dropping prices to match the competition. It was either fold up our tents or carry out a preemptive strike.'
'Oh, I understand.' Millington grinned back. 'I simply didn't like it.'
'I'll get, but first you might think about doing the unthinkable and helping me.'
Millington laughed. 'Oh, you lead a rich fantasy life, my friend.'
'Don't rule it out just yet. Tweel's dengs are muscling in on everyone in town. Somebody has to put a stop to it.'
'You, I suppose. Alone?'
'It's best. The other way would just kill off eighty percent of my boys. I'd win that way, too, but it'd be messy.'
'You're mighty confident.'
'I can't be anything else. Half the battle is the approach, the frame of mind.'
Millington nodded. 'True. Psychological considerations are paramount, especially in some sort of showdown. But I think you're overstretching yourself. You're a hell of a sorcerer, but maybe not enough to go up against Hell itself.'
Carney munched some peanuts. 'Funny the way you put that.'
'Am I hinting that Tweel's dengs might be running him instead of vice versa? Yes, I'm hinting. They seem to have an agenda all their own.' Millington puffed thoughtfully on the long green cigar. 'In which case, it's inevitable that they'll be calling the shots in this town. Because if Tweel can't control them, neither can you.'
'Maybe so,' Carney said. 'But I think I'll take a shot anyway. I have some experience.'
Millington was dubious. 'Where? When?'
'Another time, another place.'
'Uh-huh. Well, there is this longstanding rumor about you, a bit of latter-day folklore, which says you're from another world. Just what other world is vague. Are you telling me it's true?'
'I'm not telling you it isn't. But forget that. You really think it's inevitable that they'll take over?'
Millington frowned. 'I don't know. I hope not. But… not everyone can be big wheels. Some of us must be cogs. I know my limitations. I figure I'm a little wheel at best. But tell you what, I will think about your proposition.'
'The dengs might shift gears and leave you spinning. If they run Necropolis, they won't need humans at the middle-management level. Or even lackeys. They have all the personnel they need. They are legion.'
Millington regarded the ceiling, contemplating its painted stars and crescent moons.
'You have a point, much as I hate to admit it.' He let out a sigh. 'What do you want, John?'
'What spells are you using?'
Millington chuckled. 'What fo' you wanna mess wit' colored, boss?'
'A fresh approach. An unusual angle. Unexpected.'
'Yeah.' Millington chuckled again. 'Unexpected. Well, I'm not going to let you tap into my connection, that's for sure. You learn my charms and it's not just breweries on Great Isle that I'll be losing. But there are other consultants open for business around here. I can give you a name and an address.'
'I'd appreciate it.'
Millington took out a pen. Carney gave him a business card to write on. Millington thought first, then wrote.
'I think that's the number. Anyway it's on One Hundred Thirty-fourth Street next to a greasy spoon called Darby's Cafe.'
'Much obliged,' Carney said, taking the card.
'You're quite welcome, sir. I have a game to get back to. Be well, and if I don't see you in here again, it will be too damned soon.'
The big man wheeled around and walked off a few steps before stopping and turning his head to say, 'Oh, and good luck.' He blended back into the crowd.
'Thanks.'
'Nice music in there,' Velma said.
'Yes. Want to dance?'
'Love to. You have the time?'
'One spin around the dance floor on our way out. Finish your drink.'
She downed most of it and gave him a serious look. 'You can't win against dengs. Who do you think you are? God?'
'There are those who cast out dengs in His name.'
'Stow the sermons, parson.'
'Not until I pass the plate. Drink up and let's get the hell out of here.'
Fifteen
Graving Dock
'How's it coming, Luster?'
Gene was on his knees, peering under the bell-shaped craft.
'It's comin',' Luster answered. On his back underneath the Voyager, spanner in hand, he was wrestling with a stubborn lug-nut. Dolbert was helping, manning a crescent wrench.
Gene got up. He had changed from the garb of Cyrano to something befitting a NASA astronaut: a sky-blue jumpsuit with velcro-sealed pockets.
Jeremy said, 'At least the communications repairs are done. We'll be able to keep in touch by modem.'
'Can't you rig voice communications some way?'
'Sorry, but there's only one channel.'
'What about using magic?'
Jeremy scowled. 'Hey, sending data via modem without a phone line or a radio relay is magic. And getting the signal from one universe to another is big-time magic. Whaddya want, miracles?'
'Sorry.'
'Don't worry, we'll be in constant communication. That's an improvement over the way we've done things in the past.'
Linda was eating a sandwich at a table laden with luncheon food. She had switched outfits too, dressed now in a futuristic silver-lame two-piece utility suit with matching boots. The costume evoked 1930's-40's movie serials.
Snowclaw was sitting beside her, dipping citronella candles in ranch dressing. He had decided to try something new.
'Aren't you guys hungry?' Linda called. 'Come and get it before it turns into pumpkins.'
Gene came over with Jeremy. 'I guess I should eat,' Gene said, sitting down. 'No telling when we'll get the chance next.'
Linda said, 'Jeremy, what about the locator spell?'
'Osmirik sent one down, and I fed it into the Voyager's computer. Whether or not it's gonna work, I don't know. But it's like radar. You punch up the display on the screen, and when you see an echo, you know you're getting close to the target.'
'The target being Melanie.'
'Right. But of course, the problem is, what's the spell supposed to look for exactly? How is it supposed to identify the target?'
'Her old clothes aren't enough?'
'I don't know what I'm supposed to do with 'em. If this were just plain magic, I guess you'd just throw an old sock into the brew, or something ? like for a love potion or something corny like that. But we're using a little bit of magic and a lot of technology. That makes it tricky.'
'We need a bloodhound,' Gene said. 'You'd just let it get a whiff of the stuff and off it'd go, sniffing away.'
