robert asprin - myth-taken identity

"No problem," I assured him, leading him to the counter. We had counted out his share into a small bag that I left in a box with the remaining security bees. They hummed fiercely at me as I retrieved the bag, but we had had words earlier, and they didn't even come close to stinging. "As we agreed."

"Thank you, my friend, thank you!" Marco declared, winding the bag into the sash that went around his ample middle. "I will be back in a few days, also as we agreed. I wish you a profitable day, eh?"

"Thanks, pal," I grunted.

Marco floated off, and I locked up the box. That was out of the way. Now to earn the other half of his fee and clean up a little profit for ourselves.

"Now, when you fasten the buckle it turns on the alarm on the grouch bag, honey," Massha informed an eager purchaser as she folded a zebra-striped leg bangle into a box. "If you forget to disarm it before you take it off, it's going to howl bloody murder and deafen everybody for three blocks around. Let me get the bee off there. Enjoy it." She tucked the money into a bag.

A Deveel woman stepped up with a stack of frou-frou items and the light of battle in her eye.

"How much?" she asked.

Massha tucked the bag of coins into her generous cleavage and started out from behind the counter.

"Hey!" the Deveel protested.

"What?" Massha asked, startled. Probably a little dazed from lack of sleep. I sidled in beside her.

The customer pursed her lips. "You're not going to tell me the prices are fixed here. Not when they're so high!"

Massha seemed to snap out of it and smiled sweetly at the Deveel.

"They're fair. I defy you to find lower prices for this quality anywhere else in The Mall."

"You know perfectly well no one else in The Mall is selling garters!"

The smile became tooth-achingly sweet. Massha was fine now.

"Of course I do, honey. Now, do you want them gift-wrapped?"

The Deveel wouldn't have been a Deveel if she hadn't tried one more time for a bargain. She gave a friendly, woman-to-woman grin.

"Discount for volume?"

I showed all my teeth. "Priced as marked. If you don't want them, the broads behind you will grab them the second you put them down."

The Deveel gave me a look of disgust and clapped the items into Massha's hand. "All right! Perverts."

"Pervect," I corrected her, but I didn't really care.

She was counting out coins, resentfully but accurately. More sales in spite of the jacked-up prices meant we were really making a splash. In a little while I was going to have to head back to Deva to pick up another shipment.

A flipperlike limb emerged from the gap in the purple curtains at the rear of the store and signaled frantically. I glanced at Massha. "I'm fine, Big Shot," she assured me, elbowing me in the ribs. "I just took a little standing nap. I'm going to sleep well tonight. Better see what he wants. Don't worry about old Massha."

"If you're certain ..." I began, leaving her an out if she wanted one.

"Yes! I'm just not as young as I used to be. Hustle. Cire's getting a little wild there."

She was right. The hand waved more energetically. I signed to Chumley, who moved up a little to support Massha, and headed toward the back room. As casually as I could, I slid behind the curtain into the recessed niche. There wasn't much room beside the excited Walroid, and he nearly whacked me with his flipper.

"What's up?" I asked.

His broad face came up from the magikal black-rimmed lens, a commercial spyglass that we used to monitor the goings-on in the dressing room.

"I've got two," Cire whispered. "The alarm spell went off, very strongly. I wasn't going to let you down again, Aahz. This time I'm sure. I got accurate facial overlays from the globes that the Djinni merchants are using. These two are the goods!"

"Let me see," I growled.

I peered into the lens. I recognized the two-headed female and the sharklike being as two of the bodies I had tried on.

"They've stuffed about eight garters into their handbags and clothing," Cire explained over my shoulder. "They brought about twenty apiece in there with them. They're still trying them on. After that they're going to figure out they can't get out. What do you want to do?"

"Let me think a minute," I breathed, staring into the magikal peephole.

We could just tear in there and interrogate them, but that would kick up a fuss and maybe scare off any other shapechangers moseying around the store.

"Can you throw a silence spell on the room, keep anyone out there from hearing through the walls?" Cire frowned. "The detection spell needs constant attention, Aahz. It's pretty intricate. You don't want me to have to rebuild it from scratch. It takes a lot of concentration."

"And you can't concentrate on more than one thing at a time?" I asked.

Cire folded his arms. "Okay, big mouth, you throw the silence spell!"

"All right, all right," I growled. I hated being powerless. Chloridia wouldn't have given me such an argument. "I'll go in and chat with them. Disguise me as one of the salesgirls. You can multitask on a simple disguise, can't you?"

"Yes!" he responded peevishly. "Boy, anyone would think you'd remember the last time we were together in Miniam."

"I DO remember the last time we were together in Miniam," I rejoined.

"All right, there's no need to be huffy about it," Cire replied, more subdued. He closed his eyes and concentrated. "Okay. You're done. You make a cute Djinnie."

"Thanks a heap," I grumbled.

"Which one of you is Massha?" a harsh voice bellowed over the music and the usual screaming of the customers out in the showroom.

"That's me, Tall and Indigo. What can I do for you?"

I listened with half an ear while I studied our prey.

"We've got to separate them from their decks of cards," I told Cire. "Where do you suppose they're keeping them?"

"I didn't notice them in the two-headed gal's handbag. The one with the teeth's got a bigger bag, but she's not wearing any clothes."

"You're operating in this Mall illegally," the rough voice exclaimed.

"No, we're not," Massha replied, still friendly. "Got a business license and a lease, right up there on the wall."

"That isn't enough, and you know it!" the voice growled, low and threatening.

"No, I don't know anything of the kind," Massha answered, patiently but more firm than cordial. "Trouble," Cire muttered.

I glanced out between the curtains at the speaker. The athletic-looking Flibberite in the dull plum-colored tunic reminded me a lot of Woofle, with businesslike mien, and the big guys behind him reminded me of Woofle's muscle men, or maybe the Mob that held sway in Klah. It occurred to me that there might be an equivalent to Don Bruce's boys in The Mall. Maybe we hadn't greased all the palms we had to.

"Change of plans," I snapped out. "Drop the disguise. Now!"

"Make up your mind," Cire grumbled, but he shut his eyes. As soon as he opened them, I hustled out into the showroom, wearing a conciliatory grin.

"Couldn't help overhearing you," I informed him. "Can I help you?"

"I was just talking to the owner of this establishment," the Flibberite stated dismissively, and turned away.

I grabbed his arm and turned him back. The two muscle men started forward.

"She is the owner, but I'm the business manager. Name's Aahz. What can we do for you?"

The speaker shook off my hand and plunked a card down in front of me.

"Inspector Niv Dota, Flibber Revenue. Have you filed for a tax identification card? The department has no record of an application from any firm doing business as Massha's Secret."

Taxes!

"Er—" I glanced at Chumley, who raised his hands to his shoulders. "I thought so. We filled out a whole ream of forms with The Mall's administration." I grinned even more amiably, which caused him and his escorts to backpedal a few paces.