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“That will require a two-thousand-credit deposit for the trial chamber, plus a five-hundred-credit fee for the judge.”
I opened my mouth to protest. Shut it when I realized I was being stupid. “Do you take checks?”
“Yes-but there is a fine equal to double the amount of the check if it bounces.”
Angelina let out a bit of chain as I scribbled the check. I didn’t have a Fetorr bank account. I wrote a check for five hundred Galactic Credits. I remembered that they were on a par with the Fetorr Credit. Gloriana grunted ferociously and hurled herself forwards. Fats lurched towards the doorway, grabbed the check in passing and was gone. I locked the door behind him.
“Very efficient,” Bolivar said, emerging from behind the screen. “We are going to need a new computer.”
“We probably will, eventually,” I said. “But they seem to be as much use as doorstops on Fetorr. For the time being we will just have use our own brains-which were around long before the electronic ones were invented.”
“And writing as well,” Angelina said, taking a pad and stylo from the drawer of her dressing table. “Let us first list what we know-and then what we must find out.”
“Right,” I said as I paced the floor and cudgeled my slightly fuzzy brain. “There is the ongoing mystery about our employer, which is not germane at the present moment in time. Who or what he is can wait …”
“As long he keeps depositing payments daily,” Angelina said with great practicality.
“Very true. And we can forget all the other banks on the other planets that were robbed as well. They may not have any relevance to this investigation, since the facts that apparently linked them together were probably fabricated.”
“Why?” Bolivar asked.
“That is the question we must answer. The easy answer is that Chaise wanted us to come to this planet. Ostensibly to investigate the bank thefts. Though I am begi
“And theoretically investigating Puissanto,” Angelina said. “Which, as I dimly remember, was the reason we came here in the first place. Shouldn’t we take a closer look at him?”
“We should-but things have been rolling downhill at a furious rate,” Bolivar said. “What with a bank being robbed almost as soon as we got here. And me being fingered as the criminal.”
I shook my head. “I think that was pretty accidental. The thieves had no way of knowing you would be here when they pla
“I agree,” Angelina said. “Chaise went to a lot of effort to get us here at this time. Bolivar’s arrival certainly wasn’t part of whatever game plan he is pursuing.”
“What is his plan?” I asked, then answered myself. “For us to find the thieves who are emptying out his bank or banks. To do that we must first find out just how the bank was robbed. We need someone on the inside-that’s why it was perfect when Bolivar was working there.”
“I’m not working there any longer.”
As he said this, and I considered the implications-inspiration struck.
“Yes you are. You will be restored to your former pi
“For about two seconds before the police arrive.”
I rubbed my hands together with gleeful self-admiration. “They won’t arrest you because they will think you are your twin brother James. Who will come here as soon as he is summoned-and incidentally will bring along a new computer.”
“How will that help?” Angelina asked. “James knows nothing about banks.”
“But Bolivar does!” I chortled. “He will just resume his old position. Since Chaise owns the bank he will help us to fake the identification, retina patterns and all that.”
“Congratulations,” Bolivar said. “It sounds so insane that it has to work.”
“I agree,” Angelina said. “I’ll send an interstellargram right now to tell him that his presence is strongly requested.”
She unleashed Gloriana, who scratched under her collar with a rear hoof. Then the pleasant rattle of quills stopped suddenly. She was on her feet, head cocked and ears erect. I touched my finger to my lips-then pointed to the door. There was a gentle scratching there. Bolivar slipped back behind the screen as Gloriana trotted over to the door, muttering swinish oaths in the back of her throat. Something white appeared under the door and she had it in a flash.
“A sheet of paper-a message perhaps,” I said. “Good swinelet, bring it to daddy.”
She click-clacked across the floor and dropped it at my feet. I turned it over and read: “Burping Barney’s Robot Takeaway-free and most speedy delivery.”
“Sounds interesting,” Bolivar said, emerging from his hiding place. “It has been a long time since breakfast.”
“Featuring free beer with every order over fifteen credits. Vegetarian nutburgers, carnivore girafburgers, Styrofoam dietburgers—plenty of good stuff.”
Angelina phoned in the order and the service really was fast; there was a tootling of ti
“Good,” I said as I licked my fingers and watched Gloriana munch her way delicately through a spiced bananaburger.
“Too greasy,” Angelina said, “as well as being bad for the waistline.” Then she picked up the phone when it chimed. Listened and nodded. “Ten minutes,” she said, then hung up.
“That was the front box office. A reporter from the Fetorr Times-Picayune wants to interview the Mighty Marvell for their Live Today, Everyday Program. You must remember that we show people do thrive on publicity, so I said yes.” She rose and beckoned to Bolivar. “This dressing room is getting entirely too busy. Come Believer, let us get you over to Gar’s before the press arrives.”
I changed into my tail suit, and was just tying my tie when there was a discreet tapping on the door. I opened it and stared up at the large and impressive silver robot that was standing there.
“Greetings,” it said in a mellow voice. “I am robreporter number thirteen, representing the Fetorr Times-Picayune. A friendly newscha
“Might I come in? Thank you.” I jumped aside before it ran me down. “It is rather dark in here. I will need more light.”
The transparent top of the creature’s domed head flared brilliantly. A camera popped out of its chest, pointed at me. A directional satellite dish on the creature’s back buzzed as it oriented itself. Then a screen just below the camera lit up and I was staring at my glazed expression; I smiled theatrically and showed my teeth, which was a bit of an improvement. Number thirteen began to speak.
“Greetings to all our viewers with the news as it happens, where it happens, why it happens, however it happens. This is Baridi Baraka, your favorite reporter on the magical scene now with none other than the Mighty Marvell.”
The camera lens whirred and my image on the screen was joined by a dark-ski
“Now tell me, Mighty Marvell—what is it like to be a magician?”