robert asprin - myth-taken identity

"Destroy it," I croaked. "Now!"

"Right you are, Aahz," Chumley asserted. He snapped the blue plastic rectangle in two, then four, then eight pieces.

"What about these?" Massha asked, holding up the last cards.

"Gimme a minute," I snarled. I recovered my usual composure and processed the final two, an Imp and a Gnome.

"Thank you, thank you, Aahz!" Moa beamed. "You have done us a great service. We realize you didn't have to assist us further, but we are grateful."

"Don't mention it," I grunted. "What are you gonna do with Fuzzy, here?"

I aimed a thumb at the mall-rat chained with lightnings.

"We will lock him up. Based on all the identifications you just made we can probably connect him with a lot of shoplifting incidents."

"That's it, then." I dusted my hands together with satisfaction. I turned to Massha and Chumley. "We can go home."

"But there are more members of this gang out there!" Woofle protested. "You're not going to help us solve the rest of the problem?"

I shook my head. "Nope. I set out our terms at the beginning. But we've weakened them a lot. We've just knocked out Rattila's access to a bundle of his victims. And you can get a lot of information out of this vermin. If you can't, I bet Eskina has some ideas."

The Ratislavan investigator showed her sharp little teeth.

"Certainly I do." She grinned. "Do you want me to start now?" She advanced upon the mall-rat, who cowered back to the extent his bonds allowed.

"Please, monsieur, get her off me! She's rabid!"

"You be cooperative with this guy," I indicated Moa, "and he'll see that she doesn't shred you. Too much."

"I comply, monsieur, I comply!"

"Okay," I concluded, pulling the D-hopper out of my pocket. "We're out of here. Moa, it's been nice meeting ya. If you're ever in the Bazaar, look me up."

"Wonderful!" Moa shook our hands. "You all certainly deserve your reputations. I am very impressed. But don't go now! At least stay tonight. We'll have a celebration. A party in your honor. We'll have a feast, dancing, kegs of ale—"

"Don't mind if I do," I accepted, with a grin. Massha and Chumley agreed.

The Ratislavan marched back and forth, kicking boxes of new shoes out of his way with angry feet. His hairless tail lashed. The mall-rats, most especially the eight remaining "specials," cringed together in a fearful knot.

"One of our number has been arrested," Rattila shouted, for about the hundredth time.

"We tried to get away," Oive wailed. "That Pervert is too tricky!"

"You were stupid!" Rattila bellowed.

He pointed a finger at her, and lightning sprang from its tip. Oive looked at the burned patch on the ground at her feet and fainted dead away. Strewth and the other mall-rats edged backward.

"Hmm, that's new," Rattila mused, staring at his finger. "This! This is what real power is all about! They must not stop us now! I will drain all of their talent!"

"How?" Strewth asked. "They figured out about the cards, Big Cheese. They keep breaking 'em; we don't have any way to buy more stuff for you." "Steal their essence! Use up the magicians we have until they're empty shells. They don't realize what they have done," the Ratislavan tyrant raged, "but this means war!"

"Dude," whispered Wassup to Strewth, "I think we, like, created a monster."

I pried open one eye, and some sick joker stuck a twelve-foot, flaming spear in it. I fell back, groaning. The spike in my eye eventually died down to a faint glow. I realized it was a mote of sunlight peeking through a gap in the curtains of my hotel room. I also knew that I had absolutely no memory of how I had gotten back there last night. I hoped it had been last night, but I had no way of knowing that, either. That had been one hell of a party. In celebrating our success, Moa had gone all out. The details started coming back to me: the best food, plenty of good liquor, entertainment, and a game of dragon poker that kept going until the wee hours.

I heard wounded dragons roaring in pain in the next room. I thought I'd better get out there and defend Massha and Chumley.

Thanks to the headache it took one or two tries before I extricated myself from the silk bedcover. I was still fully dressed, which suggested self-locomotion last night, but I would have taken either side of that bet.

Once I reached the sitting room in our luxury suite, I identified the roaring dragons: Chumley and Massha. They , were holding a snoring competition to see who could break the most windows by dint of pure decibels. I judged the contest a tie and went to wake them up.

Eskina, asleep in the walk-in closet, was curled into a little ball. If the noise didn't wake her, I didn't see why I should. After all, she didn't have to check out and go home. Moa might have her moved to a smaller room when we were gone, but she was entitled to decent treatment, having given us the tip that eventually led us to capture Skeeve's impersonator. With luck, the kid would never hear about the situation or its aftermath. He sure wasn't ever going to hear it from me.

The Djinn who delivered room service blinked in and out of the sitting room, pausing briefly only to hold out his hand for a tip. Massha was the first to emerge from her room.

"Do I smell coffee?" she asked.

I was already wrapped around a cup that was almost big enough. I shoved an equal-sized beaker toward her. The serving spell filled it to the brim. Massha grabbed it and gulped down half of the steaming liquid.

"That was some party," she stated. "My head feels like the conga line's still dancing through it."

"I have a hangover the likes of which I have not felt for sixty years," I admitted. "Maybe not since some friends and I closed down the bar next to the distillery on Tulla." I paused to remember past glory and compared it favorably with the present. "These Flibberites sure know how to party."

"Amen to that," Massha agreed.

Chumley staggered out. "Coffee," he grunted, sounding like Big Crunch, his nom de guerre. A cup or two later the veins in his odd-sized moon-shaped eyes receded, and he was able to resume his normal intellectual discourse.

"We ought to thank Moa before we head out," I suggested, finally able to face the pink omelettes and green ham in the covered serving dishes. "Good idea." Massha nodded. "I want to pick up a little present for Hugh. I saw some beautiful swords in the weapons shop. There was a gorgeously balanced silver-hilted hand-and-a-half that he could use for sword practice."

"I'm going to take half a day and browse the bookstores," Chumley added.

Another rap came at the door. This one sounded a hundred times quieter than the first one. Moa stuck his head in.

"Hey," I called, feeling expansive as my hangover began to recede. "C'mon in."

The Mall administrator looked a little tentative, nothing like the plucky little guy who had braved thousands of angry shoppers the first morning we saw him, or the same guy who had danced on the table with a Gorgon's head pinata about five hours ago.

"You had a good time last night?" he inquired.

"That was one hell of a blowout," I assured him. "You sure know how to party, Moa."

"It's been a pleasure, I'm sure," Moa replied, shaking my hand warmly. "We were grateful to have you ... Are you certain you won't stay here, just a little while longer?

"I'm sure," I told him. "Maybe do a little shopping, then hit the road." I eyed his uneasy demeanor suspiciously. "Why?"

"Well, we gotta little problem."

I had heard equivocation like that hundreds of times in my life, and the follow-up explanation was never good news. "What kind of little problem?"

"Oh, nothing big," Moa began. "Just that one of my guards just reported someone who looks like your friend doing card tricks in the atrium near Doorway A."