“What can a bunch of ghosts do?” I asked, with a laugh. I opened the door. SPLAT!
A long-dead fish hit me in the face.
“Who threw that?” I demanded.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” a courteous voice shouted from the middle of the crowd. “I meant to hit that rapscallion next to you. This one's for you!” A hunk of decayed seaweed smacked into me.
I bamfed out. I had had enough of Foxe-Swampburg for one day. I had to locate some more prospects to replace Dervina. At least the investment here was safe.
Myth 18 - MythChief
TWENTY -SIX
With friends like these, who needs enemies?"
R. MONTAGUE
I frowned at Gimblesby Ockwade. The Imp tycoon crossed his arms over the breast of his blue houndstooth suit. “So that's your final word on it? You won't even listen to the transcript of The Princess's Diary? Your letter to us was downright enthusiastic.”
“That was before I heard more about it,” Ockwade said. “I don't really go in for prurient literature.”
“Prurient?” I repeated, not sure I had heard him right. “But it's just the observations of a young woman . ..”
“Enough!” he said, throwing up a hand. “I don't want to hear any more. I have a weak heart, and I can't take too many shocks. Just go away, please.”
“May I just ask who told you what was in her diary?”
The Imp turned pink. “I have my sources. I consider them reliable.”
“You know my reputation, don't you?” I asked, though I knew it was a lost cause to make any further appeal to him. “I'm considered very reliable, and I think you should recon-sider using that source. He's lying for his own purposes.”
Ockwade turned pinker. “I don't remember giving you a name.” I allowed myself an imperious smile. “I am a magician, you know. I have ways of knowing.”
“Reading minds without permission is rude! Good-bye, Mister Skeeve. Good to meet you, Mistress Massha.”
“Just Massha,” the court magician of Possiltum said, with a wicked wink. “Gave up being a mistress a long time ago when I got married.”
The Imp's bright pink cheeks turned even pinker. He glanced at Nunzio, but thought better of addressing him.
“Thank you for dropping by,” he said, all but pushing us through the ornate doors of his office “Miss Selquiff, send in my three o'clock appointment.”
“What a disaster,” I said, as we got outside the gaudily painted office building. I ducked around the corner and leaned against the wall.
“You said it, Big Shot,” Massha said, fanning herself with a length of the filmy violet cloth she wore around her ample form. “That's four in a row.”
The Imp tycoon had been nice enough to listen to my explanation of the difference between the princess's Cake ceremony and the knockoffs that Aahz had spawned across the dimensions, but he had flat out refused to reschedule Hermalaya's appearance. Most of those who had canceled wouldn't even take my calls. The people I did speak with were apologetic. Some of them renewed their invitations, but most of them didn't want anything to do with me. The controversy and the sudden onslaught of imitators were poisoning our appeal.
“This is all Aahz's fault,” I said, shaking my head. “How could he do this to me?” “Now, Boss,” Nunzio said, with a bitter kind of satisfac-tion. “Now he sees you as a threat.”
I slammed my fist into my palm.
“We've just got to keep going,” I said. “Hermalaya said she trusts us. She'll keep doing the ceremony as long as we can get anyone to host us. I'm just afraid of falling behind in income. I'll have to think of something else. I don't want Aahz to get ahead of us.”
“No problem there,” Massha said. “Why, the royalties on The Princess's Diary alone should cover . ..”
Massha's words were cut off at the same time as my eyesight. I never saw it coming. Hoods dragged over our heads and light bonds dropped around our arms made it impossible for me to do anything but try and kick loose, which I did. To no avail. Whoever had grabbed us outnum-bered us about ten to one at least.
I heard the explosion of air that informed me we were being moved, to another location, if not another dimension.
The arms holding me shoved me roughly forward, then pushed on my shoulders to force me to sit down. My bot-tom hit a flat surface that creaked under my weight. The hood was swept off my head. My eyes narrowed in the light of a fiercely burning candle that made me wince and draw back.
Shadows stood behind the candle. One of them leaned in toward me, but not enough so I could really see its sil-houette.
“So, you're Skeeve the Magnificent,” it said. I thought it sounded female, but I couldn't be certain. “Who wants to know?” I asked. “Just answer me.” Out of the darkness, an object flashed and came down on my head. Honk!
“Ow!” I yelled. The object fell at my feet. It was a bright blue and yellow rubber hammer, the kind used to play Whack-a-Gnome. Suddenly, I saw something silver leveled at my nose. It was a cake server, a very fancy, heavily or-namented solid silver handle with a well-sharpened blade, even more venerable-looking than Hermalaya's. I looked up into a pair of glittering black eyes. A black cloth con-cealed the rest of the face.
“Are you Skeeve the Magnificent? Answer! I don't
