Robert Asprin - Myth-Fortunes

Deveels are masters of the hard bargain, and they are not above making a hasty fake in hopes of making a hasty profit. Before midnight, we had a line stretching from the door down the block and around the corner. About dawn, my turn to sit at the front desk and check out possibilities saw very little reduction in the number of sellers hoping to foist off their wares on us. Guido, Aahz, Bunny, Tananda and Nunzio had each had a shift.

"Lusty Toasty Comics?" I asked, eyeing the latest offering with distaste. A Deveel maiden cavorted on the cover, wearing nothing more than a smile.

"Well, that's kind of like Magus Sutra, isn't it?" asked the hopeful Deveel on the other side of the desk. He was about my height, possibly my age, skinny and pimply.

"This can't be five hundred years old," I said.

"Sure it is. It's issue number two! It's worth three hundred gold pieces!"

"No, thanks," I said, pushing it back again.

"How about five gold pieces?" the Deveel asked. "Look, I can buy a whole year's worth of Zarzafan the Conqueror with that!"

"No," I said firmly. "Next!"

The next would-be salesman barely came up to the level of the desk. I could just see his horns peeping over the edge. I leaned forward to look down into the spectacles of an elderly Deveel—or maybe he wasn't a Deveel. Something about him suggested he was wearing a disguise spell.

"I hear you want a copy of the Magus Sutra," he whispered, confidentially. He held up a cloth-wrapped bundle.

"Is it yours to sell?" I asked.

"Why," he said, blinking at me with the bemusement of someone who doesn't get out in daylight very often, "yes, of course it is. It has been in the family for a long time. I wouldn't like to sell a family treasure, but you know, times are hard."

I let him natter on, and took the bundle. I knew as soon as I opened the parcel that I was holding something rare and precious. It virtually crackled with potential magik. Even the title seemed to writhe sensuously across the cover.

"Hey, Aahz?" I called. My partner was snoozing on the couch in the president's office. "Aahz!"

He emerged, orange circles under his eyes. "This had better be worth it," he said. "You woke me out of the best dream I've had in . . . whoa."

He homed in on the book on my desk and lifted it with reverent hands.

"Is it real?" I asked.

"Page sixty-seven," he said, thumbing through it hastily. He held it at arm's length, then brought it close, then let out a deep chuckle. "Yes. It's real." I leaned up to look over his elbow at the page, but he slammed the book shut, and aimed his chin at my visitor. "What do you want for it?"

"Well, I was thinking ..." the elderly Deveel began, polishing his glasses.

"Half," Aahz said, promptly.

"That is hardly a decent offer for a priceless old book," he protested.

"Tough," Aahz said. He took a handful of coins out of his pocket and spread them on the desk. "Take it or leave it." "How do you know ... ?"

"I know," Aahz said. "It's got a label for the Magicians' Club library on the flyleaf. Considering how we parted company, I don't mind borrowing their property for a good cause. How about it?" he asked.

"Done," the short Deveel said amiably. He scooped the coins off the desk and tucked them away. "Good morning to you."

"Send the rest of them away," Aahz said, glancing out the door at the line of would-be sellers. "We'll deal with this baby later. I need some sleep."

After a few cups of very strong coffee, I followed Aahz to the shop of a book dealer we knew in the Bazaar. Dewie stroked the book lovingly.

"I hate to do this to a nice old book like this one," he said. He was a lanky Deveel with a back hunched over from years of reading small print in poor light. His large, pale green eyes peered at us over half-glasses with gold frames. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather sell it instead? I'd be proud to have it, and so would a hundred of my most discerning patrons. I could set up an auction for you."

"Gotta do it, Dewie," Aahz said, with regret. "Just get it over with quickly, okay? I hate to hear a good book scream."

"All right," the bookseller said. He disappeared into his workshop. In a short time, he came back. To me, the book looked exactly the same, but it was supposed to. I paid him, and we transferred back to Ghordon.

It was my first visit to the royal palace, and I regretted the haste, but we were running out of time. With some persuasion and several hefty bribes that left Aahz muttering to himself, we were shown into a high-ceilinged room in which every available surface of the white-plastered walls was covered with incised and painted pictographs and glyphs. I amused myself for an hour trying to read them. As far as I could tell, the wall nearest the door was the serialized adventures of a married couple in the desert.

Aahz paced.

When our patience (and Aahz's feet) was nearly exhausted, a grandly dressed vizier appeared and

looked down his ape-like nose at us.

"The minister will see you now," he intoned.

Gurn looked up from his desk. I wanted to smile, because it had obviously been built to scale for the little Ghord, but I didn't dare. We needed his help.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Good to see you, too," Aahz said sourly.

"Never mind the niceties," Gurn said. "You haven't wasted them on me in the past, and I doubt you need them now."

"We need your help," I said.

Gurn shook his head. "I am not getting involved in your dispute with Diksen. I will not mediate or negotiate on your behalf."

"We don't need any of that," I said. "We just need you to make Diksen an offer."

Gurn narrowed an eye at us. "What kind of offer?" "One he can't refuse," Aahz said.

"Do I look like I work for organized crime?" the minister asked.

"You work in government, don't you?"

"Go away," Gurn said, wearily. "Her majesty is not feeling well, and we have a state visit by an interdimensional monarch coming up."

"We didn't get any sleep either," Aahz said. He slammed the book on the desk. "This is it. All you need to do is to let

Diksen know that you have this, and that you are willing to sell it to him. As an overture of friendship, or whatever bogus excuse you can come up with, you are making it possible for him to buy this book."

Gurn raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because there's a contract for a block in Samwise's pyramid sewn into the binding," I said. "If he buys it, he buys the contract, and his own curse rebounds on him. We can't just send it to him. He has to accept it, or it won't work. You said to use our imaginations, and I am."

"But in order to pass along the curse, I must pay you for the book, then I will be affected by it as well," Gurn said. "No, thank you. I can just barely stand the food in this palace to begin with."

"It's for the Pharaoh," I pointed out. "You want to help her. This ought to do it. If we could figure out another way, we would. This is our best shot."

"How about it?" Aahz asked.

Gurn rubbed his lower lip, thinking deeply. We waited, holding our breath.

"It's devious," said the minister. "I like it." He smiled, which did nothing for his misshapen face, and passed a coin across the table. Aahz took it. "Very well. Leave it with me."

It took until early the next morning for a glyph to reach me, almost as soon as I transferred into Ghordon from the Bazaar. The small chunk of stone smacked into my chest and fell to the ground. I picked it up and read it. It had one pictograph on it. I let out the breath I'd been holding in a rush. I handed the pebble to Aahz. It showed a circle with pinpoint eyes and a curving smile.

"He did it," Aahz said, grinning. "Now we wait for the bad luck to begin."