Myth-Told Tales m-13

by Robert Asprin

  “This mystery beast is pestering my people,” Petherwick said, indignantly. “Therefore, I expect you to handle it” A large, fleshy Klahd with a florid face and triple-layered bags under his eyes, slumped in his throne. As we watched, a couple of Imp females entered, and curtsied to the throne before picking up wicker baskets from the stack at the head of the first aisle. Petherwick acknowledged them with a curt nod of the head. “To death, in two cases already! I do not see how is this stuffed toy of yours is supposed to help,” he added, looking down at me with disdain. I opened my eyes as widely as I could, to simulate gentle innocence. “Hell just make matters worse!”

  “He's not a toy,” Nunzio said gently. “He's young, but he's a real dragon.”

  Petherwick looked alarmed. “You can't trust a dragon!”

  “Gleep ain't like other dragons,” Guido said, his thick black eyebrows drawn down over a brow that just missed being Neanderthal in nature. “He don't wreck things. He's house-trained. And he's smart.” “Your employer assured me that if I agreed to his contract, internal security in my capital would never be a problem. We would be protected from annoyances, as your employer put it”

  “This isn't a typical example of a security problem,” Nunzio pointed out, with some justice. “Don Bruce meant problems with other people. You say that this is pest control. That makes it your problem.”

  “This is not just pest control! I am sure it is sabotage! Someone is attempting to put me out of business. That makes it a security issue. Some of my best men have died! I have lost large sums in gold at least once a week for the last three weeks! And if I start telling other people that Don Bruce had failed to solve a problem that occurred on his watch, that he showed no flexibility in dealing with problems,” King Petherwick said, a sly light shining in his porcine eyes, “then your other contractees might want to stop doing business with you.”

  “That,” Guido sighed lustily, “is why we are here. The Don is willing to give you one ‘gimme’ on the basis that you've been a good customer, always payin' up on the dot when the premiums are due. He has noticed this. And you have to admit that we have cleaned up all the other situations that have come around. But you have pushed this contract to limits that the Don did not anticipate.”

  The king planted an indignant hand on his overfed chest.

  “Do I not have the right to go into business, to support myself and my dependants, now that that harridan has taken over my ancient bailiwick? May I not open a store?”

  “Yeah, but no one ever said you were gonna open fourteen of 'em,” Guido said, in frustration.

  “Five more opening next month,” one of the courtiers standing by the throne remarked.

  “Lord Dalhailey,” Petherwick said, by way of cursory introduction. “My Minister of Marketing, just newly returned from a buying trip. I believe you two have not met before?” The Klahd dipped his head slightly, noblesse oblige. Guido tipped him a casual salute with two fingers off the brim of his fedora hat.

  “Pleased to meetcha. Look, there's gonna be some renegotiatin' come the expiration of this current contract,” he said, turning back to the king. “I just want to warn you what is in the Don's mind.”

  “There will be no renegotiation if this is not solved, because I will refuse to renew your service contract if you don't help me,” Petherwick said, majestically. “We have so far successfully explained to shocked shoppers that the dead or dismembered bodies they have come upon unawares as being part of Slay Days, a period of deep discounts symbolized by models of fierce beasts being dispatched by knights and wizards.” He gestured to a pair of displays that flanked his throne room. Cardboard cutouts of reptiles snarled at bay as Klahds in silver mail pierced them with swords or spears.

  “I thought you said that these were armored knights that they were finding,” Nunzio said.

  Petherwick shrugged. “The dragon doesn't always lose, my friend. But my customers have been most understanding, and we have responded with generosity if they do not overreact. If they find a dead body in the aisle, they are entitled to a twenty percent discount off one item that day.”

  “Thirty percent, if the item comes from that aisle,” Lord Dalhailey added. “We call it our ‘Blue Blood Special.’ I added that clause myself. As a service to the consumer, of course. We don't want them thinking that we are bloodthirsty vultures interested only in the bottom line.”

  “Even if you are bloodthirsty vultures interested in the bottom line,” Guido said.

  Dalhailey looked as indignant as Petherwick had. “Sir, I resent your implication! We have mouths to feed, thousands of them. Almost a third of the population of Shoalmirk followed his majesty into exile.” Here he bowed toward Petherwick, who waved a hand in acknowledgment. “You have no idea how difficult it has been to keep them convinced that this move to Deva is in their best interests.”

  “But the chief concern is the depletion of the treasury. This beast is managing not only to attack my people, but to rob us of our legitimate proceeds,” Petherwick said, dragging the enforcers' minds back to what I believe was his main point all along. “We have been holding a one-week special on luxury dry goods that has proved surprisingly profitable. The proceeds from all the stores are brought in and amassed here in our flagship location. I do not wish to lose any of the gold we have earned from those sales. Do you think that two of you and this … this lizard can succeed before we are robbed again?”

  “That would be our intention,” Guido said, carefully keeping his tone level.

  I felt it incumbent upon me to make a comment at this stage.

  “Gleep!”

  Everyone turned to look at me. King Petherwick sneered.

  “Not too impressive, is he? I thought your employer would send the wizard he's got working for him. Sneeze, I think he said the name is?”

  “Skeeve,” Nunzio said, restraining Guido with a palm to the chest. “He's on vacation. This is his dragon.”

  “Hardly a substitute.” Petherwick waved an imperious hand. “Well, get on with it. The sooner you find what happened to my gold, the sooner we can talk about the next contract.”

  “I knew it,” Guido exploded the moment we were out of earshot of the retail monarch. “I knew this mook would be trouble. When we was signin' up prospects, once I heard he was from Klah and checked him out a lit-tie with Big Julie, I said skip this place. But no, the Don says he's gotta have a hundred percent subscription in the area. This guy calls us in for all kinds of petty stuff that are none of our Business, and I sez this with a capital B, as you can tell.”

  “Are you questioning our boss?” Nunzio asked, with a lifted eyebrow that was the sole skepticism he showed his much larger cousin.

  “Not officially, no,” Guido sighed. “The Don tells us to do somethin' and we do it. I just don't think this penny-ante loser is worth our time.”

  “The Don says he is, so he is. Our allegiance is to our boss, not to King Petherwick. I agree he's not much of a king, though he's turnin' into some kind of hot-shot retailer.”

  “Still, there are elements of rank deception involved here. How many times we been called out to one or another of his establishments for what has turned out to be one kind of false alarm or another, just to prove that he has the Don Bruce Protection Plan workin' overtime for him? I have lost what parts of my girlish laughter I still retained in trottin' over to here or one of the other many stores. It has caused us to bring in other associate members of the Mob to look after those other places, and with no additional recompense to absorb that expense. And you heard his marketing guy. Five more to come! The guy is a filch.”

  Nunzio shook his head. “But here I am worried about the loss of life. Somethin' that can take that big a bite out of a solid stone pillar is a danger to the public. We gotta take it out”

  “I agree, too,” I exclaimed, but as usual, my comment came out “Gleep!”

  Guido reached over and roughly touseled my ears. “You said it, fella,” he told me with a grin.
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br />   As I continued to sniff around the great hall of merchandise I caught a scent that was unfamiliar to me — unfamiliar and dangerous. It caused a frisson to race down the scales along my back. We dragons are not easily frightened. Nor was I now, not until I had the facts of the matter in sum before me. It appeared, therefore, that my sensation of fearfulness was caused by the scent itself. I judged that it contained a pheromone that, unlike the mating chemicals that caused attraction, provoked a feeling of fear and dread. I found I was curious, but I would proceed with caution. I dropped lower until my belly was virtually sweeping the spotless black-and-white tiles of the floor.

  The two Mob enforcers noticed the change in my stance, and followed my lead in applying caution. Both of them drew from inside their coats the miniature crossbows that they carried. Deveel shoppers plying the aisles for soap flakes might have been taken aback had they encountered the two Klahds on the street, but within King-Mart, where marketing was an element of the shopping experience, such behavior was accepted as playacting. That would explain why the presence of bodies had aroused neither fear nor a visit from the Merchants' Association.

  Guido had been correct in his assessment of the source of the former king's wealth. The huge hall, seemingly a tent on the outside, was built of wood. I smelled enchantment in its seams; that would serve to keep out intruders. Yet, according to accounts, something had penetrated the interior and had managed to conceal itself while committing several sallies against pelf and personnel alike.

  Hair wash, board games, garden implements, hand-bags … there seemed no end to the types of goods that the former Shoalmirkers could produce. A sheaf of rakes with wooden handles leaned drunkenly in a tall crate that was studded with small boxes containing paper envelopes of flower seeds. Sacks of food lay beside shelves of toys; racks of garments ranged back out of sight in the right-hand third of the store. I thought the colors were vulgar, but as I had noted with regard to my pet, there is no accounting for taste.

  A middle-aged Klahd with the potbelly of prosperity wearing the king's livery came striding toward us. He wore a determined smile, and maneuvered past the weapons to shake the two males' hands.

  “Mr. Guido and Mr. Nunzio!” he said. “Finding everything you want?”

  “Not exactly,” Guido said, wryly. “I believe we are lookin' for somethin' in a large-jawed monster with a taste for gold and ambuscade. You got one of those?”

  The Klahd's smile became somewhat pained. “You jest, sirs, but it is not a matter for amusement. As Chancellor of the Exchequer, it is my men who are taking the brunt of these nighttime raids.”

  “You will excuse, I hope, the effort at levity,” Guido said smoothly. “We take all our visits seriously, Lord Howadzer. Maybe you can tell us what's changed since we was here last in your flagship location?”

  Howadzer thought for a minute. “Not much. A few changes in personnel, perhaps. His majesty commanded that we rotate the staff so that everyone has a chance to take part in every job. He likes to see a variety of servants at each of the stores when he holds court. It is meant to make employees more flexible, but we are getting a number of complaints. You cannot make a craftsman into a salesman, nor a seamstress into a security guard, no matter how easy it seems to interchange one peasant for another. After all, we have to pay them now.”

  “You hadda pay them before,” Guido pointed out.

  “Not as much as we do today,” Howadzer said, obviously aggrieved. “They have been speaking with the neighbors.” The ultimate word was accompanied by a visible shudder. “Brr.”

  “Don't like Deveels?” Nunzio asked.

  Howadzer frowned at him. “Well, you are from our world, too, aren't you?”

  “Yeah, we're all Klahds.”

  “Please! I don't like that word! It was imposed upon us by people not like us, who do not live in our world! I am not happy about living in exile, especially in a place like this. I am only willing to put up with it if prosperity follows, but if I may say so in confidence, it is too long in coming for my taste.”

  “No, I can see where that would be a problem,” Nunzio said, with a commendable degree of tact.

  “There must be better places than this,” Howadzer said.

  “You could leave,” Guido suggested.

  The chancellor looked at him disdainfully. “And go where? With what? His majesty pays but poor wages compared with going concerns in the Bazaar. Besides,” he sighed, “I remain loyal to my fellow Klahds, if you must call us that. At least we do not have horns and tails, or green skin. Or consort with strange monsters.” He eyed me nervously. I sidled up and deliberately slurped his hand with my tongue.

  From his reaction, you would have thought that I had cut off the limb with a dull knife. Howadzer grabbed a stack of embroidered tea towels off a shelf and swabbed himself vigorously until he had taken off not only the offending saliva, but the first layer of skin underneath as well.

  I automatically decided that I did not care for this person, and it seemed that Guido and Nunzio shared my distaste. Howadzer realized he had lost his audience's sympathy. He gave them a worried smile.

  “Let me show you the scene of the crime,” he said.

  We wended our way nearly to the rear of the showroom. As at the front of the store, Petherwick had commanded to be built a facility that must have been very much like the facility that he had left behind in Shoalmirk.

  “Behold the Treasury,” Howadzer said, with a flourish of his flabby hand.

  It was very impressive. Guido and Nunzio had seen it before, since they had made many visits to King-Mart, so they surveyed it with experienced eyes. I, on the other hand, had a good look.

  Like many castle strong-rooms, the King-Mart Treasury had been created in the shape of a round tower, this one two stories high, bringing it within a few feet of the lofty ceiling. Instead of cage bars or heavy stones, the walls were constructed of clear crystalline blocks, giving the customers a slightly distorted view of the interior. We approached from the left side of the small building. Two guards in chainmail coifs over their tabards and holding polearms stood stiffly at the door, and two more flanked glittering heaps of treasure inside the crystal structure.

  I walked all the way around it, sniffing. The heady smell was present, though only near the entrance. There was no other way inside.

  “We have four men on duty at all times,” Howadzer said. “On the nights when we were attacked, the guards told us that they heard loud noises coming from the aisles nearby. The men who survived said that they never saw the monster coming, and none of them can give us a description.”

  “That's convenient,” Guido said.

  “What?”

  “I mean, that's terrible,” Guido corrected himself. “Petherwick said you had another robbery just last night?”

  “King Petherwick to you, if you do not mind,” Howadzer said, haughtily. “Whether or not he retains his kingdom, he is royal to his marrow. Yes, we did. I blame all this magik! Here is your puzzle. A strong-room that has never been breached, yet gold is stolen and men are dead. We seek a monster that goes abroad when no one can see it, yet leaves behind horrendous damage and dead bodies, and steals gold without breaking into the vault.”

  “This stinks of inside job,” Guido said, looking the Chancellor square in the eye. “You gotta know that is what springs to the eye on first examination. Gold doesn't walk away by itself. Someone who knows the works here is involved.”

  Howadzer snorted. “You would say that. But talk is cheap. Gold is money. Earn yours.”

  With that as his exit line, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Shoalmirk in exile, turned on his heel and strode away.

  “He is right about the value of money,” Nunzio said.

  “But people, no matter of what stripe or shape, will do very strange things for money. In my experience, few creatures without pockets see much use in gold.”

  “Excepting dragons, of course,” he added, reaching into his pocket for a strip of jer
ky for me. I accepted it, and forewent my usual sluip in gratitude for his recognition of my species' affection for the imperishable and noble metal.

  Dragons and gold have been inseparable in legend for millenia, but no one has ever asked us why we accumulate hoards of it in our own as well as other dimensions. We do not prize it for its purchasing value, since we do not buy that which we need. No, gold occupies a much simpler stratum in our culture. When dragonlets hatch out from their eggs, our mothers care for us while our fathers seek prey to feed us. During our earliest days, we can only consume soft meat, such as eggs and flesh pre-chewed for us by our doting parents (Yes, in spite of their fearsome reputation, dragons are as devoted to their offspring as any other intelligent being.) Soon, though, our baby teeth grow in. To hone them sharp enough to pierce skin, bone, and armor, we need substances to teethe upon that are resistive yet not hard enough to break juvenile dentition. Our mothers seek out and obtain soft metal for us to chew. Most minerals available are either toxic, like lead, or are prone to rust or corrosion, such as copper and steel. Therefore, the metal of choice is gold. A clutch of active youngsters can go through a large quantity until they are large enough to leave the nest. Even afterward, the sight or smell of the metal brings us back to times when we were happy and protected, so we amass a hoard of treasure to keep that feeling alive. We prize gold because it reminds us of Mother.