waved six skinny black legs. It was an insect the size of a dog.

  “Coochy-coo,” he warbled. He leaned in to kiss it, but it grabbed his nose with its mandibles. Wilmer was game, though. “Dice baby. Hode still, dow.”

  “Why, you stinker,” Carnelia said, admiringly.

  “Who, me, dear?” Orlow asked, looking pleased. “Nothing to do with us. It must be adopted! Oops, that’s a demerit.”

  The blood spurting from Wilmer’s nose scared the next baby in line to tears. Carnelia protested. I chalked it down. I had to add the lemon-skunk disguised as a girl Tipplet that came up about five babies later, not to mention the Tipp quadruplets who all screamed to be kissed first. The candidates certainly had their work cut out for them, but they pressed on. Emo backed away, panting, to apply lip balm. Wilmer changed his immaculate white coats often, as babies seemed to possess dead aim for vomiting, urinating, or defecating on the nice white target.

  The contest was long, but the crowd grew instead of shrinking. Baby Tipps began to blur into one another. I know I lost count. Bunny hung on with determination, her forehead wrinkled with concentration. It was hard to keep my attention focused. Five thousand babies was proving to be a contest for me, too. I drew some fresh power out of the force lines to help me stay awake. I used two spikes of magik to hold my eyelids open. I yawned. If I propped my chin on my palm, I could keep my head up.

  “Hold it, that’s an adult, not a baby!” Orlow protested. He pulled open the blanket in Wilmer’s arms. “You’re disqualified, sir!”

  “Sorry,” the blue-skinned Gremlin said, hopping down to the floor and straightening his onesie. “Just a joke, you know.”

  “Kissing candidates not in your district! I’ve a good mind to report you.”

  “Report who?” Carnelia asked, innocently, as the Gremlin disappeared. They had a way of doing that.

  Orlow was indignant. His immaculate hair stood up on end.

  “Well, I want to make sure that one doesn’t get a point!”

  “There’s a rule against adults posing as babies?” I asked.

  “Yes!” Orlow said. “The candidates are supposed to be clever enough to detect them. They get points off for being fooled!”

  “I had no idea there were so many rules involved,” I said.

  “This is nothing,” Ecstra said. She patted a yawn. “They are using the beginner’s rules. It can get really cutthroat. They’re probably saving that for later in the month.”

  I scanned the scroll. Yes, there was an advanced baby-kissing tournament a few days before the election, no holds barred. I was impressed. Orlow was still upset.

  “It’s a clear violation of the rules as agreed to substitute adults for the infants, no matter what race! Miss Bunny, as judge, you agree with me, don’t you?”

  We all turned to her.

  “What?” Bunny asked. She raised her head from her folded arms and blinked several times. Her eyelids looked heavy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the question.”

  Orlow sputtered.

  “I call for the contest to be voided!” he said. “The judge was asleep!”

  “I wasn’t . . . !” Bunny said, but she looked uncertain.

  “How many babies did you miss?” Carnelia demanded.

  “I don’t think I missed any,” Bunny said. “At least . . . I don’t think so.” She yawned. Her eyes tried to close again. So did mine.

  I realized it wasn’t a natural drowsiness. We had been sandbagged by magik. I reached inside for some more power to counteract it, but even my batteries were reacting sluggishly.

  “Whichever one of you spelled us, stop it,” I said. My voice slurred. I could hardly keep my eyes open. “Otherwise, I’m going to declare this contest invalid, and you’ll have to start all over again!”

  “No!” Emo and Wilmer shouted. They looked out at the line of babies still to be kissed, and shuddered.

  “We want a recount!” Orlow turned to Carnelia. “I put up with a lot of tricks today, but this is the worst! Kayoing the judges!”

  Carnelia looked outraged. “I . . . we had nothing to do with this! We’re not interfering! We signed a contract.”

  “As if that means anything to you!”

  “Well, how about you?” she countered. “I’ve seen you put on plenty of good shows while you were lying through your teeth!”

  “No! I didn’t do it!”

  I raised my hands, though it took an effort. “Hold it!” I said. “I don’t care who’s responsible. Just stop it! Take the spell off. Now.”

  “We can’t,” Carnelia said. “We don’t know who’s doing it.”

  I yawned.

  Yawns are as catching as colds. When I yawned, so did all the Tipps near me. Then the people near them began. The wave of gaping mouths spread outward like a ripple. It reached the edge of the crowd, then started inward once more. I knew that if it hit me again I’d probably fall asleep where I stood. Babies, hit with the weariness spell, started to fuss. I’d been around enough children to know that when one cried, the rest of them would start up in sympathy. With their inborn magical abilities they would wreak their own brand of havoc. Onlookers without their own children started to clear the square. The rally was falling apart. Carnelia and Orlow saw it coming. They decided what to do. They rounded on Bunny.

  “This is your fault! You should have kept this from happening! We counted on you!” Orlow said. Carnelia nodded vigorously.

  “You insisted on total control. Now, exercise it!”

  Bunny’s nose was bright red and her eyes shiny with unshed tears of frustration, but she was too strong to break down in front of the clients.

  “How can I control a spectacle that I didn’t know about?” she asked. “You gave me no time to prepare.”

  Orlow shook a finger at her. “That doesn’t matter. Emo wanted to hire M.Y.T.H., Inc., because he heard you were quick to react, spectacle or no spectacle.”

  “Of course we can!” Bunny protested.

  Spectacle, that was it!

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “We can handle it.”

  Fighting hard against the lethargy that enveloped my limbs as well as my eyelids, I kicked off against the floor and scrambled up on the roof of the gazebo. The Pixies drooped in webs of sunlight strung between the eaves. They’d been hit by the sleep spell, too.

  “Fire off all the glitter cannons!” I ordered. “Do you know any fireworks spells?”

  “Sure,” the lead Pixie said, stretching her
tiny arms. She was dressed in red with a fluffy skirt. “But they were for the grand finale.”

  “It’s the finale now,” I said. I glanced down. The wave of yawns was making a second ripple. Babies were starting to kick and cry.

  The Pixies swung leisurely from their makeshift hammocks, stretching and scratching. They fluttered together and began to braid one another’s hair and shine each other’s wings.

  “Hurry,” I said.

  “You can’t hurry perfection!” the lead Pixie squeaked.

  “WAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!”

  It was too late. The first toys went sailing across the square. With the force of the combined magik behind them, they struck hard.

  Wailing rose from the babies hit by flying rattles and dolls. They unleashed their own missiles. More than infants fell casualty to the onslaught. Innocent adults took baby bottles to the head. They burst into tears, too. Many of them sat down on the cobblestones, refusing to move even when their companions urged them. Few forces in the universe were stronger than an unhappy infant. They had a way of spreading their miserable mood to those nearby, and the problem here was multiplied by five thousand. The smell of hundreds of dirty diapers rose to the skies. Adults and babies snatched toys away from one another. Hair-pulling and scratching incidents multiplied.

  “Can I help?” I asked.

  “Don’t rush us!” a Pixie in green complained.

  “Pixies, together!” the leader said. “Pixie power!”

  They took their places behind the ornate bronze cannons. Balls of colored light bloomed in their palms. They applied the light to the base of each cannon. Brilliant sparkles erupted over the heads of the crowd.

  “Babies!” I shouted. “Up here!”

  Suddenly, the faces of hundreds of babies were upturned, as particles of glittering amethyst and emerald twinkled down on them. The green Pixie zipped upward and began to draw huge clusters of light in the sky. They exploded into starbursts with booms and whistles.

  “Ooh!” the children exclaimed happily, pointing with tiny fingers. “Pretty!” “Want!” “Goodie!”

  Once the display was well underway, I swooped down to rejoin Bunny. Whatever the source of the drowsiness spell, it had abated. No doubt neither Orlow or Carnelia could maintain it while arguing with one another.