robert asprin - myth-taken identity

"Me do," Chumley announced, dragging the heap toward him. He glowered at Moa. "Pencil. Pleee-eeze."

"Of course, of course!" the administrator agreed, hastily going through his desk. He handed a pencil to the Troll, who gripped it awkwardly in his fist and began to form letters laboriously.

"About the merchandise," I began, "we haven't decided absolutely on what we're going to sell."

Moa's eyebrows climbed his bald forehead. "You'll excuse me for staring, but that's usually the first thing a prospective tenant knows when he's coming in here."

"I know that," I scowled. "I'm not doing this for the long term. This isn't really a retail enterprise. It's a trap. All we want is to set up a plausible-looking outlet that'll attract the pain in the butt I'm trying to catch. He comes in the door, we slam it shut behind him, and you don't ask any questions about what happens afterward. Later, we clean the place out and leave. My problem is solved, and you have your retail space back."

Moa's eyes went wide. "I shouldn't have asked. All right! Leave that part of the contract blank. You'll let me know, right?"

"Naturally," I agreed.

"Works of art," Chumley suggested, from his desk near the hearth in our room.

"No," I stated.

"Handwarmers," Eskina offered. She and Parvattani sat across from one another at the table where I tried to make a list of merchandise to sell.

I turned a blank look her way. "In here? It's hot as an armpit in The Mall. Who would buy handwarmers?"

"It was an idea," the Ratislavan exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "I have not seen anyone selling them." "Cheeble-pets," Chumley proposed. "They're cheap and cute."

"No way," I snapped. "If someone's going to start that fad here, it's not going to be us. Have you ever spent any time in a room with one of those? You'd go nuts!"

Chumley shook his head and bent to the list he was writing. "That lets out birdcalls, too."

"You bet your furry behind it does!" I agreed.

"Candles," Eskina suggested.

"Pocket knives," Parvattani added.

"No and no."

"Garters," Massha put in, tapping me on the head. She floated above us.

"Garters?" All four of us stared up at her. She shrugged.

"Same excuse as Eskina," she apologized. "I haven't seen anything like that here, either. Garters are sexy and fun. They started out as unisex stocking fasteners, you know, not just a female accessory. In some dimensions males still wear them. But, hey! What if they weren't just garters? What if they had gizmos attached to them? Noisemakers, or a little purse you could hide your house key in, or a magikal hourglass to remind you of your appointments? It could give you a little pinch to tell you you're going to be late to the doctor's."

"That's the most ridiculous thing—" I sputtered, then my initial rage petered out as I considered the impulse habits of shoppers. "That's just stupid enough to be unique. Good thinking, Massha. All right, let's add that to the list."

Unfortunately, it wasn't a long list. Chumley had suggested novelty candy. I had rejected the novelty angle as not being enough of a big ticket, but quality goodies might just pull in a broad range of clientele. Skeeve liked candy, so if the impostors were picking up his personal traits, they would be starting to get a real sugar jones at some point. Eskina's previous ideas had included scooters with anti-crash spells on the bumpers, a pet store selling flying mice, and magic feathers that gave you the power of flight. The last was so far-fetched I laughed out loud. Eskina wasn't dismayed. She had just kept on tossing out ideas. I had to give her credit for her perseverance.

Parvattani tried hard, but he didn't have much imagination. He suggested weapons, armor, healing charms, safety devices, antitheft gizmos. If I ever wanted to open a safety-products shop, I'd put him in charge of purchasing.

Massha's offerings had all been items of personal adornment. Hats that kept telepaths or wizards from reading one's thoughts sounded like a good idea, but they were too expensive and way too delicate. I wanted to be able to return for credit any merchandise we didn't sell. Jewelry would mean we were going head to head with at least a fifth of the stores in The Mall, and we were already courting resentment for going straight to the top of the list for a vacant store, ahead of at least sixty vendors who'd been waiting, sometimes years, for a spot.

Chumley's first notion was a bookstore, wishful thinking on his part. I had said no for two reasons: one, it was unlikely to attract the thieves, who liked flashy, expensive items, and books didn't really fall into that category; and two, he might become engrossed in reading some of the stock and miss that psychological moment to grab our impostor. Truth be told, so might I.

My own mind had gone blank. Over the years I had bought plenty of goods, but my specialty was selling services, magikal or protective or both. My mind was so focused on luring the card-carrying impostors into a small place that I didn't much care what we sold.

I had already made one trip back to Deva, for a talk with the Merchants' Association. After some heartfelt bargaining they were willing to give me pretty good terms for bulk buys with allowance for return of unsold merchandise, if only we could make up our minds what we wanted to buy.

"I give up," I grumbled, crumpling another list and tossing it into the nearest corner. "Give me your best idea. I'll see what I can do with the Merchants' Association." "Board shorts," Chumley led off.

"Cheeble-pets," Massha put in. At my dismayed face she burst out, "Well, you know they sell!"

"Bottled water," Eskina insisted.

"That is too stupid for words," I snarled. "Who outside of a desert would buy water? Par?"

The guard captain looked up shyly, glanced up at Massha, and blushed. "I, uh, I like-a Madama Massha's idea, Aahz. The garters. The romantic-a angle is very nice. Many ladies would like-a to buy them, to make their legs pretty, or a gentleman might-a enjoy buying one to adorn-a the leg of a lady he admires."

Another glance, this time toward Eskina, and Par's cheeks burned more bronzely than ever before. This time Eskina joined him, her face going pink. I couldn't help beaming. Par was a good kid. So was Eskina. If we could knock out Rattila and his henchcreature, who knew what might develop between those two?

"Okay," I breathed. "All in favor of Chumley's suggestion?" No hands went up. "Massha's?" Nothing. "Eskina's?" Bravely, Par raised his hand.

"Do not vote for mine," the Ratislavan chided him, though she looked pleased. "It was stupid! All in favor of Parvattani's?"

All of us, except the abashed guard captain, put up our hands.

"All right," I concluded, rising from my seat. "I'll go see what kind of a deal I can do with the Deveels."

The razzing from the Merchants' Association over my order for fifty dozen assorted garters, a mix of magikally endowed and non, lasted just long enough for the assembled business owners to speculate on how fast they could get the same item into their shops, and how much they could undercut their neighbors.

"Of course we can help you, Aahz," Frimble, head of the Devan Marketing Association, insisted. He was a scrawny, middle-aged Deveel with a slick little black beard, which he stroked with a speculative thumb and forefinger. "Naturally there will be a surcharge for rush delivery—and set-up fees—and a percentage to ensure exclusivity for a period of say, oh, seven days—"

"Add it up," I agreed, "and cut the total by fifty percent."

Frimble screamed. "What? You'd be cutting the throats of your friends! What kind of ingrate are you? For top quality you would have to pay double!"

"I wasn't born yesterday," I argued back. "And I doubt I'll be getting top quality anyhow."