“Cake Queen Action Figure,” I read off the side of the carton. The cardboard was cut away to show the foot-high doll inside. It resembled a miniature Swamp Vixen with white fur and black markings. She had a miniature Cake server in her hand. When you pushed a button on the back, it slashed its tiny arm back
and forth in a pretty good imi-tation of Hermalaya's impressive Cake-cutting action. “You have to admit it looks like her,” Nunzio said.
“They're selling images of me?” Hermalaya asked. She snatched the box out of my hands and gazed at it with growing horror. “Mister Skeeve, this is outrageous of you! Is absolutely nothing sacred where you are con-cerned?”
“I didn't authorize this,” I said. I flipped it over, looking for a company name or an address. “Asfodeel's Novelties, Paperhanger's Lane. This also came from the Bazaar!”
Massha shrugged. “No surprise. Anything that rips off a good idea is almost guaranteed to be run by Deveels.”
I had a sudden inspiration, and I didn't like it. “Or someone tipped off by Deveels,” I said. “We'd better go see what's going on. Thanks for your time, Overseer.”
“My pleasure,” the white-clad clown said, waving us toward the vacuum ejector. “Come see me when you have something really original to show me.”
Myth 18 - MythChief
TWENTY -TWO
“It doesn't really look like me.” BARBARA MILLICENT ROBERTS
I was so mad I could hardly think. I bamfed us into the Bazaar so fast that I didn't even bother to figure out where we would land. Fortunately, my instincts were smarter at that moment than my conscious mind. We appeared in front of M.Y.T.H., Inc.'s own tent. I had automatically gone toward my old stomping grounds.
“Uh,” I said awkwardly, unable to offer a legitimate ex-cuse to my companions for my choice. “This could get kind of ugly. I don't think that the princess ought to get involved in it. I'd like to put her in a safe place.”
“She could hide out in our lent, Boss,” Nunzio said. “No one would dare interfere with her in our own terri-tory.”
“I say, would you like a spot of tea, your highness?” Chumley asked her with a bow that was a triumph of grace for someone his size. “I am afraid I won't be as elegant in my service as you are, but I am sure refreshment would not go amiss. Perhaps you would like a moment to rest. You have had a most strenuous day.”
Hermalaya was torn. “Well, I am sure you are the most courteous thing, but I should go along with Mister Skeeve?”
“Better not, honey,” Massha said. “Even if this was le-gitimate, you don't want to be around for the nitty-gritty. Let Chumley take care of you. We'll be back.”
“But I ought to come with you,” the Swamp Vixen pro-tested. “Isn't it my countenance that they are messing with?”
“Better not to involve you. dollI mean, princess,” Nunzio said, giving her a pat on the arm. “Don't worry.”
Chumley led her firmly into the tent. “This way, your highness. Perhaps you and I can discuss other customs of your most fascinating dimension. .. .” The flap swished shut behind them.
The three of us stalked toward Paperhanger's Lane. I assumed my disguise as the ancient and powerful wizard. Massha put on all the magikal jewelry in her shoulder bag. Nunzio put a hand in his pocket. I knew he was counting bolts for his miniature crossbow. We were taking no chances.
All along the way I kept noticing copies of the handbill that the Overseer of Mirth had shown us offering “The Famous Reynard Cake Ceremony! Fun for the Whole Family. At Reasonable Prices!” Somebody had plastered the Bazaar with them. I saw all our advantage leaching away. Was this an onslaught by Aahz to cut off our source of capital?
When we reached the flap of Asfodeel's tent, there was no doubt at all that we had found the source of the action figures. Dolls of every species and shape were pinned to the leather curtain. Right in the middle of the display was the Hermalaya doll, complete with its silver accessory. Small Deveel children, mostly girls, fingered the toys and clamored to their long-suffering parents to buy them. The red-skinned Deveel behind the heaped table, a narrow-faced, narrow-eyed individual with a forked beard, turned to grin at me.
“And how can I help you, honored sir?” he asked, in a silky voice.
I ripped the Cake Queen action figure from the display and brandished it at him.
“For a start, you can stop selling these.”
“Are you out of your mind?” the Deveel screamed, go-ing from a baritone to a soprano in one sentence. “Why should I?”
“Because you don't have permission to use this lady's image,” I said. “This is Princess Hermalaya of Reynardo. J am her representative. Maybe you've heard of me? I am Skeeve the Magnificent.”
“And I am Asfodeel the Totally Unimpressed! Do you see?” he demanded of his potential buyers. “I sell you dolls of a real live princess, and this fool wants me to take them away from you!”
“Princess?” the little girls asked, their pointy ears perk-ing up. “A real one?” They went for the display on the ta-ble, grabbing up the cardboard boxes.
“No!” I said, taking the dolls out of their hands. The
