Myth-Told Tales

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Thoughtfully, I ordered another round of milkshakes. The bartender, usually a loquacious soul, delivered our beverages, then departed hastily. I am accustomed to the looks of strangers, the horrified expressions when they gaze at me, a full-grown, and, if I may say it (as it is my stock-in-trade), a ferocious-looking Troll, but this Deveel was an old acquaintance of ours. Nor did any of the males in the immediate environ deliver the generally lascivious, speculative leers I have observed when they behold my sister the Trollop.

I might add that many have made the foolish assumption that because of my size and demeanor that I am the more formidable opponent of the two. It is not the case. Tananda is the fiercer sibling. I am proud of my little sister. For anyone who believes that I am at all jealous of her prowess, I remind them of my above-mentioned characteristics and invite them to take up the matter with me, personally, some time when I feel like enjoying a spot of freelance exercise or, as our friend Aahz calls it, a free sample reminder. No one has ever asked for two.

Guido was clearly hoping it would take only a visit from one or both of us to redirect the flow of funds toward Don Bruce's coffers from whatever inappropriate stream into which it was currently ru

"Whoever it is must be packing some serious magikal hardware," Little Sister mused. "Guido, do you have a list of the merchants who are, uh, not complying?"

The enforcer pulled a hand-stitched leather document case from the inside breast pocket of his immaculately pressed suit. He extracted therefrom a small scroll and gave it to Tananda. She held it up to the light, frowned, then pointed a long-nailed finger at it. There was a POP! and a puff of green smoke.

"Not my color," Tananda said, wrinkling her nose at the acrid smell. "Don Bruce isn't taking chances on anyone reading this, is he?"

"That is the middle crux of the issue," Guido agreed.

"What was sealing the scroll?" I asked curiously. Magik is not an entirely closed book to me, but I may say that my expertise runs in the direction of physical exertion, not elder lore.

"Nasty Assassin's trick, Big Brother. You really wouldn't want to know the details. You'd call the results insalubrious or some other two-gold-piece word."

As I said, I am proud of my little sister. To detect and disarm such a trap in two economical motions is the hall-mark of the consummate professional, sometimes defined as one that is still alive after more than one mission.

Tananda unrolled the document and spread it out. "Hmm. Cartablanca, the manuscript merchant, Vineezer the herbalist, Bochro, who deals in exotic toys—plenty of mixed technology in that shop ..."

"What about Scotios?" I inquired.

Guido shook his head. "He's behavin' himself."

There were several more names on the list Tananda and I read it several more times. She met my eyes with a puzzled glance. "What do all these people have in common?"

"I couldn't say," I admitted. "They're all Deveels, but that is the only trait I can detect."

"Most of 'em work alone." Guido said. "That'd make them vulnerable to a shakedown ... I mean, an insurance proposal. That is why the Don takes so much interest in protectin' them."

"Not Melicronda," I pointed out. The wine merchant was in a tent not far from M.Y.T.H. Inc.'s own. "She employs three of her sons full time."

"What about the quality of their merchandise?" Tananda suggested. "All of them sell fragile or ephemeral goods."

Guido shifted in his seat, suddenly sweeping a glance at the other patrons of the i

"It's no good," Tananda said, rolling up the scroll and rebespelling it before tucking it into her cleavage. "Weil have to visit each of them and find out for ourselves."

"No comment," said Vineezer, edging past me with a bubbling retort in his hands. The old Deveel put it onto a stone slab and reached for a big open jar and a minute spoon. The small shop smelled very pleasant with its heady aromas of drying herbs hanging in bunches all around the ceiling. A bit too heady, I thought, as I fought to contain a titanic sneeze. "Atishoo!"

Plant matter went flying in every direction. The old Deveel was rendered momentarily green with powdered snakewort. A wreath of laurel hung drunkenly from one of his horns.

"I am so sorry," I said, attempting to brush him off. "Quite by accident, I assure you."

In the close confines of the tent I succeeded only in knocking him over. Guido grabbed his arm and heaved him up to a standing position.

"Why's he talking like a book?" Vineezer asked, eying me uneasily.

"Eloquence curse," Tananda said, leaning against the center tent pole with her arms crossed. "Plays merry hell with his strength. But that will be back soon. Maybe very soon, if I can't persuade you to tell me what I want to hear."

"I... I can't," Vineezer said, retreating from the fierce look in her eye. His normal red complexion paled to an almost Imp-pink. "They'll put their mark on this place— they did it once already."

The three of us looked around.

"I don't see no mark," Guido growled, his hand moving toward the i

"They did!" Vineezer protested desperately. "Look at this place! Look at that!"

We all did. "Place okay," I said, remembering to use my Big Crunch voice. "Place clean."

"That's just part of it," the merchant wailed. "A herbalist's shop isn't supposed to be clean. The dust floating in the air is full of magik. I use it to tweak potions too delicate for enhancement spells. A millionth part of dragon scale—I can't afford a balance sensitive enough to weigh that out. When this place is properly dusty I can snatch a fragment out of the air. I haven't made a decent scrying potion in a week!"

"They cleaned out your shop?" Tananda mused.

"Yes, and that's not all they'd do... if I talked. So, please go away. I can't tell you any more."

Guido muscled up to the trembling Deveel. "You don't really want me to go back to Don Bruce and tell him you was unwillin to fulfill the part of the bargain that he was so obligin' to make with you, do you? He might have to ask me to interfere wit' you personally."

Vineezer's face flushed burgundy red, and he shoved us back toward the tent flap and out into the street.

"It's better than being alphabetized" he hissed. The tent flap swished down between us and clicked locked with an audible snap. I set my shoulder, prepared to charge back inside so Tananda could ask him again, but she laid a hand on my arm.

"Never mind. Big Brother," she said. "Maybe some of the others will be more communicative."

Her assumption proved to be incorrect. If anything, our further researches were less fruitful than our first attempt. Yet we did not return to the tent empty-handed. We gleaned certain points concerning our unknown quarry.

"They're very neat," Tananda said, glancing around at our tent and appearing to compare our housekeeping unfavorably to that of our foes'.