Myth-Fortunes

"That's great!" I said. "Okay. I've heard of this great restaurant about six miles from here on the edge of the Home Entertainment zone. Say about seven o'clock or so? I'll make a reservation."

"Great," Tananda said. "Formal? Informal? What's the dress code?"

I was the wrong person to ask about clothes, no matter how long Bu

"Seven o'clock, then," she said. "I'd better get back to this. The client's expecting it by close of business. It's an unexpected invitation, tiger, but it'll be nice. Thanks." She clamped me in a solid kiss, then undulated out the door.

I recovered enough to say thanks as the tent flap dropped.

Gleep popped up and laved my face with his tongue. I nearly gagged at the smell of his slime, though I appreciated the gesture.

"Good . . . idea," he said.

Did I mention that my dragon can talk? When I told Guido that I don't hold back anything from my colleagues, that wasn't completely true. Gleep's ability to speak was one thing that he and I kept between us. I hadn't even known at first how long it took baby dragons to become verbal, and considering how often he was underfoot, it might become awkward if I let it be known now. Someday, though, we'd let everyone know.

But I'd done it! I'd finally worked up the nerve. Inordinately pleased, I gave Gleep a vigorous scratch between the ears and went out to confirm a reservation for the next evening.

Chapter 8

"The gods won't really mind."

"Hand me volume three of lies and deception, willya, kid?" Aahz said, holding out a hand.

I ran my finger down the pile of ledgers sticking out of the mouth of the gigantic Crocofile and found the one he wanted. I passed it to him. He flipped it open and looked from the papyrus sheet he was reading to the book and back again.

He shook his head. "I don't think I'd ever want to go into a fifty-fifty partnership with this guy. I'd end up owning his underwear."

"Why?" I asked. The Crocofile yawned. I patted its nose. Samwise kept his books protected by the ultimate security system, a toothy beast the size of a house. When its jaws closed, nothing could get at what was inside. "Has he cooked the books that much?"

"No," Aahz said, with disgust evident. He sat back on the stone seat that served as an office chair in this dimension. "In fact, they are not as crooked as I thought they would be. He must be too dumb to cheat. There's the usual amount of larceny and bribes, but that's just the cost of doing business. He's using a magikal accounting system that automatically reconciles input and outgo. As far as I can tell, he didn't work in any fancy wrinkles to hide money. Well, figuring out the cost overruns just got that much easier. Want some beer?" He held up a sloshing stone pitcher. The gray-ski

"No, thanks." I held up a mug of ice-cold fruit juice. The beer was as good as Samwise had promised, but I watched my alcohol intake. I'd made too many mistakes when I thought I was still sober, and it had cost me.

Aahz had turned up in the company tent later the previous evening. He'd had time to mellow out once the wine had been bespelled from his tunic. By tacit agreement, we hadn't mentioned anything. A stain here or there was not a significant event between two people who had saved each other's lives several times. He was more irate about the destruction of his favorite wine cup. The next morning, before we departed for Ghordon, we went looking for the silversmith who had made it. Practical jokes and delayed-reaction spells were big business in the Bazaar (considering the tremendous success of Genuine Fake Doggie Doodle with Genuine Odor That Really Sticks to Your Hands) and it wasn't beyond reasonable thought that someone had decided Aahz deserved the dimension's biggest dribble glass. The silversmith pleaded i

As promised, Samwise had provided us with an office and beer. We were on our own for everything else, but that was pretty much what we expected.

A loud rumbling shook me out of my studies about midmorning. Aahz patted his belly. "Sorry about that. We cut out of Deva before I could eat a decent breakfast. I smell food out there. You want to see what you can turn up?"

"Sure," I said, putting aside the ledgers. Bookkeeping was my second least favorite duty when I was management.

After talking with Guido and Nunzio after the staff meeting, I was worried about Aahz's health. If he was suffering from some kind of fatal condition, I intended to do what I could to help him live a healthier life. Who knew? If the condition didn't progress too fast, a magikal cure could be found. In the meanwhile, I'd find something healthy for him to eat.

As I left the office, I was nearly hit in the nose by a small chunk of stone whizzing by. It zipped into the hands of one of the clerks working at a desk behind me. I glanced back and the Ghord with the sheep's face looked, well, sheepishly at me. I had become used to Ghords constantly sending glyphs back and forth to one another all day long. With the easy availability of power in all the force lines, it was no trouble for Ghords to drop notes to one another, chiseled on a small piece of stone or scribed on a scrap of papyrus. Scarabs carried a few of them, but they mostly went by magik. I picked up from my brief examination of the glossary the fact that the open mouth meant O My Ghordess. It began many of the short glyphs from young workers to one another. But I also noticed some glyphs incised on the big blocks of stone in place of the pictographs that they were supposed to be carving. Chief scribes, wearing sour expressions, had to check the work of some of their employees to make certain that they were chiseling what the customer wanted, not some remark about a hot date or a cute guy. The glyphs also talked about the frequent accidents. I would speak to some of the stonemasons later on to get full details.

I headed out in search of a snack. Naturally, wherever people work, a support system grows up around them, offering services that busy workers don't have time to do for themselves. Near the rear of the pyramid's base, a long walk from the office at the front of the site, snake-faced laundresses knelt over wash tubs. Dozens of dripping kilts hung on lines. They wouldn't take long to dry in the parched air. Barbers wielding long shears gave haircuts to Ghords sitting on backless stools with their headcloths wrapped around their necks like towels. A slick-looking individual in expensive and brassy robes oversaw a trio of gambling tables where bored stonemasons might try their luck at dice or cards. Nearby, curvaceous lovelies beckoned to passersby, inviting them to try for a different kind of luck. Prosperous women in aprons poured beer at a semi-permanent bar counter mounted on two carved pillars. I recognized the seal on their barrels as the same one on the excellent beer Aahz was being supplied. I gave them a friendly wave and followed my nose to the food sellers.

The variety of edibles in the makeshift cookshops told me that Ghordon was used to dimensional travelers. Next to staples like mixed beans and sausages, Imperial specialties were plentiful and, judging by the crowds, popular. I walked past vendors shouting the virtues of their fried bread, oiled meat with greasy sauces, thick stews, and pastries dripping with honey, all of which smelled delicious. Ghords crowded around, clamoring for service. Shopkeepers bantered with their customers as they hurried to fill clay bowls with orders. I stopped at the booth of a forlorn female with a short-beaked face who had plain, baked crispbreads for sale. Knowing Aahz had a substantial appetite, I bought a basketful for a few coppers. I left her shouting blessings after me.