Myth-Chief

"We really have him now," I finished, gleefully.

"Attaboy, Skeeve," Massha cheered. "I knew Aahz couldn't keep us down forever. That Matfany is as good as exiled."

"Hear, hear," Chumley added, holding his cup of tea on high.

"Likewise," said Nunzio. Hermalaya sighed.

"It's okay," I said to her. "Once we get the visitors coming back, you won't need him anymore. You can find a better prime minister."

"I guess so," Hermalaya said, but she looked unhappy with the prospect. I was puzzled.

I looked at her. The Swamp Vixen princess kept her gaze down, playing over and over with her Cake server. "What's the matter?"

She lifted large, woeful eyes to me.

"Well, Mister Skeeve, I appreciate everything that you have been doing. It just seems as if in order to make me sound more vulnerable to our kindly patrons, you are well and truly blackening Matfany's name. You make him sound like he is a terrible man, and he's not! I really do like him."

"You do?" I asked, surprised. "After all that he did to you?"

"I do," she replied.

"How much?" Massha asked, immediately.

"Well, you know, he's honest, and hardworking, and even a little fu

"He's the kind of guy, or he IS the guy?" Massha asked, bobbing over to her on the air. Hermalaya dropped her eyes modestly.

"He is."

"Well, well, well," Massha said, beaming. "Can commoners marry royalty in your country, honey?"

"There are some precedents. About three generations back my great-grandfather married a seamstress who beguiled him. He became the best-dressed monarch in all Foxe-Swampburg history. And there was a great-aunt about nine generations ago, too."

"Sounds like you've been looking into it."

Hermalaya's little white nose turned pink. "Just out of curiosity, Miss Massha, nothing else."

"It's good to know, though, just in case?"

I was shocked. "How can you even THINK of fraternizing with the enemy!"

"Matfany's not the enemy ..." Hermalaya began. "Well. I guess maybe he is, but he isn't really."

"Matfany is the one who threw you off the throne, Miss Hermalaya," Nunzio said.

"I know," she said with a sigh. "But he's not a bad guy, honest. But he doesn't know any of what I just told you, so don't you go telling him!"

"You have my promise," I said.

"Us, too," Massha said. She squeezed Hermalaya's hand. The two of them giggled. I was disgusted. It was completely illogical for her to feel that way.

"But that isn't our problem right now," I said. "At the moment we have to work out how to have a Cake ceremony in your castle without getting caught."

THIRTY-THREE

"Who let these people in?"

"I'm so excited," Elliora said, as I escorted her from her office directly into the throne room of the Foxe-Swampburg castle. We arrived in an outrush of air. Hermalaya, in her headcloth and apron, knelt quietly beside the low table where the Cake sat.

I'd seen the chamber only once before, when I had delivered Hermalaya there to get everything set up. In the space of only two hours, the princess had mustered my friends to decorate the vast room. The change was astounding. Colored bunting lined the stone walls. Pride of place was given to the Dragon tapestry, which hung on the wall opposite the main doors. The thrones had been taken off the dais and were arranged back-to-back in a circle with several lesser seats. The war ba

"Oh, it's marvelous," she exclaimed. "Is that it?" She homed in on the Cake. It was frosted in purple, but in EIliora's honor, was also adorned with gold and green. Himalaya headed her off, but the Leprechaun peered around her waist at the table. "What a gorgeous Cake that is! I have never seen anything so beautiful in all my days."

"Shhh!" I hissed.

"Ah. that's right, then." the Leprechaun said. "I'll be quiet. I know the problem you're facing. But isn't everything marvelous!"

"Thank you, ma'am," Hermalaya said politely.

"And was the Cake made in these very kitchens?"

"We couldn't do that." I told her. "We couldn't risk tipping off anyone else that we're here. But Hermalaya baked it in the royal kitchens of Possiltum, in Klah "

Elliora wasn't disappointed. "That's right, you're a Klahd, aren't you? I won't hold that against you. lovely boy."

"Then let us begin," Hermalaya said, taking a box of candles out of the drawer in the low table. "How old are you?"

A certain amount of noise was obligatory in the ceremony, so I couldn't use a blanketing spell as I had when I helped Marmel search for his family heirloom. Instead, I modified a silence charm that should deaden the sounds we made and prevent them from escaping. I pictured the spell as a big balloon that enveloped the throne room. The trouble was, it created only a thin barrier. A really big bang would be audible on the other side of the door. I hoped that none of the real balloons that Hermalaya had used to decorate would explode, or at least not until we were finished and ready to jump out. The princess crooned her weird little song and let Elliora blow out the candles stuck in the top of the Cake.

Normally, the smoke rising from the wicks just dissipated into the air. Instead, they curled around and over, spiraling around Hermalaya's hands as she cut the Cake deftly into slices and slid them onto the plates.

"That's marvelous," Elliora said. "Just a little bit of magik."

Massha and I exchanged glances of professional approval. There was something special about this particular ceremony that had been lacking in the others. Either Hermalaya had gotten so much practice lately, or performing it in her own country added an element that had been missing elsewhere. She really co

Nevertheless, I had to keep a mental watch upon my noise-deadening spell. I'd been upset to find that the big fancy doors had no lock on them. That, too, was symbolic for the royal house of Foxe-Swampburg, telling their people that their rulers were always available to them. The penalty for violating Matfany's order was death. That meant that anyone could walk in at any time, burst our bubble, and take the princess and the rest of us away for execution. I kept a transference charm half-brewed the whole time. If anyone interrupted us, I would grab her and get her out of there. Both Guido and Massha were armed to the teeth with their own particular forms of defense. Chumley didn't need any weapons, but I was more afraid of someone getting hurt.

My preoccupation meant that I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have to the rituals. The four of us obeyed Hermalaya's instructions to race around the chairs in the middle of the room. Her chanting stopped. I raced for a spindle-backed seat. I plopped myself down on it. Alarmed, I jumped up again. "Yiii!"