Robert Asprin: Something MYTH Inc

"Stretching," Egor said, hesitantly. "But keep going."

"Now then, for a dwarf... how about whats-his-name? PeeWee?"

"Now that's cold," interrupted Egor. "I mean, he's short, all right, but I don't think he'll like you calling him a dwarf."

"We don't tell him he's a dwarf, silly," said Storm. "We just invite him along and let anyone who sees us draw their own conclusions."

"Hmmm. We'll hold judgement on that one. What else?"

"Okay, and as far as kismet goes, my roommate's brother enlisted in the Army as a sorcerer, and it happens that he's in town on leave with a couple of his buddies. I figure we can recruit them just by saying we're lining them up with some blind dates."

"Cute idea," said Egor, "but I don't think they'll go along with helping us attack the sorcerer. Last thing I heard, he was in kind of tight with the army."

"Like I told you before, we aren't going to attack him directly," Storm said. "Remember the book. We're going to do an end run and try to knock out his power source." "And exactly how do you propose that we do that?" "Are you ready for this?" Storm said, her eyes gleaming. "Everybody gather around."

She produced a small box from her belt pouch, and opened it with a dramatic flourish. Nestled inside was a disembodied finger with a gaudy ring embedded in its flesh.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Red Blade said weakly.

"What in the world is that, Storm? And where did you get it?" demanded Egor.

"From Marian," said Storm. "You know, the one who works part-time at the castle? She swiped this right out of the sorcerer's room and passed it to me."

Everyone looked alternately at the ring and each other.

"So what are we supposed to do now?"

"Well, I've got to try to come up with an elf," said Storm confidently. "I need the rest of you to spread out and see what you can do about finding a volcano."

· · ·

If there's anything with greater potential but less actual usefulness to society than a college student, it's a recent graduate who has yet to find gainful employment and is thus still living with his or her parents. Thus it is with a particular only son of the wealthiest land developer and landlord in Possiltum ...

"I gotta say, Donnie, of all the hare-brained schemes you've come up with, this has got to be the craziest!'

"C'mon, 'Nardo," the youth said to his heavyset companion. "It'll be a snap. Trust me on this one."

Viewed at a distance, the duo would appear not unlike a staid and somber owl being circled by a scrawny but energetic jay ... or, more accurately, a popinjay.

"Trust has nothin' to do with it," Nardo said. "I didn't keep bailin' you out of one mess after another all the way through college to let you end up gettin' chopped up by some army types."

Like many rich fathers with only one offspring, Don's father was phobic about anything happening to his heir apparent. One of his solutions had been to hire Bernardo as a manservant/bodyguard for his son when shipping him off to school. While a close bond had sprung up between the two, in many ways closer than the bond between father and son, Bernardo never lost sight of what his main job was ... or who was paying the bills.

"But I can't just stand by and watch while this sorcerer gouges the heart out of my father and his tenants with higher taxes," Don insisted.

"As near as I can tell," Bernardo said drily, "what he's doin' is savin' the kingdom. Queen Hemlock had lowered the taxes way too far to be able to keep things on an even keel. The economics were all wrong."

"How did you figure that?" Don asked, genuinely puzzled.

"By stayin' awake and listenin' in all those classes you slept through," Bernardo said. "Bodyguards can't sleep on the job. Besides, it came in handy when I had to sit in for you on some of those tests."

"Well, whatever." Don shrugged. "That's still going to be a sizable hunk of change the tax collectors will be moving around. I should be able to shake some of it loose."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with your father cutting off your allowance until you find a job, would it?" Bernardo said suspiciously.

"It's just a way of picking up a little expense money to tide me over until I get settled," Don protested. "It's not easy to find an appropriate position for someone of my talents."

"You can say that again," Bernardo muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothin'," the manservant said innocently. 'The thing is, Donnie, even if you can get past the army types, I'm not sure you want to mess around with this Skeeve guy. I've heard rumors that he's connected, and that could mean big trouble."

Bernardo spoke with no small amount of knowledge on that score. He had worked for the Mob once before retiring and getting hired for his current position.

"Oh yeah. Sure." Don laughed. "I've heard that he keeps a dragon, too. Tell me, have you seen a lot of dragons around?"

"Well..."

"I tell you it's all just hoopla to scare people into letting him have his way. As for me, I'll believe it when I see it."

"I've seen some things I still don't believe," Bernardo sighed.

'There. We're in agreement!" Don beamed.

Bernardo stared at him for a moment, then played his trump card.

"If your father gets wind of this, he'll throw a fit," he pointed out. "Then he'll take it out on me."

"I've got that all figured out," Don said, excitedly. "I'll do it under a secret identity. I'll use another name, so no one will know it's me."

"Oh, that'll fool 'em big time," Bernardo said, pointedly eyeing his charge's colorful costume. Don had always prided himself on standing out in a crowd, and today was no different.

"Of course, I'll wear a disguise, too," Don added. "I tell you, I have this all worked out."

Bernardo sighed heavily and shook his head. Despite his certainty that this latest venture was doomed from the onset, he also knew it was next to impossible to change Don's mind once it was set on a venture. Especially if that venture involved a new wardrobe.

"So tell me," he said, "what name have you picked?"

"Well," said Don, "I'm small, but I'm strong and stubborn. I was thinking I'd call myself El Burro."

"I suppose it's better than 'Jackass,' " Bernardo muttered.

"What?"

"Nothin'. And the outfit you have in mind?"

"I haven't completely made up my mind there," Don admitted. "Maybe something in a brown suede jumpsuit with fur trim and accents."

"Oh that will blend right in with a crowd," Bernardo said, rolling his eyes. "Why not go all the way and wear shiny black ... with boots, gloves, and a cape?"

"Hey! I like that!" Don grinned.

"Donnie, I was kidding!" Bernard said desperately.

"I wasn't."

Regardless of the impression youse may have gotten about the disregard Nunzio and me have of laws and rules, there are certain lines which we do not cross on a regular basis. One of these is lyin' to the Boss. We may omit certain details from our reports, but this is done more to spare him any discomfort. An out-and-out lie is something we both try to avoid like the plague. This is, in part, because bein' caught in a lie within the Mob does not involve perjury charges, but a much more violent and permanent fine.

As such, I am not wild about havin' to get the Boss's permission for this new assignment without really lettin' him know what was goin' on. Such a task would require subtlety and finesse, two qualities I am not often called upon to resort to in my work.

Realizin', however, that it was something that had to be done, and that, as the one who proposed this whole venture in the first place, it fell to me to do it, I applied myself to the problem as best I could. With Nunzio's help,

I came up with a story that should stand up under all but the closest cross-examination, then had Chumley coach me on preparin' the necessary scroll for a hand prop.