'You don't need my help for that, cousin.'
I narrowed my eyes at her. 'Are you working with him? Any chance I can get you to come over to my side? Spill what you know for the sake of blood ties?'
Pookie emptied her glass and signaled for a refill. 'I'm not on his side or anyone else's side. If you want us to do research, you know our rates. Personally or professionally, we're not interested in this one. Final answer.'
'Did the others tell you to stand down, or was this your idea?'
'Whether or not I subscribe to it, your friends there hold to a code. No double-crossing. No dirty tricks.'
I shrugged. 'I've always thought of it as more of a suggestion, myself.'
'Whatever. Now, get lost, cousin. We're waiting for a client.'
Perturbed, I drummed my fingers on the bar top. The innkeeper gave me one look and stayed back out of reach. I could start tearing the place up, but what good would it do?
'You ought to be more careful about the people you let in here,' I informed him. I slid off the bar stool and headed out into the town.
Pookie had been my last chance to pry information out of any of my partners or temporary associates. I decided to stretch my legs and see if I could come up with some ideas.
I stalked through the busy streets, dodging other pedestrians and magik-driven traffic. The locals were at least a foot taller than I was, but thin as fence rails. Skamital wasn't the end of the universe, but nothing was, these days.
With the growing availability of travel gadgets and spells, it seemed like there was no place I could go where I didn't encounter a familiar face.
As I passed by a shop window, I thought I recognized someone.
I backed up a couple of paces and peered through the glass. Yeah, there she was! Matfany's pretty little nemesis, Hermalaya. Not the girl in person, but a portrait of her, on a card standing on top of a pile of thin books on a display table. 'The Princess's Diary,' the poster said. This was definitely Skeeve's doing.
I went inside. The table was surrounded by shoppers, both male and female, in animated discussion. More to the point, they were buying the book. I sidled over to take a look for myself.
Somewhere in size between War and Peace and the latest graphic novel, The Princess's Diary had been bound in shell pink leather tooled with leaves and thorns intertwined around a tilted crown. I nudged open a copy and started reading.
In spite of my requisite partiality toward my client, I fell into the story. The first few entries were the usual girly stuff: comments about official function and what dress she wore. When the first pinchbug problems surfaced, far from being unaware, she had her finger on all the facts. The Swamp Fox who had imported them was in deep trouble, but the problem had to be taken care of. Trouble was, the bugs were breeding like crazy. Since they weren't native, they had no natural predators in Reynardo. The cabinet, acting on advice, made the decision to try to keep the problem confined to Foxe-Swampburg. Heroic, I thought. Hermalaya didn't say so directly, but I got the impression she might have been behind the suggestion. She came across in print a lot smarter than she did in person, though I still didn't see that she had what it took to rule.
I could see that the girl could get a lot of popular sympathy. She had a future as a storyteller, but as a future monarch? Matfany had done the right thing in putting her out the door. You can go only so far on charisma. At some point, you have to have real savvy and business sense to prosper.
I wasn't too obtuse to see a parallel between my client's situation and mine. I could tell by the looks on the faces of the others in the office the other day that some of them thought I was overstepping the bounds in stating that I wanted to be the president of the company. If they had wanted to work for me, they would have said so after Skeeve left. Well, I never asked them to. At that time, the last thing I wanted to do was lead. I missed the opportunity then, but not a second time. Pervects aren't used to coming in second place. If the company was going to rebuild with all of us as partners, this time I wanted to be first among equals. Enough was enough.
I had always kept my association with the others loose because it wasn't my intention to start an organization in the first place. Like them, I only came in because of Skeeve.
Maybe that was the problem. They knew I wasn't committed to a group. They were more inclined to be cohesive. Maybe it was a herd thing. Pervects don't have a lot of herd instinct, or trust, for that matter. Where we see a crowd of people running away screaming fire, we always go back to see if there really is one. And if maybe anything interesting got left behind when everybody else fled. I never intended to be an employee of anyone, not then and not ever again. Standing aloof kept me from being vulnerable. Now that the status quo had been shaken up, I was ready to take the lead. I had the most business experience of the group and the most leadership potential, so why not? This was my shot to prove it.
'And did you hear?' one woman beside me told another, as they giggled over a shared page. 'I hear that
Princess Hermalaya is personally going around the dimensions and inducting people into a secret society!''
'No!' her friend exclaimed. I aimed an ear in their direction. 'What do they do?'
'I don't know! I heard about it from my sister-in-law. Her aunt's father travels in dry goods. He said he was in a dimension where the entire royal family was inducted. It was a big secret, held in a dark room with candles and chanting and glitter!'
'How did he hear about it?' the friend asked, suspicious.
'Oh, well, all the servants knew. They told him when he made his delivery. It just sounds so romantic!'
'Oh, it does,' the friend said. 'Ooh, I wish I could join!'
So that was what Skeeve was up to.
'Excuse me,' I said, favoring them with my most ingratiating smile. They backed away a couple of paces, so I held up my copy of the book to show I was in the princess-admiring club along with them. 'What dimension was that your uncle went to? I was just visiting a place, and I heard rumors about this society. Was it Imper?'
'Oh, no!'' the first female said. 'It was Octaroo. Did she go to Imper, too? Oh, I wish I could travel all around like she does. I bet she has a fancy car and servants and a tiara!'
Glamour and mystery, I mused, moving away from them. You can't fight against a couple of concepts like that. If I knew Skeeve, he had figured out a way to make money, substantial money, from it.
Thinking of herd instinct gave me an idea. I edged toward the clerk and bought the little pink book.
I had to counteract Hermalaya's appeal somehow. I ought to set a backfire, or at least start some rumors, get a little negative chat going. Secret societies are great for making feebleminded people do things they'd be too embarrassed to unless they had drunk at least sis beers. I grinned. Exclusivity was only desirable unless it wasn't any longer. Maybe I could make her more popular still. Too popular, in fact.
In the meantime, I had some unreal real estate to move.
'Nothing else is like dining with the original.'
Hermalaya was as gracious as ever as we showed the final set of guests out of the reception room.
'Thank you for working us in at the last minute,' said the chief operating officer tot Pangallobank, Interdimensional He shook my hand energetically with five or six of his own spindly little limbs. 'I heard about you all from my financial wizard. She watches the Crystal Ether Network on her scrying ball. The write-up was so enthusiastic I had a hard time believing it, but I checked in with a few of my friends. Word on the street, you know, isn't always trustworthy Know your sources, that's what I say. Ruty!'
'Yessir!' A yes-centipede with a go-getting attitude appeared at his boss's side. He handed me a silk envelope that jingled satisfyingly. 'Wove it myself, sir! Enjoy it, sir!'
'Thanks a bunch,' I said, tucking it into my belt pouch. 'And if you give any other thought to what I
