Marmel's family business wasn't far from where we had appeared. Trade seemed brisk, as male and female Imps emerged from the wood-and-glass door carrying paper-wrapped bundles in their arms. They looked happy.
“So, how many wolidgins do you normally sell in the course of a month?” I asked.
“About the usual,” Marmel said, ushering me inside the store. Only one customer was present, a stout matron who hmmphed when I accidentally impeded her procession to the exit door. She carried her parcel with an air of majesty. I peered around the shop, but nothing was on display.
Whatever wolidgins were, they must be kept in storage until they were requested. I hated to ask; it would
make me look inexperienced.
A pert young Imp girl in a bright green and yellow dress smiled politely at her boss. “Hey, Treesa, my sister around?”
“No, sir,” Treesa said. “Good,” Marmel said with a sigh. “C'mon, I'll show you the old man's room.”
“You haven't told your sister that you're employing out-side help,” I guessed, as we climbed the narrow stairs to the third floor.
“No,” Marmel said. “She'd blow her top. Here's Dad's room. We've kept it just the way it was when he passed away.”
With no disrespect intended to the dear departed, it looked as if Marmel's father had gone out of his way to collect tasteless knickknacks in bulk quantities. Even in the curio shops in the Bazaar I had never seen a matched set of twelve cups shaped like bowling trophies. The stuffed squid on the mantelpiece with “Return to Pictur-esque Dover” etched on its side in curlicue letters nearly made me gag. No taxidermist should make an animal smile like that. Dirty postcards of naked women from a dozen dimensions had been framed in gold. A couple of them had personalized messages scrawled in the corner. I whistled. The old boy had gotten around. The bed, a four-poster of green wrought iron, was flanked by pink, white, and black end tables that looked as though they had been thrown out of a Trollish bordello for being too gaudy. I could hardly look at the bedclothes. If dear old Dad hadn't had a heart attack from having to look at the crazy rainbow print, then he was either too tough or color-blind.
“So, where was he looking when he pointed at you?” I asked.
“Wait a minute!” Marmel exclaimed. “Marmilda is com-ing! I should have told Treesa not to tell her I was home!” He grabbed my arm. BAMF!
I took a deep breath to protest and got a big mouthful of swirling dust. I whooped and coughed. Marmel clapped a hand over my face.
“Shh!” he hissed. “She'll hear us.”
It took a moment to recover, but I did without making any noise. My eyes watered. I forced them to focus on our surroundings. We stood on wide, wooden floorboards. Above us, a weak sunbeam strained itself trying to shine through a filthy skylight in an arched ceiling. We were sur-rounded by dusty boxes and a lifetime supply of cobwebs.
“Where are we?” I coughed.
“In the attic,” he said. He flattened himself on the floor and applied his eye to a crack between two of the boards.
I joined him, finding a convenient knothole in the dust-scented floor.
Marmilda could have been Marmel's twin. His stocky figure translated on her into a buxom, broad-hipped frame. She had the same darting, nervous look.
“He's not up here,” she was saying to someone I couldn't see. “Think he found it?” the other person said in a chesty, gravelly voice.
“No! At least, I hope not.” Marmilda chewed on a thumbnail, in exactly the same way her brother had.
“Well, he better not. I want it, unnerstand? You better find it by tomorrow, or you're not gonna have to worry about where it is, right?”
The tone chilled me. I had heard it used on a profes-sional basis by the Mob men who had worked for me for the past few years, Guido and Nunzio, though the speaker was neither of my former employees. Being on the receiv-ing end would daunt anyone.
“I understand,” Marmilda said. I was impressed by her cool. I am sure underneath she was frightened, but she held herself with dignity.
“Good. So long as we understand one another.” Marmel could hardly contain himself until the two left the room below us. “My sister's in trouble!” he exploded. “Who was that?” I asked. “I think it's Narwickius,” Marmel said.
“Narwickius!” I had heard the name. He came from Titanium. Even Trolls like Chumley spoke of Titans with respect. They were big and tough, all the more formidable because they possessed rapid mental facilities. When they wanted something, they went after it. Few races could stand up to them. Narwickius stood out among Titans as being above and beyond. He had a reputation for unscru-pulous and violent behavior that stretched all the way to the Bazaar. Luckily, he seldom went there, so I had never crossed paths with him before. “How does he know about the Hoho Jug?”
“He and Dad met a few times at estate sales and curio shops,” Marmel said. “He always outbid Dad in auctions. He's been after the Hoho Jug for years! Dad always refused to consider selling. Now I know why Marmilda's been try-ing so hard to get ahold of it! He might hurt her if she doesn't let him have it! He can't do that to my sister! I'll. .. I'll... I don't know what I'll do. Help me,
