Myth-Taken Identity

ELEVEN

"Don't you love it?" Massha asked, showing off her wrist to me and Chumley.

"Nice," I offered shortly. I wasn't much for fancy baubles. I always think natural beauty shines through better. But, then, Massha wasn't a Pervect and didn't have that advantage.

"Very pretty," Eskina approved.

"What's it do, what?" Chumley asked.

"I..." Massha paused. "Do you know, I forgot to ask! It made my hand look so nice that was all I could think about."

A black cloak swirled around our feet and slipped into our midst. I resented the intrusion, and cocked an elbow into the ribs of the tall figure.

"Ow!" Eskina shrieked. "He hit me!"

"Sorry, kid, it was me," I apologized.

I realized my mistake then: the newcomer was a Spectre, the semi-insubstantial denizens of Spect, a mysteriously beautiful dimension I'd dropped in on once. Frustrating place in a way, because although the women could touch me, I couldn't return the favor, and they had been tall, sensual, and exotic.

So was this big lug, or so he thought. He picked up Massha's hand and began to nibble his way up from the tips of her fingers.

"Hey, watch the jewelry," she warned him. "I just polished—ooh—mmm."

A big, silly, trancelike grin broke out on her face. Then, she snapped out of it.

"Hey, buddy, we haven't even been introduced."

"I am the architect of your wildest dreams, baby," the Spectre whispered. "I like a woman with... substance." He eyed her up and down, the jet-black eyes in his hollow eye sockets evidently liking what they saw.

"So, what do you say, baby?" he asked, snuggling so close to Massha's back that his black robes brushed her rose-colored jeans. "We can get a room, and put a big do not disturb sign on the door."

Massha spun abruptly, making him stumble. "Goodness me!" she giggled. "You wouldn't say things like that if my husband were here."

The Spectre grinned sepulchrally, his hooded eyes blazing with white light. "Oh? And what would your husband do if he were here?"

Massha winked coyly. "He'd stand right there and watch me mop up the floor with you. Now if you can't take a lady's hints, I'll say it straight out: bug off."

"I like feisty women!" The Spectre, laughing hollowly, tried to put his arms around her one more time.

Chumley started to move in from one side, Parvattani from the other. I put a hand on each of their chests to hold them back.

"Hang on. Let her enjoy herself a little, first."

The lesson in manners was brief but memorable. The big guy counted on being insubstantial to stave off physical jolts, but Massha pulled one of her gizmos out and dangled it in his face. I'd seen the glowing green charm before. Massha had told me it was specific for dealing with phan- toms: glass covered in gold. The Spectre was not impressed. He stood with his big chin out. Massha hauled back and dealt him one hell of a roundhouse punch delivered all the way from the middle of her back. You could tell by the glazed expression on his face just before he folded up and sank that he thought her fist should have gone right through his jaw.

Massha stood over the body, shaking her hand up and down to restore the circulation.

"I really gotta remember what my mother always said about not hitting bone with bone."

"Very pretty, Massha." Chumley applauded her. "My little sister couldn't have cooled off a man faster."

"Thanks, Tall and Shaggy." Massha smiled, stepping over her would-be suitor. "I have a lot of respect for Tananda's talent, so coming from you—"

She paused, a blank look on her face. I wondered if the Spectre had grabbed her leg. I glanced down, but he was out for the count.

"You okay?" I asked.

"I'm fine," Massha assured all of us. "I just felt far away for a moment."

"Oive," Mayno breathed, as he prepared to rappel down the face of Unmentionables, the gigantic underwear store in Corridor G.

"What?" Oive asked, from the rafters above him.

In the guise of a black-furred Troll, she stood with her heels braced against a joist, ready to pull Mayno up in case of trouble.

"I wasn't call-aing you," he replied. "I was just... looking down."

"Don't," Oive reminded him. "If you do, you'll lose your grip and go splat on the floor. I mean, your guts could be spread out all over the entire corridor!"

Mayno gulped. "I can't do zis!" he shrilled. "Zees is not fit activity for mall-rats. What is Rattila doing to us?"

"He thinks it gives him more of a buzz than stolen merchandise. Isn't that the weirdest thing you ever heard?" Oive's large eyes widened. "Maybe one of the personalities we brought him is making him crazy."

Mayno hastily lifted a finger to his lips. "Don't say that! He'll hear you!" He tugged on the ropes. "Can't we do this anoth-air way?"

"Find a happy place, dude," Oive advised. "Come on, pretend you're just lowering yourself into a giant cookie jar. You've got infinite pockets. Put all the cookies in the pockets..."

Mayno closed his eyes, and a blissful smile appeared on the Klahdish face he was wearing. "C'est marveilleuse. Okay, I go."

The Spectre turned out to be the first member of the newly founded Secret Admirers of Massha Fan Club. I'd wanted to split up the group into pairs, with Massha accompanying Par on his rounds, Chumley with Eskina, and me getting reacquainted—I mean patrolling—with Sibone, but I didn't like to leave her back uncovered, so to speak. Males of every species were coming out of the Mall's overly ornate woodwork to whistle, leer at, or bow to Massha.

Rimbaldi, the proprietor of The Volcano, appeared on his threshold, bowing and kissing his fingertips to her. Massha giggled like a schoolgirl. I raised my eyebrows at her.

"Well, it isn't every day someone appreciates my figure," she said. "I was so lucky to find Hugh."

"He's the lucky one," I stated. "Don't shortchange yourself."

Parvattani began to jump around as if he had a live fish in his shorts. He pulled the globe from his pocket.

"This way," he announced, pointing toward the hall to our left. His eyes danced with excitement. "It's a code S!" "S?" I asked.

"Skeeve. We gotta another sighting of your friend. I mean the perpetrator that's not your friend. He's hanging from a rope on an underwear shop."

"Good," I announced, smacking my hands together. "This time the guy's gonna get it in the shorts!"

"He fly zroo ze ayair wiz ze gray-dest of eeeze—!"

"Why is he singing like that?" Massha asked, as we homed in on Unmentionables.

"Because it isn't Skeeve," I gritted, "and I'm going to kill him."

The gangly figure of the pseudo-Klahd swung from a rope around his middle, lying flat out as if he were flying. A large crowd had gathered to point and giggle at the Klahd dangling from the store's facade. A couple of tourists with cameras were taking pictures.

"This ought to be easy," I asserted. "His eyes are closed."

Parvattani brought his globe of authority up to his mouth and started to bark out an order. "All guards—!"

"Don't do it!" Eskina warned him. "If he hears you, he will vanish again."

Par frowned, but lowered his voice to a whisper. "All guards within G sector, converge on Unmentionables. Repeat, Unmentionables. Assist in clearing the area. Apprehend suspect Skeeve."

I wasn't going to wait for the cavalry. I was about to solve my own problem.

"Massha, you have anything to cut with?"

"Sure, big spender," she replied, floating over my head. "One cut line, coming up! Or, down."

I signaled to Chumley and Eskina to fan out to the other side of the pink-painted doorway. The name Unmentionables was spelled out in fireflies that were supposed to blink in patterns, but they seemed stressed out because of the presence of an intruder swinging in front of them. um, they spelled out, some letters lit and others dark, mental, and two words that flashed in sequence, uns and

TABLE.

"Who is the idiot?" a scantily clad Deveel woman demanded, gazing up at the impostor with her hands on her hips. She caught sight of Par. "Captain! I demand you get that moron down from my storefront at once!"

"We're attempting-a to do that, madame," Par averred, saluting smartly.

Massha flew toward the swaying body like a zeppelin homing in on a target. She pushed her sleeves up purposefully and brandished a hooked amulet like a miniature scythe. I ran to position myself underneath the impostor. Massha let the spell loose. A bolt of purple fire shot out from the charm.

The fake flew upward. I looked up and saw a shadowy form on the rafters hauling on the rope like a stevedore. So they were working in teams! I flung myself at the wall and started to climb up the blinking letters.

"#@%#@*!" they read.

The fake opened his eyes and shrieked. The purple fire snaked around the rope a foot above the knot holding him up and burned right through it. He reached the beam and scrambled onto it just in time. He and his big, dark, hairy accomplice ran away along the beams under the roof. I reached the top of the storefront. It was ten or twelve feet from there to the beams. I couldn't let the phony get away again!

I pushed off with all my strength, but it wasn't enough. I grabbed air just out of reach of my target. The crowd screamed as I fell. My breath was knocked out of my body as something caught me. I tried to twist to see.

"Stop struggling, big guy," Massha grunted. "My flight belt will burn out!"

"Thanks," I gasped.

"Don't thank me," she insisted, as she brought me the rest of the way up to the white-painted beam. "Go get the phony creep!"

I didn't need the encouragement. I pulled myself upright and started running after the two thieves.

They knew their turf as well as I know every vein in my beautiful yellow eyes. They dashed toward a wall that I thought would be a dead end. At the last minute they clambered up and started running at right angles along another joist invisible against the white ceiling. I chinned up to the next level and continued my pursuit

Below me I could see the white hats of the guards jogging along, shouting warnings. Chumley made way for them, parting the crowd forcibly where necessary. Eskina, a foot shorter than the average shopper, had disappeared in the sea of heads.

Massha flanked me, readying a ring with a huge tan stone. The Skeeve kept glancing back at us, and as Massha raised her weapon, he spun on the narrow beam and pointed his joined hands at us.

"Duck!" I yelled.

Massha's eyes widened. She dove to one side as a tongue of green fire blasted by us. One of the dragonlings whom I had disturbed sleeping on the first beam let out a squawk of protest as it got a hot-seat. The beam itself was singed black for a significant diameter. I gulped. If one of us had been in the way of that spell, we would have been toast. Massha recovered quickly, firing off the ring.

A mass of writhing tan and gray flew toward the fugitives. As it neared them, it unwound into a coil of rope. The running figures flattened themselves on the beam. The rope should have followed their movements, but it expanded into a greater and greater mass and plummeted into the crowd. A cry went up as several shoppers were bound into a huge tangle with Chumley and some of the guards. An outraged, "Oh, I say!" escaped the Troll, who began to break the ropes one at a time between his mighty hands.

"Sorry, Chumley," Massha called, her face scarlet. It was up to me. I tried to ignore the fact that the boards I was running on were a hair narrower than my feet. I tried to ignore the sixty-foot drop if I should trip. All I could see was getting my hands on the Skeeve-impersonator and beating the heck out of him before turning what was left over to the authorities.

Another turning appeared ahead. This time I was aware of their trick, so I studied the beams that lay ahead of me. This time there were two sets of cross braces, one higher and one lower. Psychologically speaking, the thieves had gone up the first time. I thought it was a better-than-even chance they'd go down. I almost grinned as they reached the end of the beam, and the big thief crouched to jump to the lower level. He stuck out a hand to help the shorter thief, the Skeeve-clone, who slowed down so he could make the transit more safely. I put on a burst of speed, gathered myself, and leaped out into space.

My hands touched smooth warm flesh. I had him! The Skeeve yelled. We found ourselves hanging on either side of the beam with our legs dangling six stories in the air. His accomplice, who turned out to be a Troll with purple-black fur, wobbled its way back toward us. He would reach us in a moment. I wasn't in a position to fight.

The Skeeve saw my expression as I considered the dilemma.

"Monsieur, do not drop me. I am afraid of heights. Please. Please do not drop me."

The Troll was two steps away. I had no choice. I let go of the Skeeve's hand.

"You dropped me!" he screeched, as we fell.

The crowd saw us dropping toward them and fled the area, screaming. A purple blur dashed into the newly cleared floor, and put out its arms. I collapsed into a nest of thick hair and lay there gasping.

"Thanks, Chumley," I croaked.

"Think nothing of it, old man," the Troll assured me gallantly. I got my breath back and waved my arm. "Let me down." He set me on the floor. "Where is the SOB?"

"Right here," Chumley gestured, pointing to a body on the floor. It didn't look like Skeeve. It was small, hairy, and terrified.

"What is it?" I asked distastefully.

Chumley picked his foot up off its neck. The skinny creature, which would be up to my hip if I let it stand up, lay panting on the floor. It had a short, light brown pelt everywhere on its body except its tail, which was naked, and its head, where the fur was longer, blonder, and teased into a pompadour. Strapped to its skinny back was a pack like a book bag. Parvattani's men quickly wound the beast up in a coil of lightning, which I'd taught them to use only that morning, and confiscated the tote.

"It's-a a mall-rat," Par explained, a sneer on his otherwise pleasant face.

"A species indigenous to confined shopping spaces on Flibber," Eskina explained. "They are very greedy and like to steal. It makes sense that Rattila would employ one so close in type to his own species. But they are not very intelligent. It would be difficult to teach them to do what the other shapechangers are doing. Perhaps he is the only one of his kind in Rattila's employ."

"And who are you calling stupeed?" the mall-rat complained.

"Not you," Eskina acknowledged. "You can't be too stupid, anyhow."

"Thanks for nothing, madame," the rat grumbled, hunkering down in a heap between us.

Parvattani stood on its tail. The guards went through the backpack. Inside was nothing but a pile of cards.

"Those are just like the ones I saw the Pervect gal using," I insisted.

"What are these?" Par demanded, waving one under our captive's nose.

"I have no idea," the mall-rat said, a blank look on his face. "Rath-air pretty, eh?" "Where did you get them? How do they work?"

"J'ne parle Flibber, monsieur."

"He is stupid." Eskina sighed.

"No, he's not," I contradicted her. I shoved my face into the rat's. "He's smart enough to know that I'm going to start ripping his limbs off one at a time if he doesn't start cooperating!"

"Hey, cool down, cool down, Green-skinned Dude!" the rat protested, scrambling to put some distance between his face and mine. He looked plaintively from Par to Chumley to me. "They are my cards, monsieur. Give them back, s'il vous plait? I will get in real trouble without zem."

"You have-a been causing a lot of trouble with them," Parvattani asserted, triumphantly. "Mr. Aahz, will you do the honors?"

"Wait a minute," I cautioned him, holding up a hand. "Let's make sure we're dealing with the real thing. Massha, is this the guy that we followed the other day?"

Massha hoisted her magik-detector amulet out from among the cluster of jewels hanging on her massive chest and waved it over our captive. "Yup."

"So," I deduced, "one of these cards is the one that lets him turn into Skeeve."

Massha shrugged. "That'd be my guess, but magik items are tricky. Unless he shows us how he did it, it's just a surmise."

"Which one is it? The tall Klahd with blond hair?"

I turned to the mall-rat, who stuck his long nose into the air. "Not a chance, monsieur. I do not do requests."

"Left arm first, or right?" I asked, casually. The mall-rat's eyes widened into twin blue pools of alarm.

"Hein, I did not say I wouldn't help out at all!"

"Good." I spread out the pack of cards in his face. "How do they work?"

The rat looked blank again. "You just—how you say?— I mean, I just hold it. You say the words. And then it works."

"That's real descriptive," I gritted, menacingly. "Sounds pretty straightforward, Aahz," Massha soothed me. "You just invoke the card the way you'd invoke an amulet. What do you think, Eskina?"

The Ratislavan investigator nodded avidly. "It was meant to be easy to use."

"Aahz?" The rat's face brightened. "Yeah, I know you. I mean, the card does."

"Shut up!" I roared. I hated it that this piece of vermin might know anything about my ex-partner's inner thoughts. "Can anyone use these things, Massha, or are they keyed to him?"

Massha frowned. "I wish the Boss was here."

"Well, he's not," I snapped, probably sharper than I should have. "You're the real gadget mechanic, not him. This is your field of expertise. Think!" Massha looked a little surprised, but she got with the program.

"My guess is no," she offered, a little uncertainly. "If what Eskina said is true, that they work by the Law of Contagion, then they're generic."

"Do you have to be a magician to invoke it?"

"Doubt it," Massha stated.

"Good." I turned to the mall-rat. If furry creatures could sweat, he would have been soaking. "What are the words?"

"Oh, monsieur, I cannot say!"

"Sure you can," I insisted. "Say it, or you're going to have to eat oatmeal for the rest of your life."

The mall-rat's eyes widened with horror. "Oh, monsieur, you would not!"

I showed him all my teeth. "Try me."

The mall-rat muttered something low.

"Louder," I insisted.

"One Card to rule The Mall, One Card to Charge It, One Card to cruise The Mall, and in the darkness Lodge It."

I stared at him. "That's stupid."

The mall-rat shrugged. "The magician is not necessairily the poet."

"You can say that again." I picked up the first card, a square of orange, and nodded to Massha. 'Tell me what happens."

"Aahz, no!"

I invoked it.