Myth-Told Tales m-13

by Robert Asprin

  “That's the beauty of it, if you will excuse the joke,” Tananda said. “You don't have to know anything. You make it up as you go along. You can do whatever you want to the customers, and they will love it. They'll come back for more and they will bring their friends! Trust me.”

  And so it proved. The very next day dawned upon the opening of A Tough, A Troll and A Trollop, Beauty Specialists. The flaps of our tent were flipped coyly open to reveal the furnishings that we had obtained overnight from a few merchants who knew us well enough to open at midnight and ask no questions as to why we suddenly required three reclining pedestal chairs, diverse mirrors, basins, curlers, irons, combs and brushes, lacquers for hair, and nail files, unguents, lotions, shampoos, dyes, and spangles. Tananda appeared trim and professional in a green smock that matched her hair. Guido and I felt awkward in identical green coats. They fit, but that was all that a charitable mind might admit.

  “We look like morons,” Guido said, echoing my very thoughts.

  “You look fine,” Tananda assured us. “Smile! Here comes our first customer.”

  I seized the comb and scissors that I had chosen to be my tools. Guido picked a hot towel out of the salamander-powered steam box. Into the tent peered an Imp matron. We braced ourselves.

  “Are you … open?” she asked.

  “Yes, we are!” Tananda beamed, putting her arm about the Imp's shoulders. “Come in!” She winked at me over the pink female's horned head. “What can we do for you?”

  I held the scissors in my fist like a weapon, the points just sticking out beyond the percussion edge of my palm. Was she the “old one” Percy feared? To me she appeared to be only of middle age. Her reply, delivered shyly, easily assuaged my concern.

  “Well, I need … I'd like to look better.”

  “You look wonderful,” Tananda assured her, maneuvering her deftly into the center chair. “All we do here is to enchance your natural beauty. Don't we, boys?”

  “Yeah,” Guido said, all but throttling the towel in his hands.

  “Yeh,” I grunted. As advertised, a Troll and a Tough. The Trollop already had the matter in hand.

  “You see? We just want you to feel confident in your own charm.”

  “Oh!” The matron pinked up, looking pleased. “Then … I'd like the works!” Tananda clapped her hands.

  We did not emulate a well-oiled machine, but swing into action we did. The Imp found herself the vortex of a whirlwind of tasteful scarves and draperies that covered her dress's loud print (Imps have notoriously tacky clothes sense), leaving her head and face thrown into stark relief. For an Imp she was not unpleasant to behold once her garments ceased clashing with her cerise complexion.

  “Scalp massage,” Tananda ordered. Nervously, I moved in, oiled fingertips at the ready. A Troll's fingers are strong enough to punch holes in the skulls of most of my fellow dimensional beings. I hesitated to touch her until Tananda delivered a sharp slap to my upper back. I plunged ahead, grasping the Imp's scalp between my hands, and began to rub.

  “Oooh!” the Imp cried. “Oh! Aaaggh!” I halted at once, concerned that I'd hurt her. “Oooh aaah!” the Imp moaned, tilting her face to look up into my eyes. “That feels so good! Don't stop, please!”

  So I didn't. I massaged away, accompanied by an aria of moans and cries of pleasure. Guido, seeming as awkward as I'd felt, applied a hot towel to her face, eliciting a shrill scream, also of pleasure. Tananda moved in and attacked the Imp's long nails with file and a pointed stick.

  Guido tossed aside the towel and moved in with the box of paints. My hands were too large, and Tananda was occupied with a more delicate job, so it had fallen to Guido to become the cosmetician. He was not happy about it, but Little Sister had explained that no beauty salon was complete without a purveyor of color and texture, so he was elected by default. His first essay with a brushful of black paint was not salubrious; the Imp jerked her head back just as he applied it to her brow, causing the horizontal line to extend vertically up her forehead. Seeing that it was impossible to salvage his original design, he made the other side the same. Then, bright orange cream in hand, he daubed at one eyelid. By the time his brush arrived at her face, however, the Imp had moved again, and the dot hit her somewhere over the ear.

  “Hell with it,” Guido breathed. Attacking his palette like a virtuoso attacks his instrument, Guido drew and dotted, limned and lined, until the Imp's horned head was a work of art, if one cared for the oeuvre of a modern abstractionist. At that, it was not unpleasant to behold.

  The female continued to shriek and cry out, but by the time we released her from the chair and placed a hand mirror before her she was smiling broadly. We'd also attracted an audience. As the Imp opened her belt pouch and poured a handful of coins into Tananda's palm, there was a rush toward the chairs. A bevy of females, Deveel and others, got into a scratching, kicking fistfight over who would occupy the third seat. Tananda shot me a quick but meaningful look. I stomped over to the crowd, every step making the floor shake, selected one female at random, lifted her by the scruff and plumped her decisively into the disputed chair. With my brows drawn down nearly to my eyes, I aimed a look at the others that quelled their grumbling. They crowded outward against the tent's inner perimeter to watch.

  The Imp staggered out, and we turned our attention to our new customers.

  Many hours later, Guido folded down the tent flaps and tied them in a double knot.

  “I don't want no one else comin' in here today,” he said firmly. “I am so tired I could fall asleep over the salamander box. Broads! You were right, Tanda! You can do any fool thing to 'em, and they love it!

  I spilled face cream down one woman's cleavage, then they was all clamorin' for the same thing. And then when that Deveel showed up with a cart full of scarves, I thought they'd tear him to pieces. They all wanted to try his stuff on at once.”

  “I told you,” Tananda said, smugly, counting through the day's receipts. She piled the coins in stacks. There were several, one of them of gold. “Very, very nice. And our cut of the Deveel's profits make a nice addition to our income. We've already nearly paid for our furnishings. This business is very profitable! Once our job is over we might keep the salon going.”

  “Speak for yourself, Little Sister,” I said, pouring the last basin of iced water over my head and sinking to the carpet that was covered with clippings of hair, shed scales, and feathers, and dozens of dirty towels. “I would rather go back to my nice, peaceful life as an unfashionable intimidator.”

  “There's just one thing more left to do,” Tananda said. “Birkli! Did you get all of them?”

  A small creature popped out from behind a tent panel. His body was about the length of my hand, with a hard, blue-black carapace that glittered in the twinkling light of our oil lamps. He was a Shutterbug, from Mount Olimpis in the dimension of Nikkonia. In their natural habitat the males used their ability to reproduce beautiful sights they'd seen on the iridescent scales of their compound wings to impress prospective mates, so they were both artistic and well-traveled. Tanda had had no trouble persuading one to come to Deva to assist us, promising him unique views that he could use to wow the ladies back home.

  “All right on the roll,” Birkli chirped, extending a thin black leg. Wrapped around it was a narrow coil of a translucent substance. Tananda unrolled it and looked at it with the aid of a magic lantern behind. The lantern expanded the images so they were visible to larger creatures than the diminutive Shutterbug. “I put them together so you could see them easier. What do you think? What do you think? Do you like them?”

  As was the case with all males of his species, he was eager for Tananda's approval. Guido gave me a grin. He and I might as well have been absent. Tananda patted the Shutterbug on the shell and he glowed.

  “They're perfect,” she said. From the collection on the table under the mirror she handed him a small but brightly polished silver coin. “There, a Gnomish groat. And the same every day, as we agreed?�
��

  “Perfect, perfect, perfect!” the little creature carolled happily, stowing the coin away under his hard shell. I believe he was happier to receive praise than money. We have had less amenable allies.

  “Good,” Guido grunted, as the Shutterbug climbed up into the canvas roof to sleep. “Let's go see if your buddy can recognize any of these dames.”

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen, take it outside, please!” pleaded the bartender at the Shoppers' Repose, an inn at some miles remove from our establishment. Percy agreed to meet me there for a prescheduled brawl. Roaring, I threw a table at the innkeeper. Percy snagged it neatly out of the air before it came anywhere near the Deveel, and broke it over his knee. “I'm begging you, go aw — watch out!”

  Percy threw a lamp at me. I crushed the glass chimney, but kept the lit torch in my hand as he charged me, thrusting me out into the street.

  “I want you to study these images and tell me if you recognize any of them,” I whispered, as we grappled for the torch. We were festooned with strands of horse brasses, banners that had lately decorated the ceiling of the bar, and hanks of one another's fur. No one who was not looking for it would see a strip of microscopic portraits. It draped across his eyes.

  “I've told you I can't do it,” Percy howled. I pushed against his throat with my forearm. With a resigned sigh that sounded to the uninitiated like a moan of pain, scanned it while I bore him to the ground, still with the flaming brand over his head to light up the beetle-wing cells. “No! No one!”

  He put a foot into my belly and flipped me over him. I landed on a party of Imps coming in the door. I scrambled to my feet, hoisted them up and dusted them off. With a final look of seeming disgust toward Percy, I uttered a loud “Huh!” and stumbled out into the street.

  Tananda and Guido fell into step alongside me as I left the tavern. “Even I saw his reaction,” she said. “Relief, more than anything. None of these is our pigeon.”

  “Well, he certainly ain't no pigeon himself,” Guido admitted. “Back to the hairspray, huh?”

  “Every day until we get it right,” Tananda said. “Cheer up! Maybe you'll start to like it”

  “I was hired by Don Bruce to rub out trouble,” the enforcer said grimly. “Not massage it”

  After four days more of primping, polishing, and grooming I was beginning to get the hang of the higher beauty culture. As far as I could see it was as easy as Tananda had said: all one had to do was look confident and improvise, and the customers would be pleased. Ladies who had always retreated to the other side of the thorough-fare when I stomped toward them in the Bazaar were stopping me to coo and offer praise.

  “I'll never go back to Mr. Fernando after you!” one Deveel maiden said, clinging to my arm, her face still a symphony of fluorescent colors from Guido's brush. “I told him, ‘you give a good scalp rub, but nothing as wonderful as I get at A Tough, A Troll and A Trollop!’ And your Mr. Guido's sense with cosmetics! Inspired! I feel so beautiful when I leave.”

  I grunted some sort of acknowledgment as I stumped toward the beauty shop. Mr. Fernando was probably not best pleased to have his clientele deserting him.

  “We had better solve this problem soon,” I told my two partners, as I reached our rented tent, “or every other personal care specialist is going to be out for our blood.”

  Guido reached into his coat and patted the miniature crossbow that I knew reposed there. “That kinda fight I'd welcome,” he said. “Not this fancy-dancy stuff with a dozen perfumes and green drapes.”

  “And who cuts your hair?” Tananda asked, teasingly.

  “Mr. Chapparal.” Guido said, with an indignant look. “He's a cousin of Don Bruce. Does a real good job. His shop's all violet with stained-glass mirrors.”

  “I understand the problem we're creating,” Tananda said with a sigh. “But we can't force our quarry out of the woodwork. They have to emerge by themselves.”

  “I wish they'd hurry,” I admitted. “Percy grows more nervous with every nighttime encounter we have. He may flee the next one.”

  We had not much longer to wait. As I assisted one ravished Gnome lady from a chair late one afternoon, I became aware that two figures were standing in the doorway. The two Pervect women, one an elderly female in a flowered frock and straw hat leaning on a cane, the other much younger and more fashionable in a split, knee-length leather skirt and a very tight bustier, looked as though they might be potential customers, but their all-over mien did not speak of devotees in search of a superior pedicure.

  The Pervects' aspect also attracted the attention of the other customers in the tent. One by one they found excuses to slip out of the door or melt unobtrusively through gaps between the canvas panels of the walls. Before too long we three were alone with the Pervects and one hapless Imp matron who lay in a chair with her feet up, unable to leave because she was being ministered to with a foot massage by Guido. As soon as the chair tilted down, she sprang from it, pressed a large silver coin on Guido, and waddled hastily out of the tent.

  “You've forgotten your hat,” Tananda shouted after her, waving a straw round-crowned chapeau pierced twice in the crown to allow the Imp's horns to protrude through. The Imp did not turn back, but undulated faster up the way, becoming lost in the crowd. Tananda, annoyed, spun and bent an annoyed eye upon the two remaining visitors. “Thanks. You've just lost us our profit for the afternoon. A few days like this and you'll put us out of business.”

  “Oh, we would never do a thing like that on purpose,” the elderly Pervect said, grinning so that her yellow teeth looked like a chestful of knives. “They must all have misunderstood. We want you to stay in business. Don't we, Charilor?”

  The other Pervect, shorter and stockier, resembling a female Aahz, smiled, her own dentition gleaming like sheet lightning. “But of course, Vergetta. That way everyone makes a profit.”

  “That's what I like to hear,” Tananda said.

  “Including us,” Vergetta added, with emphasis.

  “I beg your pardon?” my little sister asked, putting steel into her voice.

  “Not at all, darling,” the elder Pervect said, taking her hand in a grip that caused Tananda to wince. I moved forward, but the shorter Charilor moved in between me and them. “You're setting out on a difficult enterprise, you little dears, and that involves risks. Now, you may not be aware of how many risks, but an old lady like me, I've seen a lot in my life. I want you to stop worrying about outside pressures and succeed. To do that, you have to minimize disruptions.”

  “Like this visit of yours,” Tananda said, pointedly.

  “Exactly. Now,” said Vergetta as she settled heavily into one of our chairs and put her feet up on the foot rest, “you wouldn't believe how far I've walked today, darlings. Would you have a glass of tea somewhere? No? You will next time.”

  “What makes you think there's gonna be a next time?” Guido asked. He didn't pat his breast pocket for emphasis; one only did that to underline a threat, and we were meant to look harmless. Besides, to indicate to a stronger enemy such as Charilor where his weapon was located was only to provide an extra one for her.

  “Oh, of course there's going to be a next time, you muzhik. Here's the proposition.” Vergetta slapped her scaly knees. “We keep disruptions out of your way. You do business. You're grateful, so you give us a present…”

  “Like … a cut of our profits?” Tananda finished. “No way, grandma. We just barely made enough in the last few days to pay rent on our equipment.”

  “This trash? You may also need our friends in the moving … I mean, furniture trade. Not a cut of the profits; a flat fee is what we have in mind. A fixed expense, like rent. Five gold coins. So you always know how much you have to clear every week, because that's when we'll be back.”

  “Week? Five coins a lot! Bad week, no money,” I interposed. “What if no money?”

  “What if you have a bad week?” Vergetta asked, looking up at me. “Oh, my darling, you don't want to find out what happens.
”

  “We're only getting started,” Tananda said, looking alarmed. “If you take our profits this week, there won't be a next week.”

  “All right,” Vergetta said, getting to her feet. She patted Tananda's cheek. “So maybe we give you a freebie this time. But we will be back. We are watching you.”

  “And don't get cute,” Charilor grunted. “The Bazaar is big, but if you fold up tent here and start up somewhere else, we will find you.”

  “They are new in town,” Tananda said, once we'd sealed the tent and put a spy-eye on it to make sure no one was listening in magickally. “Birkli!”

  “Ye-es!” The Shutterbug flitted down from his concealed perch. “Scary green ladies! But I managed to get all the others before they ran away. I'm good! I'm the best!” He landed on Tananda's shoulder and handed her a coil of underwing cells.

  “Of course you are,” Tananda said indulgently as she unreeled the Shutterbug's images and held them up to the magik lantern. “Subtlety is dead, gentlemen. I thought we'd have to uncover their identities from a crowd of subjects, but they just marched in here and made their proposition on the first visit”

  “Dat means,” Guido said, raising his eyebrows, “dat dey're in a hurry.”

  “Yes,” I added thoughtfully. “I wonder why.”

  “Well have to learn more about them,” my little sister said.

  “Should I take the images to Percy?” I asked.

  “No. No sense in frightening him. We're sure who they are. We'll just have to play along for a week or two, and hope they don't hop before we figure out their angle and close it up for good. I'd hate to have them think they can just march in and use the Bazaar for an ATM” She looked around. “I miss Skeeve. He'd have asked what that is.”

  I'd have been hard pressed to put my finger on the difference between the days before the two Pervects made their visit and the time after, but I sensed an uneasiness in our clientele that had not been there before. Not that I ever anticipated that Deveels, Imps, and the like would ever have become comfortable, nay, eager, to have a Troll anywhere near them with an eyelash curler, but palpable fear began to percolate through the tent. I didn't like it. During the subsequent days I found myself growling quietly while mixing cosmetics, provoked by I know not what unknown pressures. Guido kept casting his eyes around suspiciously, his hand never far away from the weapon concealed underneath his green smock. Tananda also was more highly strung than usual, pushing back cuticles with heartless precision, only snapping out of her trance when a customer yelped in pain.