Robert Asprin's Myth-Quoted

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “Mr. Weavil, one for you, then,” Bunny said, patiently.

  “Yes, dear lady?” Emo fluttered his eyelashes at her.

  “If elected governor, how will you root out corruption in the administration?”

  “Well, since none of my opponent’s friends or colleagues will be in office with me, I assume that the problem will be moot,” Emo said. Everyone laughed. He smiled and waved. Wilmer emitted a squawk of outrage. Bunny gestured him to silence and leaned forward with a follow-up.

  “Does that mean you are replacing the entire government when you take office? Police, firefighters, magicians, file clerks, gardeners—everyone?”

  Emo put on a deeply sincere expression. “Well, Miss Bunny, I believe that deep down most people are good and honest. I always seek to surround myself with those who believe as I do.”

  “Hurray for Emo!” Mrs. Weavil led the cheering.

  “In that case, we are all doomed,” Wilmer barked out. “Anyone who is as deluded as that should be nowhere near government of the people, by the people, and for the people!” He held his hand in the air.

  “Mr. Weavil-Scuttil.” Bunny tried to make herself heard over the cheering from his side. “It’s not your turn to speak.”

  “Well, he interrupted me!”

  “Only because you have no self-control,” Emo said. “Think what you’ll be like in office. Dancing in the streets! Fiscal irresponsibility!”

  “Better than your cowardly refusal to take steps to combat problems!”

  “Gentlemen!” Bunny shouted. “Mr. Weavil, would you like to conclude your statement?”

  Emo bowed to her. “I certainly would, dear lady. I promise that in my first term, I will investigate all questions as they are put to me, and I put to you wow bubbuh dim bootah wuh!” The audience tittered nervously. He stopped talking and glared at Wilmer. “Duh bah nin toom vip skap lo!”

  “Well, that’s an improvement,” Wilmer said, grinning.

  “What did you do to him, Mr. Weavil-Scuttil?” Bunny asked, fury coloring her pretty face the same red as her hair. He turned to her with his eyes nearly as wide as Emo’s.

  “Me? I didn’t do a darn thing. I’m no magician. I am just a humble servant of the people.” He made a courtly little bow. Bunny was not amused.

  “You have magicians working for you. If you don’t take the spell off him before I count to three, I will declare the debate Emo’s by default!”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Stop telling me what I can’t do!” Bunny snapped. She held up a finger. “One . . . TWO . . .”

  Wilmer thrust out his hands to forestall Bunny’s wrath. “I swear, I didn’t tell anyone to make him talk nonsense. You have got me all wrong, Miss Bunny!” His voice rose in pitch until he sounded like a mosquito. As we watched, Wilmer shrank. His head got smaller and smaller until he disappeared inside his pristine suit. The suit collapsed to the floor. A tiny hand reached out and grabbed the tie. Wilmer emerged from the collar wearing the cravat around his waist like a bath towel.

  In spite of his momentary lack of vocal skills, Emo started braying with laughter. All his supporters howled and pointed.

  “This is outrageous!” Wilmer squeaked. “This is no position for a man of my years and dignity!”

  “Bunny.” I reached over and touched her on the arm. She nearly bit my head off as she turned. “This isn’t going to get better. We should call it a day.”

  She went very still, then nodded. “You’re right.” She picked up the tiny bell and tinkled it. The sound carried amazingly well through the Echo sound system. “Ladies and gentlemen, this concludes tonight’s debate. Thank you all for coming.”

  “But who won?” Mrs. Weavil shouted from the lip of the stage. “My baby was the better debater!”

  “No! Wilmer was!” shouted one of the Weavil-Scuttils. The crowd all shouted for their favorites.

  Bunny cleared her throat, and the voices fell silent. “I declare that this debate was . . . a tie. Each of the candidates answered questions with the same level of . . . clarity and dignity.”

  Emo raised his hands over his head in a victory sign. Carnelia rescued the miniature Wilmer and held him up to receive acclaim from his fans.

  “We’ll be back to normal in the morning,” she told us as the crowd cleared out. “Don’t you believe for a moment that a little setback like this will stop Wilmer. And, fine job, all of you.” She smiled. “Didn’t think you all would last through the evening, but you did.”

  She left the stage. I could hear Wilmer squeaking indignantly in her grasp.

  Orlow came to shake our hands. “Emo wants you to know that he’s grateful for your firm hand on tonight’s debate. We can’t let those Weavil-Scuttils cast this election into a pool of nonsense. See you tomorrow.”

  Bunny leaned on my shoulder. “Politics isn’t for sissies,” she said.

  “Hey, Skeeve!”

  I glanced at the edge of the stage. Ecstra grinned up at me.

  “This is going to make terrific copy! Thanks!”

  “At least someone is happy,” Bunny said.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Never let the facts get in the way of a good story.”

  —R. MURDOCH

  When we popped into Tipicanoo the next morning, Ecstra was waiting for us. She was more neatly attired than usual, every hair in place, her hat at an extra rakish angle. I glanced around at the street corner where we had arrived.

  “How do you know where and when we were going to be here?” I asked. “Sometimes I don’t even know.”

  Ecstra held her nose in the air. “Inside sources,” she said.

  I leaned toward her conspiratorially. “I’d sure like to talk to those sources,” I said. “In the interest of making my magik more effective.”

  “Sorry,” she said coldly. She backed away from me. “I can’t possibly trust you with any of my confidential informants.”

  I was taken aback by the unfriendliness of her tone.

  “Why not?” I asked. “What’s happened?” She had been so friendly the night before.

  “I thought you folks were going to be nonpartisan!”

  “Of course we are,” Bunny said. “Why?”

  She thrust a newspaper at us. I opened it. In the center of the front page of the Sunrise Tipp-Off was a picture of Bunny and me. In my hand was a purse bulging with coins. I was dropping it into the outstretched hand of a male Tipp bathed in shadow. It was impossible to tell who it was. The headline read, Corruption in our Midst!

  “Then how do you explain this?” she demanded. “Last night? Midnight? In the alley next to the garbage dump?”

  The article cited “one of the candidates,” speaking under condition of anonymity. “‘It’s a sure thing,’ he said to our reporter. ‘I can’t lose this election. My opponent is perpetrating a number of underhanded schemes to sway the voters. He has even arranged for the judges to be biased toward him at upcoming events. But the truth will come out! The truth always does! Once the extent of his perfidy is known, he will be disqualified, he and all his co-conspirators!’”

  Growing more outraged with every line, I read down the columns.

  “And it says that last night’s debate was rigged because the other side had gotten the questions in advance,” Ecstra added, pointing at a paragraph.

  “Both candidates got them in advance!” I said.

  Ecstra raised her eyebrows. “So one line of this interview is true. What about the rest? What about the picture?”

  “That never happened,” I said. “We went home after the debate. I fell asleep before I took my shoes off.”

  “I talked to the Shutterbug who took it last night,” Ecstra insisted. “Pola was adamant that it was the two of you, offering a bribe to one of the Weavils. How many Klahds are there in Tipicanoo? It seems pretty straightforward.”

  “If you’re so certain, then who were we supposed to have given it to?” I asked. “And according to the article, the bribes wer
e going from one of the candidates to us! If your Shutterbug was right there, she should know who took the money. I can’t tell who’s in the picture. It might not be Emo or Wilmer at all.”

  Ecstra hesitated. “She said he couldn’t see him clearly. But there was no doubt about you or the bag of money!”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Bunny said. “Any magician worth his salt can put an illusion on two people and make them look like anyone else. You can’t prove it was us. Who told the Shutterbug to be in the alley at midnight?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “More confidential sources?” I asked.

  Ecstra nearly bit my nose off.

  “My boss told me to talk to her! Pola is very reliable. She wouldn’t lie to a fellow reporter!”

  “Was someone lying to her?” I asked.

  “She’s not easy to fool,” Ecstra said. “Images are her profession. She’s good at seeing the truth.”

  “The article is very confusing. The picture says one thing, the words say another, and neither one is true,” I insisted.

  “It had to be something that Carnelia or Orlow set up to discredit the other side,” Bunny said.

  Ecstra pushed her hat up in the back so it settled at a more rakish angle over her nose. “Then I will find out which,” she said. “The public deserves to know the truth!”

  She turned and stomped away from us.

  “She’s heading for Emo,” I said. “Let’s go check with Wilmer first.”

  The white-haired solon had been restored overnight to his normal height. He was outraged at the article in the Tipp-Off. Copies of it were strewn all around his office. Carnelia sat on a desktop. Her rodents romped around her, tearing up pieces of newsprint and rolling in them. They seemed to be the only creatures having a good time. Wilmer was quick to avow his innocence.

  “I tell you, good people, I did not do this! I did not give an interview to the Tipp-Off, and I most certainly did not receive a purse of money from anyone last night. Not that it wouldn’t be welcome, but aboveboard and in the light of day, on behalf of the people of Bokromi, you understand. I wouldn’t accept a donation in a dark alley. You never know what kind of people congregate there. But slander! That is something up with which I will not put!”

  “That was another thing,” I said. “The grammar quoted from the ‘candidate speaking on condition of anonymity’ was perfect. My mother was a schoolteacher. She hammered the rules into me. I’m not saying they all took, but she did the best she could with me.”

  “And your point, young sir?”

  “Neither of you speaks that way,” I pointed out. “Nor do your campaign managers. Now I haven’t spoken to all of your workers, but is there one who is unusually fussy about grammar?”

  Wilmer exchanged frowns with Carnelia. She shook her head. “Can’t say that I’ve noticed someone who corrects my whys and wherefores, son. But I’ll keep an ear open.”

  “In the meantime,” Bunny added sweetly, “I’d appreciate it if you would make copies for us of any interviews you give the press. Or if anyone approaches you with an offer to provide . . . unusual help?”

  Wilmer bowed over her hand. “Why, of course, little lady. Anything to be fair.”

  * * *

  Emo, also restored to his usual loquaciousness, insisted that no one from his office was involved in the alleged bribery scheme.

  “I don’t do subterfuge,” he said, blinking his long false lashes at us. “It’s counterproductive. The public doesn’t like it. That is what I told Miss Ecstra a short while ago. She said she would quote me. I hope you believe me. No one who works for me would have done such a thing, not even Orlow. As I have told you from the beginning, I don’t want an unfair advantage.” He gave us both a soulful look. The workers in his office sighed with pleasure. They all had signed portraits of him on their desks. “I did not give that interview. Nor would I take part in either side of a buy-off. The money is never worth it. That’s one of my mottos. Do you have a copy of my memoirs? There’s an index to my sayings in the back.” He held out his hand, and one of the young Tipps came running with a leather-bound book. He pressed it into Bunny’s hands. She gave it back.

  “No, thanks,” Bunny said. “We can’t accept gifts from either one of you. Remember the rules? No gifts over a copper piece in value?”

  Emo smacked himself in the forehead. The office workers let out whimpers of sympathy. “Oh, why didn’t I think of that! I am sorry! I had no intention of causing any impropriety! You know I have been straightforward through this whole process!”

  I wasn’t going to get into a circular argument. “Do you have any reason to believe that someone masqueraded as you to the reporter for the Sunrise Tipp-Off?”

  “I can imagine,” Emo said. “It had to be Wilmer! He would tell any kind of falsehood to get elected. I stand above that kind of thing. Absolutely! May I count on your support at the family picture event at two o’clock?”

  “For both you and Wilmer,” I said firmly.

  “Of course,” Emo said, with a winning smile. “But my family is more appealing than his.”

  We left the office and went out. It was starting to drizzle. Foot traffic had grown heavy since we were inside. Shoppers, pulling unwilling toddlers or wheeling babies along the walkway, browsed in and out of the storefronts. They flew up and back between the street levels. Carts carrying enormous loads under canvas passed by, throwing water up out of the gutters. Those remained clear of garbage. I wondered how many of Emo’s and Wilmer’s people had been out all night cleaning them up. It all looked so ordinary, but I felt uneasy.

  “One of them is lying,” Bunny said, putting her arm through mine. “But which one?”

  I dragged my attention back to her and considered the question. “I can’t tell. They both seem like they’re telling the truth.”

  “Why do you keep looking over your shoulder?” Bunny asked, as I glanced back again.

  “I think someone is following us,” I said. “I can feel it.”

  A Tipp in a high collar and a cap pulled low over his eyes broke through the crowd behind us.

  “Hey!” a mother shouted. Her toddler had been knocked to the ground. “I said, hey!”

  She threw a handful of magik at the male. It bounced off him and hit us instead. My head rang as a slap knocked me sideways. Bunny gasped with outrage. Her cheek turned pink, too.

  “That wasn’t nice!” she said to the woman.

  The female gasped. “I didn’t mean to . . .”

  By then, the male had reached us. He grabbed my hand and pressed a thick brown envelope into it. I tried to hand it back. He dodged me and shot upward.

  I kicked off the ground and went off after him.

  “Who are you? Who is this from?”

  He swooped in between floating lanterns, lines of laundry, and other Tipps taking the airborne shortcut. I did my best to follow him, but he knew the layout of the city much better than I did. He ducked into a market on the third level up from the ground. I came up after him and found myself looking down a solid row of fruit and vegetable stands, with hundreds of customers shopping.

  “Come on, getcha nice fresh pompom melons here!” called one lushly built female, holding up a couple of round, red fruits. “Deeeeee-licious!”

  “Purple berries! Ripe this morning! Purple berries! Put hair on your chest!” A Tipp with a large ruff of fur showing between the lapels of his striped jacket thrust boxes of fruit at me as I went past. “Hey, Klahd! Eat some! Make up for what nature didn’t do for you! Only two coppers!”

  “No, thanks,” I said. I scanned the row of carts. There! Underneath a wagon full of orange finger-fruit was the Tipp in the cap. I upset a woman’s market basket. Green pippins cascaded down over both of us. She screamed abuse at me. I apologized and dove underneath the fruit cart. The Tipp squeezed out onto the sidewalk and started running.

  I flew up above the canopies, doing my best to follow him, but lines of washing hung down from windows overhead. I do
dged a load of diapers, but a pair of long underwear swung up in the breeze. It hit me in the face. I brushed the wet cloth out of my eyes and looked down. The Tipp was gone. I was left with the envelope and no answers to where it came from or who had sent it.

  I returned to Bunny. A crowd had gathered around her and the female who had struck us. She regarded us wide-eyed.

  “So you’re the bribe-taking Klahds I read about in the paper!” she said with delight. Her hand flew to the side of her head. “Oh my, and I came out of the house without fixing myself up! My hair is a mess! And I don’t have a lick of makeup on. I wasn’t ready for the Shutterbugs! It’s an honor to meet you!” She grasped my hand and pumped it. “Oh, how exciting! I actually saw it happen! And that reporter asked my name, and everything! He said I’ll be in the papers tomorrow! Wait until I tell my husband!” She scooped up her toddler and hurried away, burbling to the child.

  “Reporter?” I asked Bunny, as the crowd melted away.

  “We were set up,” she said grimly. “A Shutterbug caught you taking the envelope from that Tipp. A reporter took statements from a bunch of witnesses, including that woman.”

  I examined the envelope. It was old but unmarked, giving no clue as to where it had come from.

  “Be careful!” Bunny cautioned me. “It could be a bomb!”

  Picturing the sequence of events I wished to happen in my mind, I sent the envelope about twenty feet in the air. My action attracted more attention to us, but I thought it better to err on the side of safety. Bunny stuck her fingers in her ears. I made the flap of the flying envelope open.

  Nothing happened.

  I beckoned it down to me and looked inside.