ÿþAuthor's Note:

/ am not a fast writer,
I am not a slow writer,
I am a half fast writer!
R. L. ASPRIN

THE FAN MAIL I've received has been pretty much
split on the subject of my last Introduction; some
found it interesting and insightful, while others
thought it was boring and a waste. If you are of the
latter group, please feel free to jump ahead directly
into the story, since there is nothing in this mes-
sage you need to know to understand (and, hope-
fully, enjoy) the book.

For the rest of you, this note is mostly an
apology ... or, more accurately, a string of apol-
ogies.

Back in M. Y. T.H. Inc. Link, I optimistically stated
that I would be trying to write two Myth episodes
a year . . . and things have not been the same
since. I, my publishers, and many bookstores and
dealers have been flooded with queries and de-

vii

viii

Robert Asprin

mands for "the next Myth book," with each reader
being sure the books were in existence somewhere
because of the schedule I had so foolishly "com-
mitted to" in that introduction.

To belabor the obvious, 1 haven't been able to
write at the speed I anticipated at the time. While
the popularity of the series and the loyalty of its
readers is both gratifying and profitable, any pub-
lisher can tell you that trying to get a book out of
an author when "it isn't happening" is like push-
ing on a rope. You see, when I made my writing
"guesstimate," I had just finished writing MIL,
and the speed with which the prose goes onto the
page when I'm closing on the end of a book was
still fresh in my mind. That is, when it's flowing, it
flows very fast. What I had overlooked was the
months of outlining and false starts that go on
before things get flowing (These books only look
spontaneous and easy to write. Honest!) Anyway,
the cruel realities of the situation surfaced when I
tried to meet my promised schedule, and I fell far
behind my anticipated timetable. As the queries
and demands from the readers grew, the tolerance
of the publishers for late delivery grew less and
less, and the pressures on me increased "to get the
manuscript in" with, less and less time for rewrites
and polish.

Finally, in 1988, things blew up. I got into a
dispute with Donning/Starblaze (the prime Myth
publisher . . . the mass market [small paperback]
editions from Ace are subcontracted reprints) over
royalties. The dispute has been settled, and the

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

ix

only reason I mention it here is that it lasted the
better part of a year . . . delaying my writing that
much more.

In addition to the negotiated terms of that set-
tlement, however, there is an additional apology
that I owe the management of Donning. You see,
part of the settlement was that the next book (the
one you're holding) would not be advertised nor
orders taken until the manuscript had been deliv-
ered. This was an effort to take some of the
"deadline" pressure off my writing as I tried to get
back into stride. There were two unfortunate side
effects of that condition, however. First, I was
unable to reply to the many readers and fans
asking when the next book would be out ... as
it would be less than fair to insist that Donning not
advertise a release date, then banter it about my-
self. Secondly, at one point I gave my assurance to
Donning on the phone as to when the manuscript
would be completed . . . then promptly forgot
that I had done so. This meant that when I
encountered problems with my writing, I ne-
glected to warn Donning of the delay, and in that
absence of revised information, they launched an
extensive and expensive advertising campaign for
the release of the book in late '89 ... only to
suffer embarrassment and loss of credibility when
the manuscript failed to appear for production.

While I am not in a position to repair the
financial damage caused by the "false start" adver-
tising campaign, I feel it only honorable to offer
public apology to Donning for the professional

x	Robert Asprin

embarrassment which my memory lapse caused.
For the record, the late appearance of this volume
is due to delays at the author's end, not the
publisher, distributor, bookstore, or dealer. Writ-
ers are often quite loud in voicing horror stories
about having their works mishandled by the pub-
lishing industry, yet not so vocal when it comes to
admitting their own shortcomings. Folks, this time
the confusion and delays were my fault, and the
distress I feel because of that will only be com-
pounded if I allow others to take the blame by
remaining silent.

While I'm prattling, let me try to head off an-
other potential round of misunderstanding and
confusion. In July of '90, another humor series of
mine, science fiction this time, will premiere with
the publishing of Phule's Company. Please do not
panic. This new series is in addition to, not replacing,
the MYTH novels. As promised back in MIL, the
MYTH novels will continue at least through #12.

(More than) Enough said. While this intro hasn't
been as much fun as the last, look at it as a
different sort of insight into the "carefree life of an
author" and the frustrating complexities of the
publishing industry. Enjoy the book. I only hope it
justifies the wait.

ROBERT LYNN ASPRIN
February 1990

Introduction:

"What am I doing here?"

ANY RECRUIT, ANY ARMY

"NAME?"

Now, in those circles within whose company I
am accustomed to travelin', it is considered impo-
lite to ask questions in general . . . and that
question in specific. Unfortunately, I was currently
well outside those circles, and as such felt com-
pelled to answer the inquiry, however rude.

"Guido."

"Home address?"

"The Bazaar at Deva."

"What?"

"The Bazaar at ... Oh! Uh . . . just say . . .
'varies.'"

The joker what was takin' down this information
gives me a hard look before continuing with his
questions. I give him my best innocent look back,

1

2	Robert Asprin

which as any jury can tell you is most convincing
though deep down inside I am more than a little
annoyed with myself. Bein' a smarter than average
individual, I should have recalled that even
though my travels and adventures with the Boss
have accustomed me to other dimensions, to most
folks here on Klah such places as the Bazaar at
Deva are unheard of, and therefore suspicious. As
I am makin' a specific effort to be inconspicuous,
this is not the wisest answer to have given.

"Height and weight?"

This question makes me feel a bit better, as it
serves to remind me that whatever I say or do, I
will never be totally inconspicuous. You see, I am
what is politely referred to as "a large person" . . .
or less politely as "a knuckle-dragging monster."
While this is of invaluable assistance considerin' my
chosen profession, it does, however, make it difficult
to blend with any given crowd. In fact, I would be
the largest person in the line if it were not for Nunzio
who is maybe an inch shorter, but a bit bulkier.

I can see the guy with the questions has noticed
this all by himself, since he keeps glancin' back
and forth between the two of us as he jots down
my responses.

"Next of kin?"

"I guess that would be Nunzio, here," I sez,
jerkin' a thumb at my colleague.

"You two are related?"

"He's my cousin."

"Oh."

For a second I think he's about to say somethin'

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION	3

more, but then he just shrugs and scribbles a little
more on his pad.

"Do you have a criminal record?"

"Beg pardon?"

"A criminal record. Have you ever been ar-
rested?"

"No convictions."

That earns me another hard look.

"I didn't ask about convictions. I asked if you've
ever been arrested."

"Well . . . yeah. Hasn't everybody?"

"What for?"

"Which time?"

"How many times have you been arrested?"

"Oh, three . . . maybe four dozen times . . .
but no convictions."

The joker has his eyebrows up now.

"You've been arrested nearly fifty times with no
convictions?"

"No witnesses," I say, showin' him my teeth.

"I see," the guy sez, lookin' a little nervous,
which is one of the customary side effects of my
smiles. "Well . . . lefs try it this way ... are
you currently wanted by the authorities?"

"No."

"Good . . . good," he nods, fillin' in that blank
on the form in front of him.

"Okay . . . one final question. Do you know of
any reason why you should not be allowed to
enlist in the army of Possiltum?"

In the actualities of the siruational, I knew of
several reasons not to enlist . . . startin' with the

4	Robert Asprin

fact that I didn't want to and endin' with the
godawful wardrobe that I would be forced to wear
as a soldier-type.

"Naw."

"Very well/' he sez, pushin' the form across the
table at me. "Just sign or make your mark here,
please."

"Is that all?" I ask, scrirjblin' mv name in the
indicated spot.

"Is that all, sergeant," the joker smiles, pickin' up
the paper and blowin' on the signature.

Another reason for not joinin' the army occurs to
me.

"Is that all, sergeant?" I sez, bein' careful not to
let my annoyance show.

"No. Go to the next tent now and you'll be
issued a uniform. Then report back here and you'll
be assigned to a group for your training."

'Training?"

This is indeed somethin' what had never oc-
curred to me or Nunzio, and could put a serious
crimp in our projected timetable. I mean, how
much trainin' does it take to kill people?

"That's right . . . training," the sergeant sez
with a tight-lipped smile.

"There's more to being a soldier than wearing a
uniform, you know."

Bein' a survival oriented individual, I refrain
from speculatin' out loud as to what this might
entail. Fortunately, the sergeant does not seem to
expect an answer or additional comment. Rather,

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION	5

he waves me out the door as he turns his attention
to the next unfortunate.

"Name?"

"Nunzio."

Now, those of youse what have been followin'
dese books all along may be wonderin' just why it
is that Nunzio and me is signin' onto Possiltum's
army instead of performin' our normal duties of
bodyguardin' the Boss . . . who you probably
think of as the Great Skeeve, as you is not em-
ployed by him and therefore have no reason to
think of him as the Boss.

This confusion is understandable, as this book is
happenin' right after the book before the last one,
(M.Y.T.H. Inc. Link) . . . and at the same time as
the one before this (Myth-Nomers and Im-Pervec-
tions). Add to that the fact that this is one of the
M.Y.T.H. Inc. volumes, and is therefore bein' told
from my viewpoint instead of the Boss's, and it
becomes clear why your eyes is perhaps crossed at
this point in the narrative. The only consolin' I can
offer youse, is that if youse think my life whilst
workin' for the Boss is confusin' to read, youse
should try livin' it for a month or five!

Actually, to be totally honest with youse, dis
book is not startin' where I was the last time you
saw me, so let me refer youse back to the meetin'
which started us on this particular chain of
events . . .

Chapter One:

"What do you mean
my characters talk funny?"
D. RUNYON

IT is INDEED a privilege to be included in a war-type
council, regardless of what war it is or who in
specific is also attendin'. Only the very elite are
involved, which is to say those who will be fur-
thest from the actual fightin', as such gatherin's are
usually concerned with which portions of one's
forces are expendable, and exactly how and when
they are to be expended. Since it is demoralizin' for
those who are to be dropped into the meat grinder
to know they have been chosen as "designated
receivers," they are logically excluded from the
proceeding, seein' as how if they are made aware
of their roles in advance, they are apt to take it on
the lam rather than dutifully expiring on schedule,
thereby botchin' up many hours of plannin' on
both sides of the dispute in question. From this, it

7

8

Robert Asprin

is easy to see that attendin' these borin' but nec-
essary plannin' sessions is not only an honor, it
greatly improves one's chances of bein' alive at the
end of the fracas. To get killed in a battle one has
had a hand in settin' the strategies for is an
indication that one's plannin' abilities are sorely
lackin' and will count heavily against youse when
bein' considered for future engagements.

In this particular circumstantial, however, it was
no special honor to be included in the plannin'
session, as our entire force consisted of a mere five
personages ... six if you count the Boss's
dragon. Needless to say, none of us was inclined
to think of ourselves as fallin' into the "expend-
able" category. Realizin', however, that we was
supposed to be trying to stop a renegade queen
with a sizable mob of army-types at her disposal,
one was not inclined to make book on our chances
for survival . . . unless, of course, one was of-
fered irresistible odds and maybe a decent point
spread.

While there wasn't all that many of us, I, for
one, had no complaints with the quality of our
troops.

Tananda and Chumley are a sister and brother,
Trollop and Troll team. While they are some of the
nicest people it has ever been my pleasure to
encounter, either of them is also as capable as any
five knee-breakers ever employed by the Mob if
they find it necessary to be unpleasant. In the
Boss's absence, they have taken it on themselves to

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION	9

be the leaders of our expedition ... an arrange-
ment which suits me fine.

You see, my cousin Nunzio and me is far more
comfortable takin' orders than givin' them. This is
a habit we have acquired workin' for the Mob,
where the less you know about why an order is
bein' givin', the better off you are ... parti-
cularly if at a later point you should be called upon
to explain your actions under oath. (For those of
youse who have failed to read about our activities
in the earlier books in this series and are therefore
ignorant as to our identities and modus operandi,
our job description refers to us as "collection
specialists" . . . which is a polite way of sayin'
we're kneecappers.)

The fifth member of our little strike force is
Massha . . . and if that name alone is not suffi-
cient to summon forth an identifyin' image in your
mind, then it is obvious you have not yet met this
particular individual in the flesh. You see, Massha
has a singularly unique appearance which is
unlikely to be mistaken for anyone else, though
she might, perhaps, be mistaken for some-thing
else . . . like maybe a dinosaurous if said saurous
was bein' used as a travelin' display for a make-up
and jewelry trade show. What I am tryin' to say is
that Massha is both very big and very colorful, but
in the interest of brevity I will spare you the
analogous type comparisons. What is important is
that as big and as tough as she is, Massha has a
heart even bigger than her dress size.

We had been holdin' the start of our meetin'

L

10

Robert Asprin

until she got back from droppin' the Boss off on
Perv, which she had just done, so now we are
ready to commence the proceedin's.

"So you're tellin' me you think King Rodrick was
whacked by Queen Hemlock? That's why Skeeve
sent you all here?"

This is Big Julie talkin'. While me and Nunzio
have never met this particular individual before,
we have heard of his reputation from the days
when he also worked for the Mob, and it seems he
and the Boss are old friends and that he's one of
our main sources for information and advice in this
dimension. In any case, we are usin' his villa as a
combination meerin' point and base of operations
for this caper.

"That's right," Tananda sez. "Hemlock's always
been big on world conquest, and it looks like her
new husband wouldn't go along with her schemes."

"Realizing she now has the combined power of
her kingdoms' money and the military might of
your old army," Chumley adds, "it occurred to
Skeeve that she might be tempted to try to . . .
shall we say, expand her holdings a bit. Anyway,
he asked us to pop over and see first hand what
was happening."

"I see," Big Julie nods, sippin' thoughtfully at
his wine. "To tell you the truth, it never occurred
to me that the king's dyin' was a little too conve-
nient to be accidental. I'm a little surprised,
though, that Skeeve isn't checkin' this out himself.
Nothin' personal, but he never used to be too good
at delegatin'."

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

11

"He's busy," Massha sez, cuttin' it short like a
casino pit boss.

Tananda shoots her a look then leans forward,
puttin' a comfortin' hand on her knee.

"He'll be all right, Massha. Really."

Massha makes a face, then heaves one of her big
sighs.

"I know. I'd just feel a lot better if he let a couple
of us tag along, is all. I mean, that is Perv he's
wandering around in. They've never been noted
for their hospitality."

"Perv?" Big Julie scowls. "Isn't that where that
weirdo Aahz is from?"

"Where he's from, and where he's gone,"
Chumley supplies. "He and Skeeve had a falling
out, and friend Aahz has quit the team. Skeeve has
gone after him to try to bring him back . . .
which leaves us to deal with Queen Hemlock. So
tell us, Jules, what's the old girl been up to lately?"

"Well, I'll admit there's been a lot of activity
since the king died," Julie admits. "The army's
been on the move almost constantly, and both they
and the kingdom are getting noticeably bigger . . .
know what I mean? If s kinda tike the old days when
I was running the army, only on a bigger scale. I get
a postcard from one of the boys sayin' how they're
visitin' a new country, than ga-bing-ga-bang that
country's suddenly a new part of Possiltum."

"I see," the troll sez thoughtfully. "Well, what
do you think, little sister? You're the only one here
who was along the last time Skeeve stopped this
particular army."

12	Robert Asprin

"Not quite. You're forgetting that Gleep was
there . . . and, of course, Bigjulie."

She winks at that notable who responds with a
gracious half bow. Gleep, the Boss's dragon, raises
his head and looks around at the mention of his
name, then sighs and goes back to sleep.

"'Course, I was on the other side last time," Big
Julie sez, "but it occurs to me that you got your
work cut out for you this time around."

"How so?"

"Well, last time we was the invaders, you know?
The locals didn't like us, even though they didn't
take much of a hand in the resistance Skeeve
organized. This time, though, the army is the
home team, and folks in the kingdom are pretty
much behind 'em all the way."

"You mean the kingdomers are in favor of the
queen's new expansion moves?" Tananda frowns.

"That's right," Big Julie nods, "and when you
think about it, it stands to reason. The bigger the
kingdom gets, the more people there are to share
the cost, so the taxes get smaller. With their taxes
goin' down with each new conquest, the citizens
are positively ecstatic about the way things are
going. If that weren't enough, unemployment is at
an all time low what with so many goin' into the
army, so pay scales are sky high."

"So Hemlock's running a popular war, eh?"
Tananda sez, pursing her lips thoughtfully.
"Maybe that's the route for us to go. What do you
think, big brother?"

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

13

This last she directs at Chumley, who just
shrugs.

"I suppose it's as good a place as any to start.
Something about that analysis of the tax structure
bothers me, though."

I tended to agree with Chumley, but Tananda is
on a roll.

"Save it for the financial heavyweights," she
waves. "For the time being, let's focus on doing
what we're good at."

"And just what do you figure that is?" Massha
interrupts. "Excuse me, but could you two run that
by again slowly for the benefit of those of us who
aren't used to your brother/sister shorthand?"

"Well, the way I see it, our best bet is to work on
making Hemlock's expansion program unpopular.
I mean, there's not much the five of us can do
about stopping the army by ourselves, but if we
can get the populace worked up maybe the queen
will have to reconsider ... or at least slow
down."

"We could try to kill her," Massha sez pointedly.
"True," Tananda acknowledges, "and don't
think I haven't given that option some serious
thought. I think it's a little more drastic than
Skeeve had in mind when he sent us on this
mission, though. Anyway, I think I'd like to hold
that option in reserve for now, or at least until
Skeeve catches up with us and we have a chance to
clear it with him."

"Well, if you don't mind, there's another possi-
bility I'd like to try."

14	Robert Asprin

"What's that, Massha?"

"Tell me, Big Julie, is General Badaxe still run-
ning the army?"

"Hugh? Sure is. He's a fast learner, that one.
Remembers mostly everything I've taught him
about runnin' an army."

"Well," Massha sez, heaving herself to her feet,
"I think I'll just wander off and try to find his
headquarters. He had quite a thing for me the last
time I was through. Maybe if I look him up again,
I can get his mind off running the army for a while,
or at least distract him enough that they won't be
quite so efficient."

"I say, that's a good idea, Massha," Chumley
sez. "Speaking of the army, Guide, do you think
you and Nunzio can manage to sign up for a hitch?
Remembering how you stirred things up at the
Acme magik factory by getting the workers to
unionize, you're the logical choice for demoraliz-
ing the troops, and that's best done from the
inside."

"Yeah, sure," I sez with a shrug. "Why not?"

"Are you okay, Guido?" Tananda asks, peering
at me sudden-like. "You and Nunzio have been
awfully quiet since we started out on this ven-
ture."

"We're all right," Nunzio puts in quick. "We're
just a little worried about the Boss . . . like
Massha. Joinin' the army is fine by us, if you think
it will help things. Right, Guido?"

"I said it was okay, didn't I?" I snaps back at
him.

M.Y.T.H. INC. DM ACTION

15

"So what are you and Chumley going to be doin'
while we're playing solider?" Nunzio sez. It is
obvious to me that he is out to divert the attenhon
of the meetin' away from the two of us, but no one
else seems to notice . . . except maybe Big Julie
who gives me the hairy eyeball for a minute before
turnin' his attention back to the conversation.

"We're going to see what we can do about
stirring up the citizens," Tananda shrugs. "Tax
reductions are nice, but there are bound to be
some irritating things about life under Hemlock's
new programs. AH we have to do is root them out
and be sure that folks see them as irritating."

"Do you blokes want Gleep, or shall we take
him?" Chumley asked.

"Gleep?" sez the dragon, raisin' his head again.

"Aahh . . . why don't you and Tananda take
him," Nunzio sez quick-like. "Truth to tell, he
made me a little nervous the last time we was
workin' together."

"Who? Gleep?" Tananda sez, reaching over to
pet the dragon. "There's nothing to be nervous
about with him. He's just a big sweetie and a
snugglebug . . . aren't you, fellow?"

"Gleep!" the dragon sez again innocently while
leanin' against Tananda.

"Good. Then you won't mind havin' him with
you," Nunzio smiles. "That's settled."

"I suppose," Chumley sez absently, studyin' the
dragon as he talks. "Well, I guess we might as well
get started. Big Julie, do you mind if we relay
messages to each other through you? Otherwise

16	Robert Asprin

we're going to have trouble keeping track of
things."

"No problem," the retired general shrugged.
"To tell the truth, I figure you're all going to have
enough on your hands, so you shouldn't be wor-
rying about communications. I'll be here."

After sayin' our goodbyes to the others, Nunzio
and I head off to try to find a recruiter for the army.

For a long time, neither of us sez anything.
Finally, Nunzio clears his throat.

"Well, what do you think?"

"I think we got big trouble comin' our way," I
sez, tight-lipped, "and I don't mean with commu-
nications or even with Queen Hemlock."

"I know what you mean," Nunzio sighs, not
lookin' around as he trudges along. "You want to
talk about it?"

"Not just yet. I want a little more time to think
things through. In the meantime ..." I aims a
playful punch at him which, bein' Nunzio, he
takes without so much as blinkin'. ". . . let's
occupy ourselves with somethin' easy . . . like
disruptin' an army."

Chapter Two:

"We want to make you
feel at home!"

L. BORGIA

"AH'D LIKE TO welcome you all to this man's army! The
first thing you should know is that we're on a first name
basis here . . . and my first name is ser-geant . . .
Do I make myself clear?"

At dis, the individual so addressin' our group
pauses and glares at us. Naturally, there's no
answer, as no one is particularly eager to call
attention to themselves under dese circumstan-
tials. It seems, however, dis was not the response
the sergeant had in mind.

"Ah asked you a question!! Do you think Ah'm up
here running my mouth 'cause Ah like the sound of mah
own voice?"

It is clear that dis is a ploy to induce us new
recruits into makin' a mistake which will further
anger the sergeant, as at this point he has asked

17

18

Robert Asprin

not one, but two questions callin' for opposite
answers, and whatever answer is given is bound
to be wrong. The other unfortunates in line with
Nunzio and me seem to be unaware of this and
blunder headlong into the trap.

"YES, SERGEANT!" they bleat eagerly.

"WHAT??!! Are ya'll tryin' to be funny?"

The sergeant, who I am glad I never had to
compete against for a part in my old drama troupe,
gives every impression of bein' on the verge of
foamin' at the mouth and becomin' violent to the
point of injurin' himself and anyone else in the
near vicinity. Almost unnoticed, he has also asked
a third question, placin' the odds of comin' up
with an acceptable response well out of reach of
the intellects in line with us.

"No . . . Ahh" . . . "Yes,    Sergeant" . . . "Ahh . . .
No?"

The attempt to shout an answer dissolves in a
babble of confusion as the new recruits glance at
each other tryin' to sort out what they're supposed
to be sayin'.

"YOU!"

The sergeant's voice silences the group's efforts
as he homes in on one unfortunate in the front
row.

"What are you lookin at him for? Do you think
he's cute??"

"No!"

"What?"

"Ahh ... No, Sergeant?"

"Ah can't hear you!"

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

19

"No, Sergeant!"

"Louder! Sound off like you got a pair!"

'WO, SERGEANT!!"

"Thaf s better!"

The sergeant nods curtly, then turns his atten-
tion to the rest of the formation again.

Viewed correctly, dis is a fascinatin' study in
group-type dynamics. By focusin' on one individ-
ual, not only has the sergeant let the rest of the
group off the hook of tryin' to come up with an
acceptable response to his questions, he has im-
pressed on them that they really don't want to ever
be singled out by him.

"My name is Sergeant Smiley, and Ah will be your
drill instructor for the next few days. Now, right away
Ah want you to know that there are three ways of doing
things in this man's army: the Right Way, the Army
way, and My Way . . . we will do things My way!
Do I make myself clear?"

"YES, SERGEANT!!"

The group is gettin' into the swing of things
now, bellowin' out their responses like a conven-
tion of beat cops goin' after a jaywalker.

"AH right now, listen up! When I call out your
name, sound off loud and clear so's I know you're
here and not off wandering around somewhere.
Understand?"

"YES,. SERGEANT!"

"Bee!':

"Here!"

"HERE WHAT?"

The kid what has just answered is so skinny it

20

Robert Asprin

is surprisin' he can stand without assistance, but
he licks his lips nervously and takes a deep breath.

"HERE, SERGEANT!" he shouts, but his voice
cracks in the middle of it, makin' his declaration
less than impressive.

"That's better," the sergeant nods, apparently
satisfied with the youngster's effort. "Flie, Hyram!"

"Here, Sergeant!"

"Flie, Shubert!"

"Here, Sergeant!"

The sergeant looks up from his roster with a
scowl.

"Bee? Flie? What is this, a freaking Bug Conven-
tion?"

"We're brothers, Sarge/' one of the two Flies
supplies unnecessarily, as the physical similarities
between the two broad-shouldered individuals
would be obvious even if their names didn't link
them.

"That's right," the other put in. "You can call me
Hy for short, and Shubert there would rather be
called Shu, 'cause otherwise . . ."

"DID I ASK?"

"No, sir."

"Sorry, sir."

". . . AND DONT CALL ME SIR!!! I ain't no
freakin' officer* It didn't take a grant from the crown
to make me a gentleman . . . I was born one!! DO
VOU UNDERSTAND ME???"

"YES, SERGEANT!!"

"Drop down and give me twenty pushups just
so you won't forget!"

M.Y.T.H. INC. DM ACTION

21

"Umm ... is that ten from each of us, Sarge,
or . . ."

"TWENTY EACH!" Smiley roared. ". . . AND
ANOTHER FIVE EACH FOR CALLIN' ME
'SARGE'! MY NAME IS SERGEANT SMILEY OR
SERGEANT, NOT SARGE OR SIR! YOU GOT
THAT, TROOPER??"

"YES, SERGEANT!!"

"THEN HIT IT!!"

The two brothers drop down and start pumpin'
out pushups as the sergeant turns his attention
back to his list.

"Shu Flie and Hy Flie! My aching back! My God!
here's another one! Spyder!"

"Here . . . Sarge."

Smiley's head comes up with a snap like he has
been poked in the ribs . . . which, of course he
has. The use of the improper address so soon after
it was forbidden might have either been by mistake
or from stupidity were it not for the deliberateness
with which it was uttered. As it was, however,
there was no mistaking it for what it was: A
challenge to the sergeant's authority . . . which
is to say, stupidity.

The challenger is a sight to behold. She probably
would have stood out in the line in any case, bein'
the only female-type in our group, though one
might have had to look a couple times to notice, as
she stood in a habitual slouch. Her hair, however,
made her a real showstopper. Cropped to a me-
dium, mane-type length, it was dyed . . .
somethin' I do not normally speculate on regardin'

22

Robert Asprin

a skirt until we is on very close acquaintances, after
which time I am too much of a gentleman to share
such information with anyone who is not. In this
circumstantial, however, I feel free to make said
assumption, as hair, whether attached to a male or
female-type bod, does not naturally come in that
color ... or, to be entirely accurate, colors.
Stripes of pink, white, blue, and green run across
this broad's head from front to back . . . and not
in subtle tones. These colors glow with electric-
type vibrancy like they are bein' fueled by her
glower, which would be truly intimidatin' if it
were, perhaps, pasted on a homelier mug . . .
like, say my own. It has been some time since
Nunzio and I hung out on the streets, but it is clear
the type of punks they are currently breedin' is a
strain mutated noticeably from our early days
when "colorful" referred to our language, not our
hair!

"Well, well," the sergeant sez, lickin' his chops a
bit," what have we here? It seems we are to be a
part of the army's experimental program which is
specifically testing the truth in the saying that the
only thing meaner than a fighting man of Fossil-
turn is a woman! Now I want all you men to watch
your language during training. We have a laaaa-
dyyyy in our midst."

From the way the skirt bristles, it is clear she is
not used to bein' referred to as a lady . . . and
doesn't care much for the idea. Smiley isn't
through with her, however.

"Tell me, little lady, what is that you've got on

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

23

your head? If it's something that crawled up there
and died, I hope you've had your shots 'cause it
doesn't look like it was any too healthy!"

"It's called 'hair,' Surge! What do you have on
your head?"

"It isn't what I've got on my head that's impor-
tant, 'emit," the sergeant smiles, "it's what's on
my sleeve!"

He taps the stripes that mark his rank.

"Three up, three down. You know what that
means?"

"That you're a Master Sergeant, Sarge."

"Close, but no cigar. It means you owe me
fifteen pushups, 'emit, five for each time you've
called me 'Surge.' Hit it!"

I expect the skirt to give him an argument at this,
but instead she just drops down and starts
pumpin' out pushups like it's what she has been
after all along . . . and maybe it was. I don't
know what kind of breakfast-type cereal this broad
patronizes, but she is doin' a notably better job of
rackin' up her pushups than the Flie brothers.

"One . . . Two . . . Three . . ."

Smiley watches her for a few moments, then
turns his attention to the other figures on the
ground.

"YOU TWO! I said give me twenty-five!"

This last was, of course, directed to the Flie
brothers.

"We're . . . trying . . . sergeant!"

"WELL I CAN'T HEAR YOU! COUNT 'EM
OFF/.'"

24	Robert Asprin

"Seventeen . . . eighteen ..."

"YOU DON'T START COUNTING AT SEVEN-
TEEN!! YOU START COUNTING AT ONE!!! DO
YOU THINK I'M DUMB?!!"

"No . . . sergeant! . . . One . . . two . . ."

"Now listen up 'cause I'm only gonna say this
once!" the sergeant barks, turnin' his attention
back to the rest of us. "When I'm talking, your ears
are open and your mouths are shut! You don't say
nothin' 'less I ask you a question, whereupon you
answer it briefly then shut up! When I want ques-
tions from you, I'll say 'Any questions?'! Do / make
myself clear!"

"YES, SERGEANT!

"All right then." He started to look at his roster
again, then glanced at the struggling figures on the
ground. "That's enough, you three. Get back in
line. Now then, where was I? Guido!"

"Here, Sergeant!" I sez, 'cause I was.

"That's it? Just 'Guido?' No nickname like
Cricket or anything?"

"No, Sergeant!"

He waited for a few seconds to see if I was gonna
add anything, but I didn't, as I've always been a
fast study. Finally he gives a little nod and moves
on.

"Juney!"

"Here, Sergeant! ... but folks call me 'June-
bug.'"

Some people, on the other hands, never seem to
learn.

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

25

"Twenty!" the sergeant sez without even lookin'
up from the roster.

And so it went. By the time the sergeant is
through checkin' off the list of names, over half of
our group has been called upon to demonstrate
their physical prowess, or lack thereof, by per-
formin' a number of pushups, the exact count of
which varies dependin' upon the sergeant's mood
and their ability to remember to count out loud
whilst performin' this exercise. This raises some
serious questions in my mind as to the average IQ
of the individuals who have chosen to enlist in the
army, a rather disquietin' thought realizin' that I
am one of said individuals. In an effort to maintain
a positive-type frame of mind, I reassure myself
that my enlistin' was a matter of followin' orders
rather than any idea of my own.

"All right, LISTEN UP!" the sergeant bellows,
havin' finished with his roll call. "In about half an
hour. Corporal Whittle will take you across camp
and get your hair cut to conform with army stan-
dards."

The little shrimp who has been lurkin' in the
background draws himself up to his full insignifi-
cant height and smiles at this. Now Sergeant
Smiley is a rather imposin' dude, though a touch
out of shape around the middle, but the corporal
looks like he would fail the entrance requirements
to be a meter-type maid. That is, he looks to be the
unpleasant kind of wimp who only pulls wings off
flies when he has enough rank to back him up.

26	Robert Asprin

Lookin' at his smile, I begin to have serious mis-
givin's about these haircuts.

"In the meantime," the sergeant continues, "you
have a period of unstructured time, during which
you may talk, sleep, or get to know each other. I
suggest you take maximum advantage of this, as it
will in all probability be the last time you will have
to yourself until your training is completed. Now,
before I dismiss you, are there any questions?"

To my surprise, two individuals raise their
hands. This is a surprise first of all because I
thought that most individuals would be cowed
into silence by the sergeant's performance thus far,
and secondly because one of the hands belongs to
none other than my cousin Nunzio!

"You!" Smiley says, pointin' at the closest ques-
tioner. "State your name and question."

"Bee, Sergeant. I ... I think there's been a
mistake on my enlistment."
The sergeant shows all his teeth.
"The army doesn't make mistakes, son . . .
except, maybe one." He shoots a glance at Spyder,
who ignores him this time. "What's your prob-
lem?"

"Well ... I shouldn't be here. I enlisted as a
magician, and my recruiter said that ..."

The sergeant's smile widens sufficiently to stop
the recruit in mid-sentence.

"Son," he sez, in a voice that's more like a purr,
"it's time you learned one of the harsh truths about
the army. Recruiters lie! Whatever that sorry soul
told you, son, unless you got it in writing signed

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

27

by the queen herself, it don't mean squat! Now I'm
telling you that every 'emit that signs onto this
man's army will learn' basic infantry skills before
receivin' his first assignment before active duty.
You might get assigned as a magician, or you might
not ... it all depends on whether they need
magicians or cooks when your number comes up
for assignment, but you aren't gonna get assigned
anywhere until I say your basic training is complete.
Next question!"

"Nunzio, Sergeant! How long does it take to
complete basic training?"

"That depends on how long it takes you unfor-
tunates to learn the minimal skills required for you
to wear the uniform of Possiltum. Usually it takes
a week to ten days . . . but from the looks of you
sorry souls, I figure you'll have the pleasure of my
company for at least a month."

"You mean none of us gets assigned until every-
one in this group completes their training?"

"That's right. Any other questions?"

My cousin glances down the lines at me, but I
keep my eyes straight forward, hopin' his action
isn't noticed. Luckily the sergeant misses this little
blip in the formation, and as soon as he dismisses
us Nunzio and I go into a huddle.

"What do you think?" he sez, worried-like.

"Same as you," I shrug. "We sure can't take no
month gettin' trained if we're gonna by any help
upsettin' the regular troops."

"That's for sure," he nods. "Looks like we're
gonna have to push these recruits a little ourselves

28	Robert Asprin

to be sure they pick up this training in double-
quick time."

This realization puts my mood at an all-time low.
It was bad enough that I was gonna have to do
time as a soldier-type, but now I was gonna have
to play nursemaid and coach to a bunch of raw
recruits as well!

Chapter Three;

"Just a little off the top!"

A. BOLEYN

THE HAIRCUT TURNED out even more ghastly than I had
feared in my worst nightmare-type dreams. I
would be tempted to lay in wait and inflict a little
instructional-type revenge upon the individual
what laid said haircut on me, but it would proba-
bly do no good as he was obviously brain damaged
at birth and can't help bein' like he is. Instead, I
should be thankful that society has found a place
for a person what has only learned one style of
haircut where he can serve a useful purpose.
Further, I suppose it is only logical that that place
is in the army, where his "customers" have no
choice but to put up with whatever haircut they
are given. My only puzzlement is where they
managed to find an entire room full of mental

29

30	Robert Asprin

deficients who have all only learned the same
haircut.

The haircut under discussion is unique in its lack
of imagination and style, consistin' of simply re-
movin' as much hair from the victim as possible
through the vigorous application of a pair of clip-
pers. If they lowered their aim another quarter
inch or so, the job would qualify as a scalpin'
rather than as a haircut. Now, I have nothin'
against baldness, and know a couple hard-type
wiseguys in the Mob what shave their heads to
look especially mean. What we ended up with,
however, was not enough hair to look stylish, but
too much to look tough.

Now this in itself was annoyin', but the haircut
in  conjunction  with  the  uniforms  which  was
foisted off on us bordered on bein' intolerable. For
those of youse which are fortunate enough not to
have viewed the Possiltum army uniforms first
hand,   they consist of somethin'  like a  short-
sleeved flannel nightshirt, which is worn under a
combination breastplate and skirt made of hard-
ened leather. That's right, a skirt. At least, I can't
think of any other way to describe a bunch of
leather strips hangin' down to about knee length
with no semblance of legs built in. As a final insult,
we was each issued a pair of sandals, which to my
opinion did not even come close to replacin' the
spiffy wing-tipped black and white shoes I nor-
mally favor.

The overall impression of our trainin' group
once we had been shorn and uniformed, was that

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

31

we looked like a pack of half-dressed department
store mannequins waitin' to be fitted for wigs.

"Nunzio," I sez, surveyin' the damage what has
been done to my hitherto head-turnin' image, "tell
me again about how nothin' is too desperate when
it comes to guardin' the Boss or carryin' out his
orders."

Now, this is a mistake. While my cousin is a
first-rate partner when it comes to rough and
tumble, lurkin' in the depths of his sordid resume
is the fact that he did time as a schoolteacher for a
while, and the lingerin' effect of that experience is
that he has a tendency to deliver lectures on nearly
any subject at the drop of a hat or a straight-type
line.

"You just don't understand the psychology in-
volved in converting civilians to soldiers, Guido,"
he sez in that squeaky voice of his that can be so
irritatin' at times . . . like now. "Hair styles, like
fashions in clothing, are distinctive marks of one's
previous social and financial standing. The whole
idea of the haircuts and uniforms is to reduce
everyone to a common denominator, as well as
giving them a traumatic, but harmless, experience
to share, thereby encouraging bonding."

Normally, 1 would not dream of arguin' with
Nunzio, as I not only am inclined to lose, it only
gives him an excuse to prolong and embellish
upon whatever half-baked theory he is emotin'
upon. This time, however, I feels compelled to
take umbrage with his assertions.

"Cousin," I sez, "can you look around at our

32	Robert Asprin

fellow unfortunates and tell me honestly that you
can't tell who comes from where without commit-
tin' such blatant perjury that even the most bought
judge would have to call youse on it?"

I mean, shorn and frocked as we are, it is still
pretty easy to spot who the players are and where
they're comin' from. The Flie brothers have that
well muscled, robust glow of health what only
comes from puttin' so many hours a day into farm
work that doin' time in the army has to look like a
resort vacation to them. Bee, with or without hair,
looks like a fledgling geek, and as for the Spyder
broad . . . well, givin'a wolf a poodle cut doesn't
make it look like a show dog, just like a pissed off
wolf! It was clear to me that wherever that junior
sociopath went to school, it couldn't have been
more than a block or two from the alma mother
what gave Nunzio and me our head start on the
other head bashers in the Mob.

As usually occurs, however, just when it looks
like I'm gonna finally win an argument with Nun-
zio, somethin' intervenes to change the subject.

"Do you believe this?" the tough broad spits . . .
literally . . . lettin' fly with an impressive jet of
fluid from between her teeth to punctuate her anger.
"Military Law! It's bad enough that we have to put
up with these haircuts and flaky uniforms, but now
we have to sit through lectures on crud like Military
Law! When are they gonna get around to teaching us
something about fighting?"

This does not come as a particularly startlin'
revelation to me, as I have long suspected that

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

33

Spyder did not enlist for the cultural-type benefits
that the army offers. I am, however, more than a
little taken with the distance she gets with her
spittin'. It occurs to me that I haven't tried spittin'
that way since Don Bruce promoted us and hinted
strongly that we should class up our act a little,
and, realizin' this, decide not to try to match her
performance, as distance spittin' such as hers
requires constant practice if one is to remain in
form. For the educatin' of those of youse what has
been raised too proper and upright to have ever
experimented with this particular form of self-
expression, let me caution youse against tryin' this
for the first time in front of a critical audience. If
your technique is anythin' less than flawless, the
odds are that your effort will dribble down your
chin and onto your shirt rather than arcin' away in
the picturesque display you are expectin', leavin'
the viewers with an impression of youse as a
chump rather than whatever it was youse was
tryin' to pass yourself off as.

All of this passes through my mind in a flash, as
I am a fairly quick thinker despite the impression
given by my size, whilst I am tryin' to think of an
appropriate response to Spyder's kvetchin'. Nun-
zio comes up with somethin' before I do, however,
as he is no slouch himself when it comes to
thinkin' . . . particularly when there is a skirt
involved,

"I think you should listen real close to what they
tell us about Military Law, Spyder," he sez, "it'll
pay some solid benefits in the long run."

34	Robert Asprin
"How so?"

"Well," he smiles, settlin' into his lecture voice
again, "speaking from long personal experience, it
is often much easier to continue doing exactly
what you want to do right under the noses of
authority if one is aware of exactly what those
authorities  consider  to  be  antisocial  behavior.
When you stop to think about it, it's real nice of the
army to give us official advance warning of exactly
what rules they plan to enforce and, by exclusion,
what is fair game. If they didn't, or we were dumb
enough to sleep through this particular lecture, the
only way to figure out what activities can be done
openly and which should be performed in ...
shall we say, a less public manner, would be to act
blindly, then wait to see what they came down on
us for."

"Just how long is that 'personal experience/
fellah?" one of the Flie brothers pipes up.

"Yeah, I was just wondering the same thing,"
the other chimes in. "Aren't you two a little old to
be joining the army?"

Now, it is clear to me what is goin' on. The two
farm boys have been hopin' to put some moves on
Spyder, but then Nunzio gets in the way. Rather
than backin' off like any sane person would do,
they was rryin' to score their points by pickin' a
fight with him. To say the least, I have seen better
plans to continue one's good health.

Of course, Nunzio can spot it too, and he knows
that we should be avoidin' any kind of trouble if
we want to complete our training quick instead of

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

35

sittin' in the stockade for a few days. He also
knows, however, that he is bein' made to look like
a fool in front of the only skirt we is likely to be
associatin' with for a while, and while he has
considerable tolerance at soakin' up abuse from a
boss what is payin' our wages and expenses, his
ability to put up with bein' hassled without
blowin' his cool drops in direct proportion to the
standin' of the hassler in the peckin' order, and the
Flie brothers don't stand very high at all.

"Are you boys sayin' you think we're too old to
be any good in a fight?" he sez, turnin' to face his
critics while flexin' his hands slightly.

If I didn't recognize the dangerous tone in his
voice, I could sure recognize that flexin' action of
his as I was the one who taught it to him in the first
place, and figure I had better step in before things
get too messy.

"Before proceedin' with the discussion at hand,"
I sez, "I think youse should all perhaps take notice
of the attention which is bein' paid to our
intellectual-type conversation by the corporal who
is standin' not twenty yards behind youse."

"'Intellectual-type discussion'?" Shu brays,
punchin' his brother on the arm. "What kind of
talk is that, Old Man?"

"Paw told us big city folk talked kinda funny/'
Hy grinned, "but I ain't never heard nobody who
sounds as weird as this guy."

"He's talked that way ever since he played one
of the leads in 'Guys and Dolls' while we was in

36	Robert Asprin

college," Nunzio sez, quick-like. "Beyond that, I
strongly suggest you drop the subject."

That's when I realize that I have commenced to
flex my own hands a bit . . .an action which has
the tendency to make Nunzio nervous. While I am
not particularly sensitive to callous or ignorant
remarks about my size or how I'm gettin' older, I
can get a little touchy if anyone tries to poke fun at
how I talk. You see, I have spent considerable time
perfectin' this particular style of expression as I feel
it enhances my believability as a rough and tumble
leg-breaker, thereby minimizing the number of
times I have to actually partake of the violent-type
actions which so offend and depress my sensitive
soul. Therefore, anyone who tries to state or imply
that talkin' like dis is easy or stupid is issuin' an
invitation to waltz with me which would best be
withheld unless his or her hospitalization insur-
ance is substantial, detailed, and paid up. This is,
of course, the very button the Flie brothers is
tinkerin' with, and I find their efforts sufficiently
clumsy as to require immediate instruction as to
the error of their ways and perhaps a little behav-
ioral adjustment. The fact that I am still annoyed
over the haircuts and uniforms and sorta lookin'
for someone to take it out on has completely
nothin' to do with my reactions.

"Were you in that musical, too?" Junebug sez,
unwittingly steppin' between us in his eagerness
to start a conversation. He is a good-Iookin' kid
with the kind of soft, unblemished features usually
associated with male fashion-type models. "I got

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

37

to play Sky Masterson, myself. What was your
major, anyway? I got my Bachelor's in Dance."

"BusAd ... a Master's," I sez, try in to ease
around him.

Unfortunately he has given the Flie brothers a
face-savin' out from the buildin' confrontation
with Nunzio and me. Whether motivated by any
native intelligence or simply saved by animal sur-
vival instinct, they switch their harassment to this
new target without so much as pausin' for breath."

"A college man? . . . And a dancer! Ooooo!
Did you hear that, Hy?"

"Sure did," his brother responds and com-
mences to make kissey noises at Junebug. "No
wonder he's so purdy."

"Leave him alone, you guys!"

This last comes from Spyder, who for some
reason has seen fit to deal herself into the sirua-
tional.

"Oh yeah?" Shu sneers, turnin' his attention
toward this new front. "And who's going to make
me?"

"If I have to, I will," Spyder shoots back.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Well then, why don't you show us ... OW!"

By now I have cooled off enough to take advan-
tage of the situational as it presents itself. As they
puff up and start to strut toward Spyder, the two
brothers have thoughtlessly and rudely turned
their backs on me. Before they can close on her, I

38	Robert Asprin

have stepped in behind and between them, and
dropped a friendly arm around their shoulders.

"Excuse me, Spyder," I sez with a smile, "but I
need to have a few words with these boys in
private whilst they are still able to stand and walk
without the aid of crutch-type assistance. Right
boys?"

"OW! . . . Right!"

"Yeah . . . Aaah! . . . Sure!"

The sudden cooperative nature of the Flie broth-
ers is in no small way influenced by the fact that I
have casually dug a thumb into the hollow of a
collarbone on each of them and tend to tighten my
grip another notch each time I asks them a
question . . . regardless of how rhetorical it might
be. The real trick to this maneuver, in case any of
youse is interested in technical-type details, is
not to loosen your grip once you start tightenin'
it. That is, it isn't squeeze . . . release . . .
squeeze . . . release . . . , it's squeeze . . .
tighten . . . tighter . . . grind. . . . See what I
mean? Now if, perhaps, youse have developed
your grip to a point where you can crumble bricks
with it ... like I have . . . this will prove to be
a most convincin' punctuation to the weakest of
logic durin' a difference of opinion.

Anyhoo, returnin' to my oration, I draws the
two brothers aside for a little chat, all the while
keepin' a wary eye on the hoverin' corporal.

"Now, don't you think it would be a good idea
for you boys to lighten up a little? (squeeze)" I sez
softly so's we are the only ones who can hear.

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

39

"There are two things you should be considerin'
here. First, dis collection of individuals we is goin'
through trainin' with constitutes a group, and
within a group it is always better to be nice than
nasty. With nice, you got friends who will cover
your back in a fight . . . with nasty, youse gotta
watch your back from them. You got that?
(tighten)"

"Right, Guido!"

"OW! Sure Guido!"

"Good. Now second, I want youse to keep in
mind that if you does not abandon your querulous
habits, and those habits slow or otherwise inter-
fere with this group completin' its trainin' in the
shortest possible time . . ." I sneak a glance at the
corporal, then lower my voice while takin' great
pains to keep a smile on my face. ". . . then I will
personally rip off each of youse guy's heads and spit
down your neck! (tighter) You got that?"

"Gaah! Yeah! Got it!"

"Anything you . . . Owww . . . say, Guido!"

"Oh yeah. Just one more thing. I don't talk funny.
(grind) Agreed?"

"Aaaahhh ..."

"God ..."

I noticed the corporal is comin' our way, thereby
signalin' an end to our playtime.

"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" I sez, and releases my
grip all at once.

I have neglected to mention durin' my previous
instructional oration that if youse relaxes the afore-
mentioned grip suddenly and completely, the re-

40	Robert Asprin

sultin' rush of blood to the area which has been
assaulted by said grip causes additional discomfort
to a point where some subjects have been known
to faint dead away. The advantage of this is
obvious, in that you are not actually even touching
them at the moment the effect takes hold.

The Flie brothers are in exceptionally good
shape, as I have noted before, so they merely
stagger a bit. It is clear to them, however, as it is to
me, that for a while they will have extreme diffi-
culty movin' their arms with any degree of speed
or strength . . . like say, in a fight. This, of
course, has the originally desired effect of mel-
lowin' their previously bully in', swaggerin' behav-
ior noticeably.

"What's going on here?" the corporal demands,
burstin' in on our little group.

I blinks innocent-like and gave him a helpless
shrug like he was a DA during cross examination.

"We was just discussin' the logical-type benefits
of social over antisocial behavior in a group situa-
tional."

"Oh yeah? Is that right, you two?"

The Flies try to match my shrug, but wince
halfway through the gesture and have to resort to
nods.

The corporal glares at us suspiciously for a few,
then turns to the rest of the group.

"All right, everybody form up in two lines!" he
hollers in a poor imitation of the sergeant. "It's
time we move out for the classrooms!"

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

41

"Did our agitators respond properly to applied
logic?" Nunzio murmurs, easin' up beside me.

"Sure did," I nods. "What's more, I think they
got it in one lesson. I don't know why you keep
sayin' that youth today is slow learners."

He rolls his eyes at this and fakes a mock swing
at me.

"Maybe we should start calling you 'Fly Swat-
ter,'" he grins.

Some of the other recruits laugh at this, which
makes me a tad nervous, as I know from the Mob
just how easy it is to get saddled with a screwball
nickname after some dumb incident or other. The
corporal saved me the trouble of havin' to change
the subject, however, as he chose that moment to
start hollerin' and wavin' for us to get together for
the next round of trainin'.

"Come on," I sez, bouncin' a punch off his arm
that was notably harder than the one he had taken
at me. "We gotta go learn how to be effective
fighters."

Chapter Four:

"Squeeze, don't jerk, the trigger."
R. ROGERS

UNFORTUNATELY, THE "Fly Swatter" moniker Nunzio
hung on me stuck ... or at least the "Swatter"
part did. What was even more discomfortin' was
the fact that I got tagged by the sergeant to be
Actin' Squad Leader for the little group of recruits
I have already named, which is much of why I
named them. This position consisted of nothin'
more than playin' sheepdog for the 'Bugs,' as
everyone seemed to take great delight in callin'
'em, while they was bein' herded from one trainin'
session to another. Still, it was a leadership posi-
tion, which, as I have earlier noted, I tend to avoid
like I would a subpoena.

The stuff we had to learn as part of our basic-
type trainin' wasn't really too bad, though. Most of
the information they passed along was indeed
43

44

Robert Asprin

necessary when considered as an overview, and it
was presented simply, but with a real effort toward
makin' it interestin' enough to hold the attention
of us recruits. This was a pleasant change from my
college profs, most of whom seemed to feel they
was the greatest experts on the most interestin'
subjects and that the students should feel lucky to
pay substantial hunks of money for the privilege of
worshipin' at their feet. What's more, they tested
the loyalty of said students on a regular basis by
the simple process of makin' the presentation dull
enough to bore a stone and seein' who managed to
stay awake long enough to absorb sufficient data to
pass their finals.

The army, in direct contrast, started with the
basic assumption that recruits would be totally
ignorant and couldn't care less about the subject at
hand, unless it was made interestin' enough to
hold their predictably short attention, often by
graphically demonstratin' at a personal level how
vital said subject was to the continued functioning
of their bodies.

(Out of courtesy to those of youse who are
currently investin' large hunks of your or your
kid's time in college, I will refrain on commentin'
on which system I think is better for passin'
information, much less the actual life value of that
information which is bein' passed, and confine
myself to the simple observation that instruction in
the army is neither mindless nor lackin' in value.
What's more, they pay you while you're learnin'. Of
course, things might be quite a bit different if

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

45

corporations other than fast food franchisers took
it upon themselves to take an active hand in the
trainin' of their employees . . . but that is a
whole 'nother subject and a definite digression
from the subject at hand, which is army trainin'.)

For the most part, Nunzio and I had no com-
plaints with the lessons, and even found them
uniquely informational. As youse are probably
aware, the Mob is big on individual tactics or
free-for-all-type brawls such as is usually the case
in ambushes, so learnin' to fight from formations
was a genuinely new experience for us. Of course,
we had some difficulty acceptin' that this would
ever be of actual use to us.

Firstus, as I have just so previously mentioned,
bodyguardin' usually involves ambushes and
what is known in sports as "scramble defense,"
raisin' serious doubts in our mind that formation
fightin' would be utilizable in our civilian life after
the service, seein' as how we would lack the
warm-type bodies for such maneuvers, and it is
doubtful those throwin' the surprise party would
give us sufficient time to gather the necessary
quantities of warm bodies, as the entire purpose of
their ambush is to catch us with our tactical pants
around our ankles.

Secondous, and more to the point, however, it
was unclear how we was supposed to use these
tactics while in the army. You see, at this point it
was no secret that the army of Possiltum was the
largest, best equipped force around, so few king-
doms or towns chose to buck the long odds by

46

Robert Asprin

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

47

confrontin' them in the field where formation-type
tactics would come into play. Consequentially,
there was little actual fightin' goin' on when they
moved into a new neighborhood, an any opposi-
tion offered was more on the order of covertous
resistance of the stab-em-in-the-back or slit-their-
throats-while-they're-asleep-type variety. As for-
mations were of absolutely no use in dealin' with
this kind of petty harassment, it was hard for us to
understand why we was havin' to spend so much
time learnin' about them.

Somehow, however, Sergeant Smiley neglects to
ask our advice as to the content of his trainin'
program, so we are spared the discomfort of havin'
to figure out how to share our views with him
without hurtin' his feelin's.

Similarly, when it is explained to us that we has
to learn marchin' as it is "the best way to move a
group of soldiers from one point to another in the
shortest period of time," we are not given a chance
to ask if the army in general or the sergeant in
specific has considered the benefits of rapid tran-
sit.

While there are numerous points like this of
dubious logic throughout our trainin' there is only
one point which we take serious exception to.
While we take great pains to keep this variation
from army thinkin' from becomin' obvious, it
finally escapes into the light of public notice one
day while we are at the firin' range.

The army is havin' us train with crossbows . . .
which is understandable, as the trainin' time nec-

essary for usin' a longbow with any degree of
proficiency in a combat situational is considerable,
thereby makin' it a dubious subject of study for
basic trainin'. Slings is even worse, as until one has
reached near expert familiarity with one, the best
odds of inflicrin' injury with this weapon is that of
hangin' oneself with said weapon whilst tryin' to
get the rock to fly somewhere near the general
direction of the target. The most physically inept of
klutzes, however can attain a minimal level of
effectiveness with a crossbow in a single after-
noon, which is doubtlessly why the army chose
this particular weapon to introduce the recruits to
the intricacies of projectile combat.

"You will notice that you will be firing at full
sized, man-shaped targets for this exercise," Ser-
geant Smiley says, havin' already bellowed at
length on range safety and proper handlin' of the
weapons. "The army has chosen to have you train
on these as opposed to bull's-eyes, as it will better
prepare you mentally and emotionally to fire your
weapon at a live opponent. At all times during this
exercise, you will fix it in your minds that the
dummy facing you is a live enemy who wants to
kill you, and conduct yourselves accordingly. Do 1
make myself clear?"

"YES, SERGEANT.'/"

The crew has this response down pat now . . .
and it only took 'em a few days of trainin' to
master it. Nunzio and me joins in at the proper
cue, though there are some questions which could
have been raised at this point.

48

Robert Asprin

For example, while the idea behind usin' these
targets was interestin' and maybe even admirable,
in all my years with the Mob I have never seen an
opponent who would do you the favor of standin'
rock-still, in the open, upright, with his shoulders
square to you while he was tryin' to shoot you.
They are more inclined to be crouched or flattened
behind cover and movin' around whilst sendin'
you the message, specifically to minimize the
chances of your cancelin' their stamp before they
reach the final salutation. In light of this, thinkin'
you can shoot because you can pump arrows or
quarrels into a straw dummy of any shape struck
me as a dangerous case of overconfidence and not
to be encouraged. I kept quiet about this, though,
figurin' that this was only the first round to famil-
iarize everybody with their weapons, and that the
serious trainin' would be covered at a later date.

Soon, the crew is scattered along the firin' line,
takin' turns sprayin' quarrels downrange whilst
the sergeant and corporal prowl back and forth
behind them, qualifyin' some and hollerin' at the
slow learners. This is one managerial style I have
noticed the army and the Mob have in common,
which is to say the belief that if you shout loud
enough at someone who is doin' somethin' wrong,
they will respond by doin' it right,

Nunzio and me hang back from the first bunch
of shooters, as we have little fear of passin' this
particular test. We focus instead on how the rest of
the crew is doin' so's we can help out the ones
what is havin' trouble.

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION	49

The Flie brothers are surprisingly good shots,
each of them not only hittin' the target with every
shot, but holdin' a shot group you can cover with
a double handspan. Realizin' that the targets are
close enough to hit with a rock, however, this
display of marksmanship fails to impress me a
great deal. Sergeant Smiley, on the other hand,
seems genuinely pleased with their performance.

"Now that's how the army likes to see you
handle those weapons!" he sez loud so's everyone
can hear him. "Who taught you boys to shoot like
that, anyway?"

"Our dad did," Shu Flie grins. "You may have
heard of him. They call him Horse Flie."

"Mom can outshoot him, though," Hy Flie adds.
"They call her Dragon Flie."

At this point, I stopped followin' the conversa-
tion, both because it was makin' my stomach hurt,
and because Nunzio was beckonin' me to huddle
up with him.

"We got problems," he sez, which wasn't sur-
prisin', as knowin' him as well as I do I could see
he was worried.

"Like what?"

"It's Spellin' Bee," he sez, which is what we've
taken to callin' our junior magician. "I don't think
he could hit the broadside of a barn if he was
inside it."

I snuck a look over his shoulder, just in time tc
see Bee loose a quarrel which misses the target by
fifteen feet, give or take a mile. The corporal was

50	Robert Asprin

right there beside him, offering helpful sugges-
tions at the top of his lungs.

"I see. Well, it's not like he's gonna do much
shootin', what with him bein' a magician."

"Maybe not," Nunzio shrugs, "but we're all
supposed to qualify today or the whole group gets
held back . . . remember?"

"That could be a problem," I nods. "Doesn't he
have a spell or somethin' that could help him out?"

My cousin rolls his eyes and snorts, disgusted-
like.

"Are you kidding? He only knows two spells,
and neither of them are gonna be of any help to
him on the firing line."

"Two spells? What are they?"

"Let's see, he knows Dispell, which lets him see
through disguise spells."

"Thafs not much help," I admits. "What's his
other spell?"

"Datspell," Nunzio grimaces, "which is nothing
more than the disguise spell the Boss uses with a
silly name."

"So all he can do is disguise himself and see
through other disguises," I sez, turnin' it over in
my mind.

"That's it, Nothin' that's gonna help him qualify
today."

"Maybe . . . maybe not," I sez, thoughtfully.
"Tell you what. Is there any chance you can get
him alone for a few minutes?"

"No problem. When he finishes blowin' this

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

51

round, he'll have to wait to take another turn. I can
get him then. Why? You got an idea?"

"Uh-huh," I grins. "Just convince him to use his
disguise spell . . . what does he call it? Oh yeah,
Datspell . . . so's you can change places. Then
you qualify for him, you switch back, and no one
will be any the wiser."

"I dunno," Nunzio sez, rubbin' his chin. "We
might be able to fool the corporal, but the sergeant
there's a pretty sharp cookie. He might spot there's
somethin' different about the Bee."

"I'll take care of distractin' the sergeant when
the time comes. Just be careful not to shoot too
good . . . just good enough to qualify. Got it?"

Then there isn't much to do whilst waiting for
the plan to unfold. Finally the corporal gets fed up
with shoutin' at our young magician and sends
him off the line for a "break" until he has rested his
voice a bit.

Tryin' not to pay too much attention, I watch out
of the corner of my eye while Nunzio drapes an
arm around Bee's shoulder and begins to talk to
him in an earnest-type fashion, all the while lead-
in' him casually behind the weapon storage tent
and out of general sight. After what seems like an
intolerably long time, "Bee" re-emerges, walkin' in
a rollin' stride that is very familiar to me, and I
know the power of reason and logic has triumphed
again. I wait until he is steppin' up to the firin' line
for yet another try, then commence to create a
diversion.

"You're tryin' too hard, Spyder," I sez, loud-like,

52	Robert Asprin

steppin' up behind that notable where she is
standin' at the far end of the firin' line from "Bee."
Both Spyder and Junebug are sporadic in their
marksmanship, keepin' their shots in the vicinity
of the target, but only hittin' it occasionally.

"You're keepin' your left arm way too tense . . .
you gotta loosen up a little and just cradle the
weapon in your hand. Ease up on the trigger, too.
Just use the tip of your finger instead of tryin' to
wrap it all the way around the trigger. Otherwise,
you'll pull your shot off to the left every time you
squeeze off a round."
"Like this?"
"Yeah, only ..."

"WHAT THE HECK YA THINK YOU'RE
DOIN??!!"

It should have been gratifyin' to know that I was
correct in my appraisal of Sergeant Smiley's boilin'
point. Up until now, Nunzio and me have been
real careful to do our coachin' of the other recruits
out of his sight and hearin', so's not to conflict with
the authority-type image he is workin' so hard to
maintain. I figure that this open display will not sit
well with him, and this figurin' proves to be dead
on target. I should be glad, but as he comes
stompin' toward me I have to fight off the sneakin'
feelin' that this has not been the wisest tactic to
pursue.

"Guido was just giving me some pointers on
handling this thing. Sergeant," Spyder sez,
innocent-like, her polite manners a testimony to

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

53

her hard learned lessons that Smiley is not some-
one to hassle unnecessarily.

"Oh, so now the Bug Swatter's an expert on
crossbows, is he?" the sergeant snarls, puttin' the
cross hairs on me. 'Thinks he's better'n me or the
range instructors at teaching marksmanship, does
he?"

While trackin' this with great attention, I none-
theless see over his shoulder that Nunzio, dis-
guised as Bee, is firin' his qualifyin' round . . .
right under the nose of the corporal, who is more
interested in watchin' the sergeant and me than in
payin' attention to what's happenin' at his end of
the range.

"Why don't you just show us how good you are
with this weapon, acting Squad Leader Guido,"
Smiley sez, snatchin' the crossbow away from
Spyder and thrustin' it at me. "// you can qualify,
then maybe I won't bust you back into the ranks."

Now I have been threatened by experts . . .
literally ... so this effort by the sergeant fails to
generate in me the obviously desired nervousness.
If anything, I am tempted to deliberately blow
these shots, thereby gettin' myself off the leader-
ship-type hook which, as I have noted earlier, I am
not particularly happy to be danglin' from. Still,
my professional abilities have been openly chal-
lenged . . . and in front of a skirt, even if it's just
Spyder. Besides, Nunzio has now finished quali-
fyin' for Bee, so there is no incentive to prolong
this diversion any longer.

I spare the crossbow no more than a cursory

54

Robert Asprin

glance, havin' a weak stomach when it comes to
substandard weapons. It is obviously the work of
government contractors, and bears the same re-
semblance to the custom weapons from lolo that I
normally use that a plow horse bears to a thor-
oughbred. Ignorin' this, I holds a quarrel in my
mouth while cockin' the crossbow by puttin' the
butt in my stomach and jerkin' the string back with
both hands (which is quicker*n usin' the foot
stirrup to do the same thing), drop the quarrel into
the groove ahead of the drawn string, and squeeze
off a quick shot down range.

Not surprisin'ly, the missile thwacks into the
dummy's right shoulder.

"A bit lucky, but not bad," Smiley sez, grudgin'-
like. "You'd get better accuracy, though, if you
shot from the shoulder instead of the hip. Trying
to show off will only . . ."

By the time he gets this far in his critique, I have
recocked, reloaded, and loosed a second shot . . .
again workin' from the hip.

This shot hisses into place not more than two
finger widths from the first.

The sergeant shuts his mouth so fast you can
hear his teeth click together, which is fine by me,
and watches in silence whilst I snap a third shot off
that makes a neat triangle with the first two.

"Pretty sloppy," comes the sneerin' squeak of
Nunzio, as he joins our group, free of his disguise
now. "I warned you that crushing stuff with your
hands was gonna ruin your touch for a trigger!"

"Izzat so!!??" I snaps, more than a little annoyed

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

55

at havin' my handiwork decried. "Let's see you do
better with this thing!"

I lob the crossbow to him, which he catches with
one hand, then squints at the bindings.

"Government contractors," he sez in the same
tone he uses to announce he's stepped in some-
thin' organic and unpleasant. "It sure ain't lolo's
work!"

"The quarrels are about as straight as a barroom
pool cue, too," I sez, givin' him the rest of the bad
news. "But like the Boss sez: 'Ya does the best ya
can with what ya got.' Right?"

He makes a face at me, then snaps off his three
shots, also shootin' from the hip. I notice that even
though he works the dummy's other shoulder to
avoid confusion, his groupin' is not a noticeable
improvement over mine.

"Okay, if s the weapon . . . this time," he ad-
mits, handin' the crossbow back to Spyder. "If we
were working a longer range, though, I still
think ..."

"Just a minute, you two!"

We turns our attention to the sergeant, both
because he sounds upset over somethin', and
because we've been havin' this particular argu-
ment for years, so it's doubtful we would have
resolved anythin' even if we had continued the
discussion uninterrupted.

"What are you trying to pull, here?"
"What's  wrong.   Sergeant?"  Nunzio sez,  ex-
pressin' the puzzlement we both is feelin'. "Two
out of three hits qualifies, right?"

56	Robert Asprin

"Whafs wrong?" Smiley smiles, showin7 too
many teeth for comfort. "Shot groupings like those
mean you've both got excellent control of your
weapons. Now, correct me if I'm mistaken, but
doesn't that also mean you could have put those
groupings anywhere on the target you wanted?"

"Well, sure . . . Sergeant."

"So how come you shot the dummy in the shoulders
instead of in the head or chest?"

"That would kill him," I sez before I've had a
chance to think it through.

"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO KILL HIM! THAT'S
WHAT BEIN' A SOLDIER IS ALL ABOUT!!!"

Now, in hindsight I know I shoulda' gone along
with him, but he caught me by surprise, and my
old Mob-type habits cut in.

"What kinda cheap barroom shooters do you take us
for??" I barks right back at him. "Me and Nunzio is
professionals!! Any jerk can kill somebody, but it takes
SKILL to leave 'em in a condition where they can still
pay protection . . . OR give you information . . .
OK ..."

"What my cousin means to say," Nunzio sez,
steppin' between us quick-like, "is that wounding
an enemy takes three opponents out of the action
instead of just one, since someone's got to help
him get back to ..."

It was a good try, but too late. The sergeant was
still into takin' me on.

"Are you calling the trained soldiers of Possiltum
jerks?" he hollers, steppin' around Nunzio to come

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

57

at me again. "What are you? Some kind of PACI-
FIST?"

"What. . . did . . . you . . . call. . . me . . . ?" I sez
in my softest voice, which I only use on special occa-
sions.

The trainin' area around us suddenly got real
quiet and still . . . except for Nunzio who gave a
disbelievin' whistle through his teeth as he
stepped back.

Somethin' in my voice or the way I was drawin'
myself up to my full height must have triggered
the sergeant's survival instinct, 'cause all of a
sudden he looked around nervous-like as if he
were tryin' to find an emergency exit door.

"WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING JUST STANDING
AROUND??!!!" he bellows, rurnin' his attention
from me to the crowd which has gathered around
us. "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE QUALIFYING!!
MOVE IT!!! NOW!!!"

This interruption gives me time to get my tem-
per under control, and, after coolin' down a bit, I
decide it is just as well the episode has drawn to a
close. It seems, however, that the sergeant has a
few last words for me.

"Guido!" he sez, just loud enough for me to
hear, not lookin' me in the face.
"Yeah, Sergeant?"

'This isn't the time or the place, but we will
continue this discussion . . . later."

The way he said it, it wasn't a challenge or a
threat . . . just a statement.

Chapter Five:

"When I travel, nobody knows me . . .
and I like it that way!"

S. KING

NUNZIO AND ME was tryin' to figure out what it was
they had put on our plates under the laughin' title
of "dinner," when Spyder plops down next to us.
We're a little surprised at this, as we're normally
left to ourselves when dinin', but the reason for
her forwardness is not long in cornin'.

"You guys are with the Mob, aren't you," she sez,
without so much as a "Hello" or "Nice evening."

Now, way back in the intro, I mentioned that we
are not real big on bein' asked questions in gen-
eral, and this specific question is a definite no-no.

"Are you a cop?" Nunzio shoots back, automa-
tic-like.

This is a 'Must Learn' question for anyone
whose livelihood depends on extra-legal activities,
as if one asks it of a cop, however undercover they
59

60	Robert Asprin

might be, they have to acknowledge their profes-
sion. Otherwise, any attempt to use the followin'
conversation as evidence is dismissed as entrap-
ment.

"Me? Are you kidding? No, I'm not a cop. Why
do you ask?"

"Why do you want to know if we're in the
Mob?" Nunzio shoots back.

You will notice that at this point, Spyder has
answered our question, but we have not yet given
a "yea" or "nay" to hers. Like I say, one has an
inclination towards caginess in our line of work.
Maybe it's a habit resultin' from our regular and
prolonged discussions with DAs and Grand Juries.
"I've been thinking of trying to join up with
them once I get out of the army," she sez with a
shrug. "I thought maybe you guys could give me a
little information about what it's like workin' for
the Mob, if not give me a recommendation or at
least a contact."
"Connection."
"What's that. Swatter?"

"I said 'Connection.' In normal business you
have contacts. In the Mob, the first step is to get
'connected.'"

". . . Or so we've heard," Nunzio sez quick-
like, givin' me one of his dirty looks. "I dunno. We
might be able to share a few rumors with you.
What do you want to know?"

As you can see, my cousin is still bein' cautious,
havin' less faith than I do in a "hearsay" defense.
With his "rumor" gambit, however, he has opened

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

61

the door for us to answer a few questions bout the
Mob without actually admittin' to any affiliation on
our part.

"Well, what's it like?"

"The hours are lousy," I sez.

"... And the retirement plan leaves a lot to be
desired," Nunzio adds.

". . . But the pay's good. Right?" Spyder urges.

I have mentioned before that my cousin has few
loves greater than the desire to lecture, and this
chick has just pushed one of his favorite buttons.
While he does not relax completely, he defrosts a
bit.

"Not as good as you'd think from what the
media says," he squeaks. "You see . . . remem-
ber what Guido said a second ago about being
connected? Well, for a long time, when you first
join the Mob, you actually have to pay
us ... strike that . . . them instead of the other
way around."

"How's that again?"

"It's easier to understand if you think of it as a
franchise system. The Mob gives you permission
or license to operate, and you give them a share of
your profits. You have to give a percentage, say
half, to the guy over you, who in turn has to split
with the guy over him, and so on right up to the
top. Of course, the guys at the top pull down a
bundle, since there's a whole pyramid under them
feeding 'em percentages."

"Wait a minute!" Spyder frowns. 'The last time
I heard something like this, they were trying to get

62

Robert Asprin

me to sell cosmetics ... or was it cleaning prod-
ucts?"

"There are similarities," Nunzio agrees. "But
there are some major differences, too."

"Like what?"

"Like the cosmetic pyramids don't break your
face or your legs if you try to operate indepen-
dently," I sez.

"What I was going to say," Nunzio sez, glarin' at
me, "was that the cosmetic chains don't supply
you with lawyers, much less alibis, if the authori-
ties take offense at your activities ... or your tax
reports."

"Oh yeah?" I bristles, gettin' a little fed up with
Nunzio's know-it-all attitude. "Well the soapsy
folks don't whack you if they think you're shortin'
them on their take, either!"

"Well what do you expect 'em to do?" he snaps
right back at me. "Have 'em arrested?"

"What's with you, Swatter?" Spyder sez, cockin'
her head at me. "You sound like you're really
down on the Mob."

"He's just a little edgy," Nunzio puts in quick
before I can answer myself. "We were having a bit
of an argument when you joined us."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she blinks, poppin' to her feet.
"I didn't know I was interrupting anything. I can
catch you guys later. Just think about what I was
asking, okay?"

We watch her walk away, which is a real treat, as
feminine company has been notably lackin" since
we started our trainin'. Then Nunzio turns to me.

M.Y.T.H. INC. m ACTION

63

"Okay. What's eating you?"

"The same thing that's been eatin' me since the
Boss sent us on this assignment," I sez. "Talkin'
about the Mob makes it harder than usual to
ignore. Know what I mean?"

"We wasn't assigned, we volunteered."

"We was asked to volunteer by the Boss, which
for us is the same as bein' ordered."

Nunzio heaves one of his big sighs and droops a
little.

"I guess we might as well have this out right
now," he grimaces. "You're talking about us being
here in Possiltum right?"

"I'm talkin' about us declarin' war on the Mob,"
I corrects. "Seein' as how we're currently holdin'
the bag at ground zero, this is of some concern to
me. Sorry, but I tend to get a bit nervous about
overwhelmin'-type firepower when it is apt to be
directed at me . . . especially when all we've got
is government issue crossbows . . . and leather
skirts for armor!"

»   *   *

If, perhaps, this concern of mine has taken
youse by surprise, allow me to enlighten youse,
startin' with a brief history lesson. For those of
youse already aware of the danger cousin Nunzio
and I are in, however, feel free to skip to the next
asterisk-type punctuation mark.

Nunzio and me first met the Boss about five
books back [Hit or Myth (Myth Adventures #4)]
when we was assigned to tag along with one of the
Mob's mouthpieces whilst he was looking for the

64	Robert Asprin

same Big Julie we was conversin' with in the first
chapter. To be more precise, he was lookin' for the
army which Big Julie was supposed to have been
leadin' in a little fund raisin' venture for our
organization, and which, accordin' to reports, had
disappeared into thin air after encounterin' a bit of
resistance led by the Boss. Of course, in those days
we didn't cail him the Boss as we weren't workin'
for him at the time. All we knew was that there
was some bad news-type sorcerer named Skeeve
the Great givin' the Mob grief and we was sup-
posed to keep him off Shyster's back whilst the
investigation progressed.

In the interest of brevity not to mention the
preservin' of our royalty income from the backlist
of this series, I will refrain from narratin' all the
intriguin' details of that assignment. What is cru-
cial that you understand, however, is that at the
conclusion of that first encounter, a deal was
struck between the Great Skeeve and Don Bruce,
the Mob's Fairy Godfather. By the terms of that
agreement, Don Bruce and the Mob was to lay off
the Kingdom of Possiltum in general and Big Julie
and his boys specifically, in exchange for the Great
Skeeve givin' the Mob access to another dimen-
sion ... to wit, Deva, complete with its rather
famous bazaar.

Shortly thereafter, Don Bruce hired the Great
Skeeve to oversee the Mob's interests on Deva,
and assigned Nunzio and me to him as body-
guards . . . which is when we we started callin'
him Boss.

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

65

me so far?

Okay, now review the circumstantials with me
again, and see if youse can understand the di-
lemma facin' us.

First of all, the Boss is working for the Mob.

Second, he has sent us to deal with the situation
in Possiltum while he goes after Aahz.

Now, as he works for the Mob and we all work
for him, the entire strike force which is currently
movin' on Queen Hemlock can be considered to be
in the employment of the Mob.

Unfortunately, there is a deal in effect, one
personally negotiated by Don Bruce himself,
which says that no one in the Mob is to move
against Possiltum! This means that our current
operation is in direct violation of Don Bruce's
sworn word . . . and while I can't say that nota-
ble has never gone back on his word, to do so is a
decision he usually reserves for himself personally
and tends to get more than a little peeved when
someone else undertakes to break his word for
him.

As you may have noted from followin' whatever
type of media is in vogue where you're readin'
this, when someone of Don Bruce's level in the
Mob gets peeved, it is not usually expressed by an
angry memo. If he feels his position or authority in
the Mob is bein' challenged by some overly frisky
underling, his usual response is to squash said
underling like a bug. Of course, in our position as
bodyguards to the Boss, this places us between the
Squasher and the Squashee, resultin' in the edgi-

66	Robert Asprin

ness I was referrin' to a couple pages back which
necessitated this explanation.

Understand now? If not, just trust me that I
know more about these things than youse, and
that our whole crew will be in trouble with the
Mob when and if Don Bruce finds out what we're

doin'.

*   *   *

"I've been giving it a lot of thought," Nunzio sez
like he never left the conversation, which of
course, he hadn't, "and I'm not sure the Boss
knows he's crossing Don Bruce by sending us back
here."

Now this set me back on my heels a bit. I had
been assumin' all along that Skeeve sendin' us
here was a premeditated move. The idea that he
might be ignorant of the consequentials of this
action had never occurred to me.

"How do you figure that?"

"Well, the way I see it, the Boss is a real sharp
cookie . , . except in two areas: the Mob, and
broads."

"That's true," I sez, 'cause it was. While I have
nothin' but the highest regard for the Boss overall,
in those two areas he tends to be what we refer to
in the Mob as "dumb as a stone."

"Also," Nunzio continues, "there's the fact that
he didn't consult with us about the advisabilities of
startin' a ruckus with the Mob, or even warn us to
be careful of anything except Hemlock . . .
which is not like him at all if he was expecting
trouble from Don Bruce."

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

67

Again he has hit on a valid point. Skeeve has
easily been the most considerate Boss we have
ever worked with and has always been sensitive to
our feelin's . . . especially those which is at-
tached to parts of us which bleed or break. This
has a lot to do with the loyalty and genuine
affection we hold for him . . . along with his pay
scale which is both generous and dependable.

"Now that you mention it," I sez, "it wouldn't
make much sense for the Boss to get into a power
struggle or try to take over from Don Bruce, as he
has never expressed any interest in or desire to
elevate his standin' in the Mob."

Nunzio shrugged. "If that were his inclination,
all he'd have to do is marry Bunny and let Don
Bruce hand him the whole organization on a
platter as an inheritance."

He is referrin' to the fact that not only is Bunny
Don Bruce's niece, she is head over heels in love
with the Boss . . . somethm' which seems to
have escaped his notice entirely. Like we said
earlier . . . The Mob and broads . . . Stone
stupid.

"You may be right ..."

"Of course I'm right! It all fits!"

". . . But even if you are, I'm not sure what
difference it makes," I finish, ignoring his rude
interruption. "Whether we're breakin' Don Bruce's
word by accident or on purpose, we will still be in
the line of fire when that notable decides to put
things right."

"The difference is that if we assume the Boss

68

Robert Asprin

doesn't want trouble with Don Bruce, we aren't
obligated to stand and fight. More specifically,
we're free to try to act as peace-makers between
the two of them before blood starts to flow."

This reasonin' has a certain appeal to it, partic-
ularly as if said blood does indeed begin to flow,
the odds are that it will be the two of us at the
source of said flow.

"Okay," I sez. "Assumin1 that you're right about
the Boss not wantin' trouble, and assumin' that
Don Bruce lets you get a word in edgewise before
the shootin' starts, what are you gonna say to cool
him down?"

"That part," Nunzio hesitates, ". . . that part
I'm still working on."

It occurs to me that until my cousin comes up
with a surefire sales pitch to settle things, all that
takin' a peace-maker role is accomplishin' is com-
mittin' us not to shoot back when the trouble
starts!

Chapter Six:

"Boards don't hit back!"
B. LEE

PRE-INHABITED AS I was with my worries about Don
Bruce and the Mob, the altercation between Ser-
geant Smiley and myself slipped my mind com-
pletely. As it turned out, however, this did not
matter, as the sergeant took steps to remind me of
it, and the way it was sprung on me, it wouldn't
have done me no good to have used up a lot of
time and energy thinkin' about it.

We had reached the portion of our trainin' in
which we was to learn how to relate to the enemy
at close quarters . . . preferably without surren-
derin'. That is to say, hand-to-hand type combat.

Sergeant Smiley was teachin' this section him-
self, which did not strike me as odd until later, as
he obviously had more than passin' familiarity
with the techniques we was to learn. He homed in
69

70

Robert Asprin

on the Flie brothers as his demonstrator/victims,
and had great fun showin' us all that size was not
a factor in hand-to-hand combat by tossin' and
punchin' 'em both around with impressive
ease ... or, put differently, he really made them

fly-
While all this was great fun to watch, I could not
help thinkin' that the lesson he was attemptin' to
drive home stank higher than the "Realistic Doggie
Doodle with Lifelike Aroma that Actually Sticks to
Your Hands" that I was so familiar with. I mean, I
wonder if he really thought he was foolin' anyone
with his "size doesn't make a difference" spiel. It
doesn't take a genius to figure out that size can
make a considerable difference in a physical-type
difference of opinion, as one honest to goodness
fight will usually demonstrate this fact clearly
enough to convince even the dimmest of wits. The
only time skill triumphs over size is if the little guy
is very skillful and the big guy is very unskill-
ful ... not to mention slow and maybe has a
glass jaw. If they are at all matched for skill, the big
guy is a good bet to make strawberry jam of the
little guy if he is so inclined. This is why profes-
sional contact, sport-type athletes, not to mention
kneecappers like Nunzio and me, are on the extra-
large side. It isn't because our employers figure we
are cheaper if cost justified on a "by the pound"
rate, it's because we tend to win.

Of course, even if one accepts the "skill over
size" concept, there is still a glarin' flaw in the
sergeant's logic. Remember how long I said it

M.Y.T.H. INC, IN ACTION

71

would take to train someone with a longbow? (No,
this isn't gonna be a test ... I was just askin'.)
Well, it takes even longer to train someone to be
skillful at Hand-To-Hand. A lot longer. The idea
that someone like the Spellin' Bee could absorb
enough skill in one afternoon to be effective
against one of the Flie brothers, however unskilled,
is laughable. Realizin' this, it was clear to me that
even though he said we was bein' prepared for
combat with the enemy, all he was doin' was
showin' us a few tricks to help us survive the
inevitable barroom type brawls which seem to
naturally gravitate toward people in uniform who
are tryin' to have a quiet drink around civilians
durin' their off-duty hours. Simply put, we was
bein' trained to deal with unskilled civilian-type
fighters, preferably blind staggerin' drunk, rather
than against skilled soldier-type fighters in the
field.

". . . Of course, these are techniques which will
enable you to dispatch an unarmed opponent!" Sergeant
Smiley was sayin', which was again misleadin' as
none of the countermoves he was demonstratin'
were lethal enough to "dispatch" anyone, con-
firmin' my belief that someone was figurin' we'd
only use them on civilians.

". . . To deal with an ARMED opponent, however,
is a different matter entirely! Fortunately, we have an
EXPERT with us to demonstrate how that is done!
GUIDO! Front and center!"

"Me, Sergeant?" I blinks, as I had not expected
to be called upon.

72

Robert Asprin

"That's right," the sergeant sez, showin' some
extra teeth in his smile. "At the firing range you
made a big point that only jerks have to kill people,
Well, here's your chance to show everybody how
to 'gentle' an enemy into submission when he's
trying to kill you."

Needless to say, I don't care for the sounds of
this, but as I have been summoned, I have little
choice but to step forward into the clear space bein'
used for the demonstrations. My discomfort grows
as the sergeant gestures to Corporal Whittle, who
tosses him a short sword. That's right, a real short
sword . . . with a point and sharpened edges.

"What's with the sword, Sergeant?" I sez.

"I said this was going to be a demonstration
against an armed opponent," he grins. "What
we're going to do is I'm going to try to kill you, and
you're going to try to stop me without killing me."

"... And if I don't?"

"Then I guess we'll have us a little 'training
accident' . . . unless, of course, you'd rather just
back out now and admit you can't do it."

Needless to say, I did not obtain my current lofty
position as bodyguard by backin' away from
fights. What's more, the sword wasn't my real
worry as it is nothin' more than a long knife, and
I've dealt with knives often enough.

"Oh, I can do it," I shrugs. "The trouble is it
might involve striking a non-commissioned
officer . . . which I seem to recall from our Mili-
tary Law lesson is a no-no."

The sergeant's smile fades a bit, and I realize he

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

73

has been expectin' me to withdraw from this
exercise when he feeds me the cue. Unfortunately
for both of us, this realization comes a little late to
do us any good.

"Don't worry about that, 'Cruit/ " he sez,
though I notice his voice has gotten tighter. "Even
if you get real lucky and tag me, you're acting
under orders so no charges will be brought."

That was all I needed to hear. As a last precau-
tion, I glance back at Nunzio where he's standin' in
line, and he gives me a little nod with his head.

"Your cousin can't help you now. Guide," Smi-
ley snaps, regainin' a bit of confidence. "This is
between you and me."

That wasn't why I was checkin' with Nunzio,
but I have no trouble goin' with the flow, bein' real
adaptable when the music is startin' and I am one
of the designated dancers.

"I was just wonderin'," I sez with a shrug. "It's
nice to know you know I'd be under orders. The
question is whether or not that officer knows it."

Now the sergeant is no dummy and I really
don't expect him to fall for the old "there's some-
one behind you" gag . . . but he does. It isn't
until much later that I find out non-coms have a
real thing about officers. That is, they are comfort-
able runnin' the army . . . unless there is an
officer somewhere in witnessin' range. Anyway,
Smiley starts cranin' his neck around tryin' to spot
the officer to which I am referrin', and when his
head is turned away from me, I glide in on him.

If this tactic sounds a little strange to you, realize

74

Robert Asprin

that if someone waves a sharpened hunk of metal
at you, the last thing they are expectin' is for you to
charge them. What you are supposed to do is freeze
up, or better yet run, thereby givin' them ample
leisure time to carve their initials on whatever
portion of your anatomy is handiest. When you
move forward instead of back, it tends to startle
them, and they usually react by pokin' at you with
their weapon to try to get you to back off like the
script says. This is really what you want, as it has
put you in control of their attack and lets you bring
it in where and when you want it instead of just
standin' and hopin' they'll go away while they
play around on their own timetable.

The sergeant sees me comin' out of the corner of
his eye, and, just like I expect, he sticks his sword
out like he's hopin' I'll run into it and save him the
trouble of havin' to plan and execute an attack of
his own. This makes it easy for me to weave past
his point and latch onto the wrist of his sword arm
with my left hand, which keeps the weapon out of
mischief and me, whilst I give him a medium
strength pop under the ear with my right fist.

It was my genuine hope that this would end the
affair without further waltzin', but the sergeant is
still a pretty tough old bird and it only crosses his
eyes and drops him to one knee. I realize the
situation has just become dangerous, as he still has
hold of his sword and in his dazed condition may
not remember that this is only an exercise ... if
that was his original intention at all.

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

75

"Give it up, Sarge," I hisses quiet-like, steppin'
in close so's only he can hear me. "It's over."

Just to be on the safe side I wind his arm up a
little as I am sayin' this to prove my point. Unfor-
tunately, he either doesn't hear me or chooses to
ignore what you must admit is excellent advice,
and starts strugglin' around tryin' to bring his
sword into play.

"Suit yourself," I shrugs, not really expectin' a
response, as at that moment he faints, mostly
because I have just broken his arm ... for safety
sake, mind you. (For the squeamish readers, I will
hasten to clarify that this is a clean break as
opposed to the messier compound variety, and
that it probably wouldn't have put the sergeant out
if he hadn't been woozy already from the clout I
have just laid on him. As I have noted before,
controlled violence is my specialty . . . and I'm
very good at it.)

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO . . ."

These last words come from Corporal Whittle
who has come alive far too late and tries to
intervene after the dance is already done. The
incomplete nature of his question is due to the fact
that, as he is steppin' forward, he runs into a high
swing from Nunzio's elbow goin' in the opposite
direction, which effectively stretches him out on
his back and turns his lights out . . . and also
stops his annoyin' prattle. For the record, this is
what the earlier exchange between Nunzio and me
was all about . . . my makin' sure he was in

76

Robert Asprin

position and willin' to cover my back while I dealt
with the sergeant.

There is a moment's silence, then someone in
the ranks lets out a low, surprised whistle, which
seems to cue everyone to put in their two cents
worth.

"Wow!"

"Nice goin', Swatter!!"

" 'Bout time someone taught him to . . ,"

Hy Flie starts nudgin' the corporal's nappin'
form with his toe.

"They don't look so big lying down, do they,
Swatter?" he grins, like he took the two of 'em out
all by himself.

"AT EASE! ALL OF YOUSEH" I bellows, cuttin'
the discussion off short, "If you touch that man
again, Hy, you and I are gonna go a couple
rounds. YOU UNNERSTAND ME??"

He looks surprised and hurt, but nods his agree-
ment.

"/ can't hear you!!!"

"YES, SAR . . . I mean, GUIDOM"

"THAT GOES FOR THE REST OF YOUSE
TOO!" I snarls. "I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU
KICKIN' EITHER OF THESE TWO, OR MAKIN'
FUN OF THEM UNLESS YOU'RE WILLIN' TO DO
THE SAME THING WHEN THEY'RE AWAKE
AND ABLE TO HIT BACK. DO / MAKE MYSELF
CLEAR??"

"YES, GUIDOW."

As might be noticed in my manner, I am a bit
annoyed at this point, but mostly with myself. I

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

77

am genuinely irked that I was unable to squelch
the sergeant's move without havin' to break his
arm, and am quite willin' to take my anger out on
the crew. If my speech pattern when addressin'
my colleagues seems uncharacteristic, it is because
I discovered quickly that the army's non-coms
have a point ... it is the easiest way to shout at
an entire formation at the same time.

"Okay, now LISTEN UP!! As Actin' Squad Leader, I
am the rankin' individual present until such time as the
sergeant and corporal regain consciousness. I want one
volunteer to get a medic for these two, while the REST
OF US CONTINUE WITH THE TRAIN1N' EXER-
CISE!!"

This strikes me as the logical course to follow, as
I am not eager to lose a day's trainin' whilst waitin'
for our non-coms to wake up. At this point,
however, I notice my cousin has raised his hand
politely for my attention.

"Yes, Nunzio? Are you volunteerin' to go for a
medic?"

"Not really, Acting Squad Leader Guide, sir," he
sez, sarcastic-Iike. "I was just thinking that, before
you assumed command, it might be wise for you
to check in with the officer over there who is the
ranking individual present."

Now, as youse will recall, when I pulled this
gag on the sergeant, it was a ploy to divert his
attention. I've played Dragon Poker with Nunzio
though, and I can tell when he's bluffin' . . . and
this time he wasn't. With a sinkin' feelin' in my
stomach, I turn to look in the direction he is

78	Robert Asprin

pointin'. Sure enough, there is an officer there, the
first I have seen outside of our lectures. What is
worse, he is comin' our way with a real grim look
on his face.

"Stand easy, Guido."

I switch from Attention to At Ease, which is not
to say I am at ease at all. I have been summoned to
the Officer's Tent, which is not surprisin' as it is
obvious I am gonna take some kinda flack for the
afternoon's skirmish. What does take me off guard
is that Sergeant Smiley is there as well, sportin' a
sling for his arm and a deadpan expression.

"Sergeant Smiley here has given me his version
of what's been going on with your training group
that led up to the event I witnessed this afternoon.
Would you like to tell me your side of the story?"

"I'm sure the sergeant's account is complete and
accurate . . . sir," I sez, crisp-like.

Normally, I would have just clammed up until I
had a lawyer, but so far no charges have been
mentioned, and I somehow don't think this is a
good time to make waves.

"Very well," the officer nods. "In that case I feel
compelled to follow the sergeant's recommenda-
tion in this case."

It occurs to me that maybe I should have offered
up some defense, but it is too late now, as the
officer has already swung into action. Pickin' up a
quill, he scribbles his name across the bottom of a
series of papers that have been sittin' on his desk.

"Do you know what an army that's been grow-

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

79

ing as fast as ours needs the most, Guido?" he sez
as he's writin'.

I start to say "Divine Intervention," but decide to
keep my mouth shut . . . which is just as well as
he proceeds to answer his own question.

"Leadership," he sez, finishin' his signin' with a
flourish of his quill. "We're always on the lookout
for new leaders . . . which is why I'm so pleased
to sign these orders."

For a change, I have no difficulty lookin' inno-
cent and dumb, as he has totally lost me with his
train of thought.

"Sir?"

"What I have here are the papers promoting you
to sergeant and Nunzio . . . he's your cousin,
isn't he? ... to corporal."

Now I am really lost.

"Promotions, sir?"

"That's right. Sergeant Smiley here has told me
how the two of you have taken it on yourselves to
lead your squad during training . . . even to the
point of giving them extra training during off duty
hours. After seeing for myself how you took
command after . . . that mishap during training
today, I have no problem approving your promo-
tion. That's the kind of leadership and incentive
we like to see here in the army. Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir," I sez, not bein' able to think of
anything else to say.

"Oh yes . . . and one other thing. I'm pulling
your entire unit out of training and assigning them
to active duty. Ifs only garrison duty, but it's the

80	Robert Asprin

only thing available right now. I figure that any-
thing more they need to learn, you can help them
pick up on the job. That's all ... Sergeant
Guido."

It takes me a minute to register he is addressin'
me by my new rank, but I manage to come to
attention and salute before turnin' to go.

"If I may, sir," I heard Sergeant Smiley say, "I'd
like to have a word outside with Sergeant Guido
before he rejoins his unit."

I am half-expectin' Smiley to try to jump me, bad
arm and all, once we get outside, or at least lay
some heavy threats on me about what would
happen the next time our paths cross. Instead, he
is all grins and holds out his good hand for me to
shake.

"Congratulations, Guido . . . sorry, I mean
Sergeant Guido," he sez. "There was one thing I
wanted to say to you away from the other re-
cruits."

"What's that, Sergeant?"

"I wanted to tell you that you were right all
along ... it does take more skill to handle a
combat situation without killing . . . and I'm
glad to see we're getting men of your abilities
enlisting on our side. Just remember, though, that
we only have limited time to train the
recruits . . . which is why we focus on getting
them to think in terms of 'kills.' If they're at all
squeamish about killing, if they think they can get
by by disarming the enemy, they'll try to do that
instead . . . and they don't have the skill and we

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

81

don't have the time to teach it to them, so they end
up dead themselves and we end up placing second
in a two army fight. Try to keep that in mind the
next time you're working with a group of raw
recruits. In the meantime, good luck! Maybe we'll
get a chance to serve together again sometime."

I am so surprised by the sergeant turnin' out to
be a good Joe, not to mention givin' careful con-
sideration to the thoughts he laid on me, that I am
nearly back to the unit before the full impact of my
promotion sinks in.

Then, I feel depressed. My entire career has
been geared toward avoidin' bein' an authority-
type figure, and now I am saddled with what is at
least a supervisory post . . . permanent this time
instead of temporary. My only consolations are
that a) I can potentially do more damage havin' a
higher rank, and b) Nunzio has to suffer the
burden of extra stripes right along with me.

Perkin' up a little from these thoughts, I go
lookin' for Nunzio, wantin' to be the first to slip
him the bad news.

1

Chapter Seven:

"To Serve and Protect ..."

TRADITIONAL MOTTO OF
PROTECTION RACKETS

As EAGER AS we are to get on with our assignment,
which is to say demoralizin' and disruptin' the
army, both Nunzio and me are more than a little
nervous about doin' garrison duty.

Not that there is anything wrong with the town,
mind you. Twixt is a bigger'n average military
town, which means there is lots of stuff to keep us
amused during our off-duty hours. The very fact
that it is a sizable burg, however, increases the
odds of our presence bein' noticed and reported to
Don Bruce . . . which, as we have mentioned be-
fore, was not high on our list of desirable occur-
rences.

The duty itself was annoyin'ly easy, annoyin' in
that it's hard to stir up the troops when the worst
thing facin' them is boredom. The situation is
83

84

Robert Asprin

readily apparent even when I put Nunzio to work
settlin' our crew in whilst I report in to the garrison
commander.

"Our only real job here is to maintain a military
presence . . . show the flag so's folks remember
why they're paying their taxes."

The individual deliverin' this speech is average
height, about a head shorter than me, and has
dark tight-curly hair with a few wisps of grey
showin' in spots . . . which might have made
him look dignified if he didn't move like a dock
worker tryin' to finish early so's he can go on a
heavy date. He has a rapid-fire kinda speech
pattern and rattles off his orders without lookin'
up from the papers he is scribblin' on. I can't help
but notice, however, that what he is workin' on so
hard looks a lot like poetry . . . which I somehow
don't think is covered by his official orders.

"All you and your boys gotta do is spend a
certain number of hours a day patrolling the
streets in uniform so's folks can see the army is
here. The rest of the time, you're on your own."

"You mean like policemen?"

The words just sorta popped outta my mouth,
but they must'a had a note of horror in them, as
the commander broke off what he was doin' to
look at me direct.

"Not really," he sez, quick-like. "We used to be
responsible for patrolling the streets, but the
town's grown to a point where it has its own police
force, and we try not to interfere with their author-
ity. They watch the citizens, and our own Military

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

85

Police watches our troops. Clear and separate.
See?"

"Yes sir."

"... which brings us to another point," the
commander continues, startin' to scribble on his
papers again. 'There's a non-fraternization rule in
effect for our troops. We don't enforce it too
strictly, so you don't have to worry if one of
the . . . ah, ladies makes advances toward you or
your men, but let them come to you. Don't start
messing around with the ordinary civilian women.
It's liable to get the civilian men upset however it
goes, and our main directive here is to not incite
any trouble with the civilians. Be nice to
them . . . show them we're just plain folks, like
they are. If you can do that, then they're less
inclined to believe any wild stories they might hear
about what our troops are doing on the front lines.
Got that?"

I didn't think it would really matter what I said
or did, as the commander is rattlin' all this off like
it is memorized while he fiddles with his writin'. I
didn't think it would be wise to test this theory,
however.

"Yes sir," I sez. "No fraternizin' with the
women . . . No fightin' with the men. Got it."

"Very well, report back to your unit and see that
they're properly settled in. Then take the rest of
the day to familiarize yourselves with the town,
and report here for assignment tomorrow morn-
ing."

"Yes sir." I draw myself up and give him a

86

Robert Asprin

snappy salute, which he returns without even
lookin' up.

I can't help but I feel I have kinda gotten the
bum's rush on my briefin', so on the way out I
pause to have a few words with the commander's
clerk ... a decision which I'll admit is in part
due to the factual that she is the only skirt I have
seen in uniform except for Spyder, and I am
beginnin' to feel a little desperate for the sound of
a female-type voice. Besides, I outrank her, and
figure it is about time my new stripes work a little
for me instead of against me.

"What's the deal with the commander?" I sez,
friendly-Iike, givin' her one of my lesser used
non-intimidatin' smiles.

Instead of respondin', however, this chick just
stares at me blankly like she's still waitin' for me to
say somethin'. Now, she is a tiny little thing, a bit
on the slender side, so her starin' at me with those
big eyes starts makin' me feel a little uncomfort-
able . . . like she's a praying mantis tryin' to
decide if she should eat me before or after we
mate.

"I mean, how come he's writin' poetry?" I add,
just to get some kinda conversation flowin'.

"Lyrics," she sez, in a flat sort of voice.

"Excuse me?"

"I said 'lyrics' ... as in 'words for songs/ He
likes to perform in the local clubs at their open
stage nights, and he writes his own material . . .
constantly."

"Is he any good?"

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

87

This gets me a small shrug.

"I suppose he's not bad . . . but he doesn't
play guitar, so mostly he has to sing a cappella.
That makes his performance sound a little thin
after listening to an evening of singers with instru-
mental accompaniments."

I notice that for all her apparent disinterest, this
chick seems to know a lot about what the com-
mander does on his off hours . . . even to the
point of sittin' through a whole evenin' of amateur
singers to listen to his set when she doesn't really
like his singin'. From this I deduce that I am not
likely to get much of anywhere with her as a
sergeant, so I settle for bein' friendly.

"Maybe he should try keyboards," I sez.

"Try what?" she blinks, suddenly takin' more
interest in the conversation.

"Key . . . Oh! Nothin'. Hey, I got to be goin'
now. Nice talkin' with you."

With that I beat a hasty retreat, a little annoyed
with myself. Again my time on Deva has almost
gotten me in trouble. For a second there, I forgot
that this dimension not only doesn't have key-
boards, it does not have the electricity necessary
for the pluggin' in of said instrument.

"Hey Guido!" comes a familiar voice, interrupt-
in' my thoughts. "What's the word?"

I looked around to find Nunzio and the rest of
the crew bearin' down on me.

"No big deal," I shrugs. "We don't even go on
duty until tomorrow. The commander's given us

88	Robert Asprin

the rest of the day to settle in and check out the
town."

"Sounds good to me," Hy Flie sez, rubbin' his
hands together like . . . well, like a fly. "What
say we get something to eat . . . and at the same
time see if we can find a place to hang out on our
off-duty hours."

"How about the spaghetti place we passed on
the way here?" Spyder sez, jerkin' her head back
in the direction they had come from.

I shoot a quick glance at Nunzio, who is already
lookin' at me. As so often happens when we're
workin' together, we are thinkin' the same thing at
the same time, and this time we're both thinkin'
that the best way to avoid runnin' into someone
with Mob connections is by not usin' a spaghetti
place for a base of operations.

"Ah . . . let's see if we can find someplace less
likely ... I mean, closer." I suggest, casual-like.

"Well, how 'bout we try right here?" Nunzio
chimes in, pickin' up on my general train of thought.

I look where he is pointin', and have to admit
that it is probably the last place someone from the
Mob would think of lookin' for us. The sign over
the door of the joint reads, ABDUL'S SUSHI BAR
AND BAIT SHOP.

"Sushi?" Shu Flie scowls. "You mean like raw
fish?"

"At least we know it's fresh," Junebug sez,
gesturin' at the second part of the sign.

"Oh, don't be a bunch of babies" Spyder grins,

M.Y.T.H. INC, m ACTION

89

givin' Shu a poke in the ribs. "Wait 'til you've tried
it. It's good! Come on."

Now, I am no more enthusiastic than the Flie
brothers about eatin' this stuff, even though Nun-
zio has been after me for some time to give it a try.
I mean, I'm used to fish in a tomato sauce or
somethin', served with pasta not rice. Still, there
seems little option than to follow Spyder and
Nunzio as they merrily lead the way into the place.

"Ah! Members of our noble fighting forces!" the
proprietor sez, slitherin' up out of the dim depths
to greet us. "Please, come right in. We give special
discounts for our men . . . and ladies ... in
uniform!"

"Can we have a table close to the window so's
there's more light?" Nunzio sez, giving me a wink.

I know what he is thinkin' and normally would
approve. The proprietor is makin' me feel a little
uneasy, however. Despite his toothy smile, I
have a strong feelin' he can tell within a few pieces
of small change how much money our crew is
carryin' . . . and is already tryin' to figure how
much of it he can glom onto before we escape. In
short, I haven't felt this sized up by a merchant
since we left the Bazaar at Deva.

Despite my growin' discomfort, I join the crew
as the proprietor ushers us to a window table and
distributes menus. Everybody gives their drink
orders, then start porin' over the menus with
Spyder and Junebug servin' as interpreters . . .
everyone except Nunzio, that is.

90

Robert Asprin

Ignorin' his menu completely, my cousin starts
fishin' around his belt pouch.

"While we're here, anyone care for a couple
quick hands of Dragon Poker?" he sez innocent-
like, producin' a deck of cards and a battered,
dog-eared book.

The whole crew groans at this, a sure indication
of their familiarity with the game, which is not
surprisin' as Nunzio and me have been takin' great
pains to teach it to 'em. Despite their apparent
reluctance, however, I notice that their stakes
money appears on the table in a quick ripple of
movement, which is in itself a testimony to the
addictin' nature of this particular pastime. I can
speak from my own experience in sayin' that there
is nothin' like watchin' a pot you've built on a nice
hand disappear into someone else's stack because
of some obscure-type Conditional Modifier to con-
vince a new player that it is definitely in his best
interest to learn more about the game as it is his
only chance of winnin' some of his money back,
much less show a profit. That is, you play your
first game of Dragon Poker for the fun of it, and
after that youse is playin' for revenge.

"Okay . . . ante up!" Nunzio sez, givin' the
cards a quick shuffle and offerin' the deck for a cut.

"Not so fast, cousin," I interrupts, fishin' my
own copy of the rulebook out. "First, let's settle
what the Conditional Modifiers are."

"Why bother?" Shue Flie grimaces. "They
change every day."

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

91

"Every day? You mean every hour!" his brother
sez.

"Whatever," Spyder shrugs. "Start dealing Nun-
zio. Swatter here can fill us in on the high points."

For those of youse unfamiliar with Dragon
Poker, it is a very popular means of redistri-
butin' wealth throughout the dimensions. You can
think of it as nine card stud poker with six card
hands . . . that is, if you don't mind gettin' your
brains beat out financially. You see, on top of the
normal rules of card playin', there are Conditional
Modifiers which can change the value of a card or
hand dependin' on the dimension, hour of the
day, number of players, position at the table, or
any one of a multitude of other factors, makin'
Dragon Poker the most difficult and confusin' card
game in all the dimensions.

Nunzio and me got fascinated by dis game
whilst everyone was tryin' to teach it to the Boss in
time for his big match with the Sen-Sen Ante Kid,
and it isn't really all that hard . . . providin' one
had a copy of the rules applicable to the dimension
youse is in at the time. (Of course, the Boss
couldn't use a book durin' the big match, as he was
supposed to be an expert already.) Before leavin'
the Bazaar for this particular caper, both Nunzio
and me included pickin' up copies of the rulebook
for Klah (our home dimension where dis narration
is takin' place) as part of our preparations. If youse
perhaps think that buying two copies of the rule-
book is a needless expense, let me give youse a
free tip about playin' Dragon Poker: Your best

92

Robert Asprin

defense at the table is havin' your own copy of the
rules. Youse see, one of the standin' rules in any
Dragon Poker game is that the players are individ-
ually responsible for knowin' the Conditional
Modifiers. Put simply, this means that if you don't
know a particular modifier which would turn your
nothin' hand into a winner, no one is obligated to
announce it to you. This is a tradition of the game
and has nothin' to do with the honesty of them
what plays it. If anything, it avoids accusations
that a player deliberately withheld information to
win a hand rather than a particular modifier sim-
ply bein' overlooked amidst the multitude of mod-
ifiers in effect at any given time. In short, as much
as I trust my cousin Nunzio to cover my back in a
brawl, I feel it wisest not to count on him lookin'
out for my interest at a Dragon Poker table, and
therefore figure havin' my own copy of the rule-
book is a necessary expense, not a luxury or con-
venience.

"Lefs see," I sez, thumbin' through the book, "the
sun is out . . . and we're playin' indoors . . ."

". . . and there's an odd number of players . . ."
Spyder supplies, showin' she's gettin' the hang of
the modifyin' factors.

"... and one of them is female . . . sort
of ..." Junebug adds, winkin' at Spyder.

"Sorry to take so long with your drinks, my
friends," the proprietor sez, announcin' his pres-
ence as he arrives back at the table with a tray of
potables. "Now, who has the . . . HEY! WHAT IS
THIS???!!!" .

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

93

It suddenly occurs to me that there may be some
local ordinance against gamblin' . . . which would
explain why the proprietor is suddenly so upset.

"This?" I sez, innocent-like. "Oh, we're just
havin' a friendly little game of cards here. Don't
worry, we're just usin' the coins to keep score
and . . ."

"Don't give me that!" our host snarls, with no
trace of his earlier greasy friendliness. "Thafs
Dragon Poker you're playing! No one plays that
game unless . . ."

He breaks off sudden-like and starts givin' each
of us the hairy eyeball.

"All right, which one of you is a demon? Or is it
all of you? Never mind! I want you all out of
here . . . RIGHT NOW!!!"

I

Chapter Eight:

"It takes one to know one!"
JACK D. RIPPER

L

To SAY THE proprietor's accusation caused a stir at
our table is like sayin' it would cause raised eye-
brows to have Don Bruce as the guest speaker at a
Policeman's Banquet. Unfortuitously, everyone
had different questions to ask.

"What's he mean 'demon'?" Spyder demanded.

I started to answer her, as I knew from my work
with the Boss that a demon is the commonly
accepted term for a dimension traveler, but there
was too much cross-talk for rational-type conver-
sation.

"Are we supposed to leave?" Spellin' Bee sez,
scared-like as he peered at the retreatm' figure.

"What's wrong with Dragon Poker?" Shu Flie
put in.

"Nothin'/' I sez to him. "You see, Spyder . . ."
95

96	Robert Asprin

"Then what put the burr under his saddle?" Shu
pressed, startin' to get under my skin.

Fortunately, in rrainin' I have discovered there is
one way to shut this particular individual up when
he gets on a roll.

"Shu Flie," I sez, "don't bother me."

It was an old joke by this time, but it still got a
laugh . . . which is not surprisin' as I have found
that the vast majority of army humor pivots on old
jokes.

"Watch yourself, brother," Hy Flie sez, pokin'
Shu in the ribs. "The Swatter there is lookin' to
squash a fly again . . . and he might not be too
picky about which of us he swats."

Under the cover of this new round of laughs,
Nunzio leans forward to talk to me direct.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, cuz?"
"That, of course, depends upon what it is you
are thinkin', Nunzio," I sez, reasonable-like. "If,
perchance, you are thinkin' that you can color our
cover 'blown,' then we are, indeed, thinkin' along
the same lines,"

To my surprise, instead of agreein' he rolls his
eyes like he does when I'm missin' something
which to him is obvious.

"Think it through, Guido," he sez. "He thinks
we're from off-dimension, because we know about
Dragon Poker . . . right?"
"Yeah. So?"

"So how does he know about it?"
To me, this question is as trivial as wonderin'
how a cop happens to know about a particular

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

97

ordinance . . . which is to say it is beside the
point, totally overlookin' the immediate dilemma
of dealin' with the aftermath of us gettin' caught
breakin' it.

"I dunno. I guess someone showed it to him. So
what?"

For some reason, this seems to get Nunzio even
more upset.

"Guido," he sez, clenchin' his teeth, "sometimes I
wonder if all those knocks on the head you've taken
have . . . oops! He's coming back. Quick . . .
Bee?"

"Yes, Nunzio?" our junior magician sez, blinkin'
with surprise at havin' been suddenly included in
our discussion.

"Get your Dis-spell ready, and when I give you
the nod . . . throw it on the proprietor."

"The proprietor? Why?"

"Bee . . . just do it. Okay?" I interrupts, havin'
learned from experience that the only thing that
takes longer than listenin' to one of Nunzio's
lectures is tryin' to pry a straight answer out of him
when he's tryin' to let you discover the point
yourself.

Bee starts to say somethin', then shuts his
mouth, shrugs, startin' to mumble and mutter like
he does when he's gettin' ready to use magik.

The others at the table look at Nunzio expectant-
like, but he just leans back in his chair lookin'
confident and smug. I, of course, imitate his ac-
tion, though I have no more idea what he is about
to pull than the rest of the crew. You see, past

98	Robert Asprin

experience has taught me that one of the best times
to act confident is when youse is totally in the
dark . . . but would just as soon no one else is
aware of your ignorance.

"Are you still here?" the proprietor demands,
materializin' beside our table again. "I don't want
to have to tell you again! Now get out before I call
the cops!"

"I don't think so," Nunzio sez, starin' at the
ceilin'.

"WHAT??!!"

". . . In fact, I was thinkin' we might want to
make your place our home away from home ... If
you know what I mean."

"Izzat so?! Think just 'cause you're in the Army
you can do anything you want, do you? Well, let
me tell you something, soldier-boy. I happen to be
a tax paying member of this community in good
standing with the authorities, and soldiers or not
they don't take too kindly to demons in these
parts. In fact, I can't think of one good reason why
I shouldn't call the police right now and have them
drag you all right out of here!"

"I can," Nunzio smiles, and nods at Bee.

At the cue, Spellin' Bee squares his shoulders,
purses his lips, and lets fly with his Dis-Spell,
and . . .

"What the . . ."

"MY GOD!!!"

"Lookit ..."

The reason for this outpourin' of surprise and
disbelief on the part of our crew is that, despite our

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

99

time with them, Nunzio and me has failed to brief
or otherwise prepare them for acceptin' the con-
cept of demons . . . which is what they're sud-
denly confronted with. That is, as soon as Bee
completed his spell, there was a ripplin' in the air
around the proprietor, and instead of a greasy local
type, he now looked just like . . .

"A Deveel!" I sez, hidin' my own surprise.

Actually, I am a little annoyed at myself for not
havin' figured it out on my own. I mean, no matter
what he looked like, I had been thinkin' that he
was actin' like a Deveel since I first set eyes on
him.

The reaction of our crew to this discovery, how-
ever, is nothin' compared to the reaction we gets
from the proprietor.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!??" he screeches,
lookin' around the place desperately, only to find
we are the only ones present. "YOU TRY1N' TO
GET ME LYNCHED???"

With that, he goes scuttlin' off, leavin' Nunzio
and me to deal with the confusion caused by the
removal of his disguise.

"THAT WAS A DEVIL!!!"

I miss who exactly it is who observes this par-
ticular utterance, as it is said behind me and the
choked, gargley nature of the voice makes positive
identification no easy task. Still, I have no difficulty
comin' up with a response.

"I know. That's what I said before," I explain.

"No, you said he was a Da-veel," Junebug sez
frownin'.

100

Robert Asprin

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

101

"Same difference," I shrugs.

"Look," Spyder sez, holdin' up a hand to the
others for them to be quiet. "Are you guys going to
tell us what's goin' on here or not?"

"Guido," Nunzio sez, jerkin' his head in the
direction the proprietor has gone. "Why don't you
go do a little negotiating with our host before he
gets too recovered from our little surprise, whilst I
try to explain the facts of life to our colleagues."

This is fine by me, as I do not share my cousin's
love of lengthy and confusin' explanations and am
glad to be excused from what promises to be a
classic opportunity for him to pontificate. Besides,
it is not often that one has a chance to really stick
it to a Deveel, and as in those few occasions I have
been present for, I have usually had rank pulled on
my by the financial types of the M.Y.T.H. Inc.
team, I am lookin' forward to a rare opportunity to
demonstrate my own negotiatin' talents. Of
course, it occurs to me that the only witness I will
have for this exercise will be the individual upon
whom I am turnin' the screws, and he will doubt-
less be less than appreciative of my finesse.
Doin' one's best work in the absence of witnesses
is, however, one of the unfortunate and unjust
realities of my chosen profession, and I have long
since resigned myself to the burden of anony-
mity . . . teliin' myself that if I had wanted to be
a well-known crook, I should have gone into poli-
tics.

The proprietor has vanished like a cat burglar at
the sound of a bell, but I soon discover him in a

small office behind the bar. He is holdin' one of
those small foldin' cases with a mirror in it like
broads use to check their makeup, only instead of
powder and colored goop, his just seems to have a
couple dials in it. Starin' into the mirror, he twid-
dles with the dials a bit ... and slowly the
disguise he was wearin' before came into focus
again, leadin' me to conclude that it is some kind
of magik device. If it seems to youse that it took me
a long time to reach this conclusion, you are
makin' the mistake of underestimatin' my speed of
thinkin'. Included in my observational analysis
was a certain amount of speculation of whether
such a device might be handy to have for my own
use ... as well as whether it would be better to
obtain one on my own or simply include this one
in my negotiations.

Apparently the gizmo also functions as a normal
mirror, as the proprietor suddenly shifts the angle
he is holdin' it at so's we are starin' at each other in
the glass, then he snaps it shut and turns to face
me.

"What do you want?!" he snarls. "Haven't you
done enough to me already?"

I do not even bother tryin' to point out that I am
not the one what stripped him of his disguise
speil, as I have learned durin' my residence on
Deva that unless they are actively sellin', which
fortunately is most of the time, Deveels are ex-
tremely unpleasant and unreasonable folks who
do not accept that simple logic is sufficient reason

102	Robert Asprin

to stop complainin'. They do, however, respond to
reason.

"I have come as a peace emissary," I sez, "in an
effort to reach an equitable settlement of our dif-
ferences."

The Deveel simply makes a rude noise at this,
which I magnanimously ignore as I continue.

"I would suggest you meet our offer with equal
enthusiasm for peace . . . seein' as how contin-
ued hostilities between us will doubtless result in
my colleagues and me trashin' this fine establish-
ment of yours . . ."

"What? My place?" the proprietor blinks, his
mouth continuin' to open and close like a fish out
of water.

". . . As well as spreadin' the word about your
bein' a Deveel to the authorities you was so
ungraciously threatenin' us with . , . and any-
one else in this town who will listen. Know what I
mean?"

Now, I have this joker cold, and we both know
it. Still he rallies back like a punch-drunk boxing
champ on the downslide, fightin' more from guts
and habit than from any hope of winnin'.

"You can't do that!" he sez, gettin' his mouth
workin' well enough to at least sputter. "If you
turn me in as a demon, then I'll incriminate you,
too! We'll all end up getting killed, or at least run
out of town."

"There is one major difference in our circum-
stantials which you are overlookin'," I sez, grin-
nin' at him. "While I will admit that my cousin and

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

103

me have done some dimension travelin', this par-
ticular dimension of KJah happens to be our home
territory. The appearances you see are legit and
not disguises, so any attempt to accuse us of bein'
from off-dimension would be difficult to prove, as
we are not. On the other hand, you, bereft of
disguise, would encounter extreme difficulty in
convincin' a jury or lynch mob that you was from
around here."

I thought this would bring any resistance on the
proprietor's part to an end, but instead he straight-
ens up and frowns, his eyes takin' on a mean
glitter.

"You're from this dimension? You wouldn't hap-
pen to know a local magician and demon by the
name of Skeeve, would you?"

As I have said before, I have not reached my
current age and position by panicking under cross-
type examination or by overratin' the necessity for
voicin' the whole truth. I can see that this Deveel
has some kind of grudge against the Boss, so while
habitually avoidin' any false statement which
could lead to perjury charges, I am careful not to
acknowledge my actual relationship with the indi-
vidual in question.

"Skeeve?" I sez, frownin' dramatically like I
learned to do in theater. "I think 1 may have heard
the name while I was workin' at the Bazaar, but I
ain't heard it recently."

"Too bad," the Deveel mutters, almost to him-
self. "I owe that Klahd a bad turn or two. I spent a
couple of years as a statue under a cloud of

104	Robert Asprin

pigeons because of him. In fact I'd still be there if
it weren't for ... but that's another story, if you
know what I mean."

Of course, from workin' with the Boss, I knew
exactly what he meant . . . that the story of his
escape was gonna be marketed separately some-
time as a short story to generate additional reve-
nue whilst promotin' these books at the same time.
Of course, admittin' this understandin' would
have been a dead giveaway, so I decide to change
the subject instead.

"Yeah, sure. Say, speakin' of names, what's
yours, anyway? I mean your real name, not this
Abdul alias."

"What? Oh! It's Frumple ... or it used to be
back when I was welcome in my own dimension of
Deva."

That had a familiar sound to it, but I decide
enough is enough, and take a firm grip on the
subject at hand.

"Well, I'm Guido and my cousin what was
talkin' to you back at the table is Nunzio . . . and
I believe we was discussin' the terms of our
peaceful coexistence with youse?"

Frumple cocked his head to one side, studyin'
me close-like.

"You know," he sez, "you sound like you work
for the Mob. In fact, now that I think about it, I
seem to recall hearing something about the Mob
trying to move in on the Bazaar."

"Yeah? So?"

"So I'm already making yearly protection pay-

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

105

ments to the Mob, and I don't see why I should

stand for being shaken down for anything extra."

This information that the Mob is operatin' in

these parts is disquietin' to say the least, but I

manage not to show any surprise or nervousness.

"Really?" I sez. "Tell me, does your local Mob

sales rep know that you're a Deveel?"

"Okay, okay! I get the point," Frumple says,
throwin' up his hands. "What do you want to keep
that information quiet?"

"Well,  since we're lookin'  to make this our
hangout for a while, I figure we can protect your
little secret as a courtesy."
"Really?"

"Sure," I smiles. "Of course, in return, it would
be nice if you extended the hospitality of your
establishment to us and our friends ... as a
courtesy."

"I see," he sez, tightenin' his lips to a crooked
line. "All right, I guess I don't have much choice.
It'll be cheaper to give you free drinks than to have
to relocate and start building a business up from
scratch. I'll give you free drinks, and maybe an
occasional meal. The rooms upstairs are out,
though. If I start letting you use those for free, I'll
go out of business anyway. They're the profit
margin that keeps this place afloat."
"Rooms?"

"Yeah. I've got a few rooms upstairs that I rent
to the customers by the hour so they
can . . . have some privacy with any interesting
people they happen to meet here. You see, this

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106

Robert Asprin

place gets pretty lively evenings. Ifs one of the
more popular singles bars in town."

"You mean you got broads workin' the joint at
night?"

"Certainly not! The women who hang out here
have regular high-paying jobs and wouldn't dream
of charging for their company."

"So the customers pay you for the rooms, but
not the broads," I sez. "Sounds like a sweet setup
to me."

"Not that sweet," Frumple amends, hastily.
"Still, it helps pay the rent."

"Okay. I think we can settle for drinks and
food," I shrugs. "Come on out front, Frumple, and
I'll let you buy me a drink to show there's no hard
feelin's."

"You're too kind," the Deveel grumbles, but he
follows me out of the office.

"I think champagne would be appropriate to
seal our agreement, don't you?" I sez. "White
champagne."

"White champagne?"

"Of course," I smiles, glad for a chance to show
off my knowledge and culture. "This here is a
sushi bar, ain't it? You think I don't know what
color champagne to have with fish?"

Chapter Nine:

"Manners are acquired, not inherited!"

S. PENN

THINGS ARE PRETTY sweet for a while after I make our
arrangement with Frumple. The reduced costs of
our off-hour drinkin' are a real boon on the scut
wages the army is payin' us, and the Deveel sure
had the right of it when he said his sushi bar was
a happy huntin' grounds when it came to broads.
Of course, 'broads' is perhaps a mis-no-
menclature for the type of women what hang out
at this establishment evenings. These was not the
usual gum-snappin, vacant-eyed skirts we are
used to assoriatin' with, but rather the classy,
fashion-wise young female executive with a lot on
the ball what normally wouldn't give lunks like us
the time of day. It seems that once we invaded the
sanctuary of these upwardly mobile females, how-
ever, they was open-minded enough to give us
107

108	Robert Asprin

serious consideration in their own deliberations.
While I will not try to comment on which of these
two types of females actually makes for better
companions, there are things to be said for
each . . . though not all those things are compli-
mentary.

There are two flies which mar our enjoyment of
this ointment, however, and here I am not referrin'
to the Flie brothers. First, there is the ever-present
danger of runnin' into someone from the Mob, as
Frumple's comments have confirmed our suspi-
cion that they maintain some kind of presence
here. Second, there is the annoyin' detail that we
are supposed to be working on an assignment, not
havin' a good time. Naturally, this is the subject of
no small amount of conversation between Nunzio
and me.

"The trouble is, we can't really do a good job of
disruptin' without movin' around town," I was
sayin' durin' one such discussion, "and if we move
around town, then the odds of our runnin' into
someone from the Mob goes way up!"

"Then we'll have to see what we can stir up from
right here," my cousin sez. "When you stop to
think about it, this is a pretty good setup for
it ... makin' trouble, I mean. Most of these
women have husbands at home, and even the ones
that don't have sufficient standing in the community
that if it comes to an altercation, the local authorities
will have to take her side of it."

"Why do you say that? I mean, why should

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

109

messin' with these broads cause any more hassle
than any others?"

Instead of answerin' right away, Nunzio leans
back and gives me the hairy eyeball for a few
minutes.

"Guido," he says at last, "Are you tryin' to be
stupid just to get a rise out of me?"
"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you yourself said that our com-
mander told us that it was okay if we messed with
bimbos, but to leave the respectable women alone.
Yet now that I am tryin' to put together a specific
course of action, you are actin' like it is a brand-
new concept to you."

"It just seems to me that it is a revoltin' form of
class bias and bigotry," I sez, "assumin' that a
woman's respectability is a matter of her financial
standin' and education. Wouldn't it be better if it
were the other way around? I mean, if a woman's
respectability determined where she stood in the
financial order instead of the other way around?"
"There are two problems with that," Nunzio sez.
"First of all, the same unfair standard is applied to
men as well . . . meanin' it holds for everyone, not
just women. Them what is rich and educated is
always deemed more respectable ... if for no
other reason than they wield more power and pay
more taxes."

"That's true," I sez, noddin' thoughtful-like.
"The second problem is that it's completely off
the   subject   of   what   we   was   discussin' . . .
which is to say how to cause disruption."

110

Robert Asprin

"It is?"

"What is more, any time you try to start a
philosophical discussion with me, it is to be taken
as a sure sign that you are deliberately tryin' to
divert my attention ... as normally you avoid
such conversations like a subpoena."

I say nothin' when he pauses, as he seems to
have me cold. I had been tryin' to change the
subject.

"All of this, the attempt at stupidity and the
lame effort at philosophical discussion, leads me to
believe that for some reason you are stalling and
do not wish to commence working on our assign-
ment. Am I right?"

I avoid his eyes and shrug kinda vague-like.

"Come on, Cuz, talk to me," Nunzio urges. "Are
you really havin' so much fun playing soldier that
you want to prolong the experience?"

"That is not only silly, it is insultin'!" I sez, my
annoyance overcomin' my embarrassment at
havin' been caught.

"Then what is it? ... If you don't mind my
asking?"

"Well ... to be honest with youse, Nunzio, I
feel a little funny stirrin' up trouble at this partic-
ular location, seein' as how it was me what did the
negotiatin' with Frumple to not cause him any
grief."

Nunzio throws back his head and gives a bark of
laughter . . . which to me is a dubious way to
express his sympathy at my plight.

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

111

"Let me get this straight," he sez. "You're wor-
rying about dealing fair with a Deveel?"

"You may laugh," I sez, "though I suggest you
not do it often when I am the subject of your
amusement. Allow me to remind youse, however,
that even though Deveels are notoriously hard
bargainers, it is also true that once a deal has been
struck, they are equally scrupulous about stickin'
to the letter of said agreement. As such, it occurs to
me that failin' to honor one's own end of such an
agreement is to place oneself in a position of bein'
even less trustworthy than a Deveel . . . which is
not a label I relish hangin' upon myself."

"Okay . . . let's examine the letter of said
agreement," Nunzio shrugs. "What you agreed to
was that we would neither trash his establishment,
nor would we reveal the true nature of his identity
as a Deveel. Correct?"

"Well . . . yeah."

". . . Neither of which conditions is broken by
us directing our attentions to the lovelies which
have taken to making this establishment their
after-hours habitat . . . even if our attentions
should turn out to be unwelcome."

"I suppose . . . but don't you think that such
activity would violate at least the spirit of our
agreement, by which I mean the implication that
we would not make trouble for our host?"

"That is the portion of your discomfort which I
find the most amusing," Nunzio sez with an
infuriatin' grin. "Realizing that Deveels make their
living as well as their reputation by honoring the

i

112

Robert Asprin

letter rather than the spirit of their agreements, I
think it is ironic that you are recoiling from dealing
with them with the same ethic that they deal with
others."

I consider this for a few minutes, then take a
deep breath and blow it out noisily.

"You know, cousin," I sez. "You're right. I
mean, when you're right, you're right . . . know
what I mean?"

"I do," Nunzio frowned, "which is in itself a
little disturbing."

"So . . . when do you think we should start?"

"Well . . . how about right now?"

While my cousin has convinced me that it would
be within the bounds of ethical behavior to launch
our campaign, such an accelerated-type timetable
catches me unawares.

"Excuse me?"

"I said how about starting right now. Opportu-
nity should be seized when it presents itself . . .
and right now there is a young lady at the bar who
has been checking you out for the last several
minutes."

I sneak a peek in the direction he is lookin', and
sure enough . . . there is one of those classy
broads I have been tellin' you about, a blonde to be
specific, perched on a bar stool and starin' right at
me. I know this to be true, 'cause though for a
minute I thought she was lookin' at someone else,
as soon as our eyes meet, she closes one eye in a
broad wink and smiles.

"Nunzio," I sez, duckin' my head and turnin'

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

113

my back on her. "There is one more problem I have
neglected to mention to you."
"What's that?"

"Well, though my manners with broads are
perhaps not as polished as they should be, they
are nonetheless the best I have managed to acquire
over the years. That is to say, I am normally on my
best behavior with females, so the idea of tryin' to
act so offensive that they call for help is not
particularly comfortable to me. Mind you, I am
sayin' I would have difficulty doin' this with the
ordinary broads I am accustomed to dealin' with,
and to tell you the truth, I find the kind of classy
broads that hang out here more than a little
intimidatin'. I'm not sure I can start a conversation
with one, much less summon the courage to try to
be offensive."

"Well, I don't think that starting a conversation
is going to be a problem," Nunzio sez.

"Why not?"

"Because the lady in question is on her way over
to our table already."

Surprised, I swing my head back around to
check things out for myself . . . and come dan-
gerously close to plantin' my nose in the broad's
cleavage, as she is much closer to our table than
Nunzio had indicated.

"Oops . . . Sorry!" I sez, though it occurred to
me as I said it that it was not a great start to bein'
offensive.

"No problem," she sez. "A girl likes to feel
appreciated. Mind if I join you?"

114	Robert Asprin

Somethin' about the way she grins while sayin'
this is familiar ... or at least, decidedly un-
ladylike. Before I can comment, however, Nunzio
has taken over.

"Certainly. In fact, you can have my chair . . .
I was just leaving anyway. Catch you later,
Guido . . . and remember what we were talking
about."

With that, he gives me a big wink and wanders
off, leavin' me alone with the skirt . . . who
wastes no time plantin' her curvaceous bottom on
the chair my cousin has so graciously vacated.

"So ... I haven't seen you in here before."

"What?"

I have been so busy thinkin' about what I am
goin' to do to Nunzio to repay him for his "gra-
ciousness" that I nearly miss the broad's openin'
gambit.

"Oh. No, we just got into town this week. This
seems to be turnin' out to be our main hangout,
though."

"Hey, that's terrific! This is one of my favorite
spots. It's my first time in this week, though. Girl's
got to do the rounds to keep up with what's going
on in town . . . like when new soldiers arrive."

Although I have been feelin' self-conscious
about meetin' one of these high class skirts, this
one seems real easy to talk to ... like I'd known
her for years. Whafs more, she is certainly not at
all hard on the eyes, if you know what I mean.

"Say," I sez, "can I get you somthin' to drink? A
wine spritzer, maybe?"

M.Y.T.H. INC. m ACTION

115

"Bourbon. Rocks. Water back."

"Say what?"

I mean, it isn't just that she drinks stronger
hootch than I would have expected, it is the way
she rattled it off. I decide it is not this chick's first
time into a bar ... a decision made easier by the
fact she has already told me as much.

"Better still," she sez, "isn't there somewhere
else we can go?"

This is a rough one. Abdul's is the only joint in
town I have frequented so far.

"Ummmm ..." I sez, thinkin' fast, "I have
heard of some place around here where there's
open stage entertainment."

Mind you, I am not wild about takin' this skirt
somewhere where I might run into my comman-
din' officer, but I figure she'll be impressed with
my willingness to spring for a good time.

"I was thinking someplace more like the rooms
upstairs," she sez, leanin' forward to smile at me
real close.

I am taken a little aback by the forwardness of
this suggestion, though I suppose I shouldn't be
surprised. When a high-class babe like this ap-
proaches a low-brow Joe like me in a bar, she is not
usually after witty conversation . . . which, in
my case, is fortunate.

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: It has been brought to my
attention by some of my test readers that the
concepts in this chapter and those that immedi-
ately follow are a marked change of pace from the

L

116	Robert Asprin

normal MYTH content. In this, I fear it may be my
sad duty to introduce to some readers for the first
time the horrifying reality that there are a few sick,
twisted, perverted individuals who approach
members of the opposite sex in singles bars for
purposes other than pleasant conversation! I feel
free to identify them as such in this book, since it
is a well known fact that such blots on the shining
history of mankind do not read, making me rela-
tively safe from legal action. Incidentally, this is
also why the question "Read any good books
lately?" has become such a popular way of screen-
ing whom one does or doesn't talk to under such
circumstances. I will leave it to you how to answer
if the question is ever addressed to you. Mean-
while, back to the story . . .)

As I was sayin' before I was so rudely interrupted,
I am at a bit of a loss as to how to respond to this
advance.

"Right now?" I sez. "Don't you want to talk for
a while first?"

"What's wrong? Don't you like me?" she sez,
startin' to pout a little. "Should I go peddle my
wares somewhere else?"

"Peddle?"

"Watch it," she sez, flat and nasty. "It's a figure
of speech."

"Oh."

I am vastly relieved to hear this. The only thing
more depressin' to a sensitive guy like me than
learnin' that a female is interested in him for his

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

117

body and not his mind is learnin' that her real
interest is in his wallet.

"Well?" she sez, cockin' an eyebrow at me.

Though I am, perhaps, a little dense at pickin'
up cues from a skirt, let it never be said I am slow
once the message has gotten through. Scant sec-
onds later I have acquired the key to a room from
Frumple and am leadin' this vision of loveliness up
the narrow stairs . . . well, followin' her, actu-
ally, as experience has taught me that this gives
one an excellent view of the sway of her hips,
which is to me still one of the most beautiful and
hypnotic sights in any dimension.

In a masterful display of control, I manages not
to fumble with the key whilst unlockin' the door,
and even stand aside to let her enter first.

Bein' a broad, she whips out one of those foldin'
mirrors and starts checkin' her makeup even be-
fore I finish lockin' the door behind us.

"So," I sez, over my shoulder, "What do you
want to do first?"

To be honest with youse, at this point I have no
interest at all in creatin' a hassle. Instead, I am
thankin' my lucky stars that a skirt like this would
give a lug like me a second look, and hopin' we can
get on with things before she changes her mind.

"Well," she sez, "You could start by bringing me
up to date on how you and Nunzio have been
doing."

It takes a moment for this to sink in, but when it
does, I knows just what to say.

"Say what?" I sez, spinnin' around.

118	Robert Asprin

The skirt what I come upstairs with is nowhere
to be seen. Instead, I've got a different broad in the
room with me. One with green hair and . . .

"Hi, Guido!" she sez. "Great disguise, huh?"

Chapter Ten;

"Now, here's my plan!"
R. BURNS

"TANANDA? Is that you?"

My surprise is not entirely due to my not havin'
spotted who it is what has been cadgin' drinks
from me all evening . . . though I hadn't. Rather
I am more than a little startled by her appearance,
which has changed considerably since we parted
company at the beginnin' of this mission.

Tananda is normally a spectacular lookin' skirt
with an impressive mane of green hair. While she
has never chosen to present the formal, every-hair-
in-place-self-presentation favored by most of the
broads what hang out at the sushi bar, optin'
instead for a casual wind-blown look, I am suffi-
ciently versed in the secrets of the female gender to
be aware that the latter look is as, or more, difficult
to establish and maintain as the former, and often
119

120

Robert Asprin

harder to carry off. All of which is to say Tananda
is usually very attractive to and careful of her
looks.

What I am currently seein', however, is someone
who looks like she has been on the wrong end of a
bad accident. Most of the hair is missin' from one
side of her head, along with the correspondin'
eyebrow, and the other side of her face is marred
by a big bruise which seems to be fadin', but still
looks painful. Havin' both given and received
more than my share of the latter type of injury, I
can estimate with fair accuracy the force of the
blow necessary to produce such spectacular
results . . . and it must have been a doozey.

"Sorry for the horror show," she sez, puttin'
away her disguise mirror after takin' one last peek,
as if to see whether things have changed since the
last time she looked, "but it's been a rough assign-
ment so far."

"What . . . What happened to you?" I sez,
findin' my voice at last. "Who did this to you?"

I mean, we had all known there might be some
trouble associated with this mission, but nobody
likes to see a beautiful skirt get worked over.

"Would you believe it was our own team?" she
sez, flashin' a quick smile, though I knew it hurt.
"Come again?"

"The hair is courtesy of Gleep," she explained.
"I guess it was an accident. I must have gotten
between him and dinner or something. Anyway,
it's not as bad as it looks ... or could have been,
Chumley saw it coming even if I didn't and got me

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

121

out of the way of the worst of it ... which is
both where the bruise came from and why I'm not
complaining about it. Honestly, you should see
what happened to the wall that was behind me at
the time."

"Speakin' of which, where are Chumley and
Gleep?"

For the first time in our conversation, Tananda
starts lookin" uncomfortable.

"They've ... ah ... headed back to Big
Julie's. Actually, big brother's in a bit worse shape
than I am, so rather than have him trying to work
with his arm in a sling, I told him to take Gleep
somewhere out of the action and stay with him for
awhile. Ifs funny, you know? I still can't figure
what set Gleep off ... but until we can get a
handle on it, I figure he's more of a danger than a
help on this assignment. Anyway, I decided to
stay on and use this disguise gizmo to see if I could
do anything to help the cause on my own. I sure
couldn't do much worse than we were doing as a
team."

Somethin' was tuggin' at the back of my
mind . . . somethin' that Nunzio had said about
his last assignment and bein' nervous about work-
in' with Gleep again. I couldn't put my finger on it,
though, and seein' as how the discussion was
makin' Tananda uncomfortable, I decided not to
pursue the subject. I did, however, make a mental
note to talk with Nunzio about it when we had a
chance.

"Sounds like things weren't goin' too well even

122	Robert Asprin

before the accident," I sez, pickin' up on her last
aside.

"You can say that again," Tananda sez, heavin' a
little sigh. "We were trying to work a variation on
the old badger game . . . you know, where I give
a soldier the come on, then Chumley bursts in and
raises a ruckus because the guy's compromising
his sister's honor?"

"I know the scam," I sez, 'cause I do ...
though I've never run it or been victimized by it
myself. Still, it's a time-tested, classic gambit.

"Well, it wasn't working anywhere near as well
as we would have hoped. Most of the soldiers
around here are under orders to keep their hands
off the local women, and if I upped the voltage to
make them forget their orders, then the locals
would spot what I was doing and take the position
that I was asking for whatever attentions I got."

"Gee, that's tough," I said. "It musta been hard
on you . . . particularly if you was workin' in-
jured."

I still didn't like the way that bruise was healin',
and it must have shown in my voice 'cause
Tananda leans forward and puts a hand on my
arm.

"I'm all right, Guido, really . . . though it's
sweet of you to be worried. I've gotten a lot
worse just rough-housing with Chumley . . .
honest."

Realizin' that her big brother is a troll, I can well
believe that Tananda is used to gettin' dinged up a

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

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bit in family squabbles. Right now, however, there
is somethin' else weighin' on my mind.

You see, Tananda's touch was real soft and
warm when she laid her hand on my arm, and it
gets me to thinkin' again about the original reason
I had for bringin' her up to this room. As I said
before, it has been a long time since I have been
alone with a skirt on anythin' resemblin' an inti-
mate basis . . . But Tananda is still a business
associate, and as with any profession, it is unwise
at best to allow oneself to become intimately in-
volved with a fellow worker. Besides, she has
never indicated to me any interest beyond
friendship ... or maybe a big sister. Still it was
real nice to have woman touchin' me . . .

"Umm ... All right. If you say so," I sez,
movin' slightly to break the physical contact be-
tween us. "We was just assigned here ourselves,
so we haven't had a chance to do much of any-
thin'. I think maybe we should try to figure out
how Nunzio and me can work the same area as
you without us gettin' in each other's way."

"Don't be silly, Guido. Since you're here, we can
all work together!"

"Come again?"

"Think about it," she sez, gettin' all bouncy in
her eagerness. "I've been having trouble finding
soldiers to take the bait on my little routine, but
you're soldiers, so it can make both our jobs easier.
If we're working both sides of the game, we can
control exactly how we want things to go."

I make a sincere effort to ignore her bouncin'

124

Robert Asprin

whilst I try to think of a good reason not to go
along with her suggestion. Somehow I am not sure
my actin' skills are up to pretendin' to be physically
forward with Tananda . . . but I am even less
enthusiastic about havin' Nunzio take the part.

"I dunno, Tananda," I sez, reluctant-like. "I'm
not so sure that's a good idea. I mean, we might
pull it off once . . . but if we're successful in our
play-actin', then Nunzio and me end up in the
stockade and out of action for the duration."

"Oh yeah?" she sez, cockin' her remamin' eye-
brow at me. "So what were you thinking would
happen when you brought me up here this
evening?"

"Ummm ..." I sez, recallin' that, unfortu-
itously, takin' the Fifth Amendment only works in
court.

"Never mind, Guido," she grins. "I withdraw
the question. Tell you what, though. If being
directly involved makes you uneasy, just line me
up with one of your army buddies. You've been in
long enough that you should have a pretty good
idea of who we can sucker."

I find that I am not wild about this idea either;
first, because it seems like a dirty trick to play on
any of the crew what's been workin' with Nunzio
and me the last few weeks, and second, because I
find I am not overjoyed with^he idea of anybody
pawin' Tananda. Still, I had to accept that we was
gonna have to break somebody's eggs to get this
omelette made, and that Tananda is right, it would

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

125

be easier and quicker to do if we set the thing up
ourselves.

"Okay, Tananda," I sez. "We'll try it that way."

"Are you okay, Guido?" she sez, peerin' at me
concemed-like. "You sound a little flat."

"I'm all right. {'11 tell youse though, Tananda,
this assignment is gettin' me down a little."

"Well cheer up, things may have been rocky so
far, but working together, we should be able to
make some progress. Tell you what, find Nunzio
and fill him in what we're doing. Then we'll meet
back here and give it a try ... say, tomorrow
night?"

"Sure, why not?"

"In the meantime," she sez, openin' her disguise
mirror again and startin' to fiddle with the knobs,
"come on downstairs and /'// buy you a drink or
two."

For a minute that sounds like a good idea. Then
I remember Frumple.

"I think we'd better cool it, Tananda. We gotta
be careful about how much we're seen together
here."

"What do you mean?"

"The reason we're hangin' out here is we found
out that the proprietor's a Deveel. The trouble is,
he seems to know the Boss and has some kind of
grudge against him. So far, he doesn't know we're
connected with the Boss, but if he gets
suspicious ..."

"A Deveel?"

"Yeah. Says his name is Frumple."

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Robert Asprin

"Frumple? So he's back in operation again, is
he?"

"You know him?"

"Sure. He teamed up with Isstvan against us
back when I first met Skeeve . . . and you're
right, if he gets suspicious, a disguise spell
wouldn't keep him from figuring out who I am."
"Maybe we should wait and try to run our
gambit somewhere other than here," I sez, tryin'
to keep the hope out of my voice.

"No need," Tananda grins. "As long as he
doesn't make the connection between us before-
hand, we should still be able to pull it off tomorrow
night. In fact, it'll be killing two birds with one
stone, in a manner of speaking. I don't mind doing
Frumple a bit of dirt in the course of action, but it '
looks like his place will be at ground zero when the
fireworks start. By the time he puts it together,
we'll be long gone."

"Swell," I sez, with more enthusiasm than I am
feelin'. "Then we're all set. Youse go ahead and
leave first. I'll stay up here awhile and give youse
a head start."

As soon as she is gone, I settle myself to try to
sort out my misgivin's about how things are goin'
on this assignment. It doesn't take long to figure
out that I am sufferin' under a burden of conflictin'

loyalties.

Youse may find this surprisin' from someone in
my line of work, but loyalty and betrayin' trust
counts very high up in my books . . . which is

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127

one of the things I have always admired about the
M.Y.T.H. Inc. crew as they all seem to value the
same thing.

In the past, I've managed to balance my loyalties
between the Boss and the Mob, as the strange
approach the Boss takes to things has not directly
threatened any of the Mob's interests. This current
situational, however, is tumin' out to be a horse of
a different caliber.

In plannin' to stir up trouble between the civil-
ians and the army, I am violatin' the trust placed in
me as a representative of the army . . . but I have
managed to rationalize this as it is my reason for
joinin' the army in the first place, so in this matter
I am actin' kinda like a spy with my loyalty clearly
with the Boss.

Nunzio has convinced me that I am not violatin'
my deal with Frumple by usin' his place as a site
for our mischief, as it falls outside the agreement
we made. This strikes me as a little shaky, but I can
be flexible when the occasion calls for it.

This latest plan, though, of settin' up someone
in your squad to be the fall guy is real hard to see
as any thin' except betrayin' a friend. Still, Tananda
is right ... it is the best way to be sure that
things go the way we want 'em to.

Thinkin' it over real hard, I finally come up with
an answer: What I gotta do is think of it as a
joke on a buddy. Okay, maybe it's a dubious
joke . . . like poppin' a paper bag behind some-
one who's gettin' ready to blow a safe . . . but as
long as the notable in question does not end up

128	Robert Asprin

permanently damaged or incarcerated as a result,
it can be passed off as a joke.

Now, my only concern is tryin' to make sure that
whoever we pick has a sense of humor ... a real
good sense of humor!

Chapter Eleven:

"That's why the lady is a tramp!"
B. MIDLER

"HOOOO-EY! THE PLACE is sure jumpin' tonight!" Shu
Flie exclaims, leanin' back in his chair to survey the
room.

"You kin say that again, Shu," his brother sez.
"Hey! Lookit that one over there!"

Any way youse look at it, the Flie brothers run a
class act ... though politeness will forbid my
commentin' on which class. For a change, however,
I am inclined to agree with them.

This is our first weekend in Twixt, much less
here at Abdul's, and the bar is packed to over-
flowin'. In fact, if we hadn't been drinkin' here
since early afternoon, it's doubtful we would have
a table at all. As it is, we are entrenched at our
regular table with a good view of the bar ... or,
to be more specific the de-rears arrayed along the
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Robert Asprin

bar ... as well as the de-fronts when they turn
around. Believe me, speakin' as a well-traveled
demon, youse don't get scenery like this just
anywhere!

Unfortunately, my enjoyment of the view is

marred by my distraction over the comin' events.

"Whatdaya think Swatter?" Shu sez, turnin' his

attention to me. "You ever see women like this

before?"

"Oh, they're not bad/' I sez, cranin' my neck to
scan the crowd.

It has occurred to me that Tananda will probably
be in disguise when she arrives, and it will there-
fore be difficult for me to recognize her unless she
gives me some kind of signal,

"Not bad? Listen to this, guys! All this beautiful
woman-flesh, and all Swatter can say is They're
not bad'!"

"Really, Swatter," Junebug sez. "You just don't
see beautiful women like this in the army!"

This earns him a dangerous scowl from Spyder,
but he misses it completely as he is feelin' his
drinks more than a little at this point.

"Nice crowd for a fight. Know what I mean,
cuz?" Nunzio murmurs in my ear low enough so
no one else can hear.

"I dunno," I sez, scannin' the crowd again. "I
don't see a single one of these white collar types
that even Bee couldn't take without half tryin'."

"That's what I mean," Nunzio grins, and helps
himself to another swallow from his drink.

As you can maybe tell from his behavior, the

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131

hesitations I have been experiencin' about settin'
up one of our buddies has not bothered my cousin
in the least. If anything, he seems to be lookin'
forward to a bit of trouble.

"Watch my chair," I sez, standing up. "I'm goin'
to the bar for a refill."

Like I said, the place is mobbed, and in typical
tightfisted Deveel type fashion, Frumple has not
incurred the added overhead of puttin' on extra
help, so if youse wants to get a drink sometime
before the next Ice Age, it is necessitated that youse
belly up to the bar to get your refill directly from
the bartender. If youse is wonderin' why someone
as greedy as Frumple is willin' to miss the extra
income generated by a higher turnover of drinks,
let me restore your faith by explainin' that he
makes it up both by waterin' the hootch and by
increasin' his unit revenue . . . which is to say he
raises his prices as the crowds get bigger.

Strangely enough, neither the weaker drinks nor
the sky-high prices seem to faze this crowd in the
least. I figure this is because they feel that payin'
three times the normal goin' fare for a drink will
screen out the rabble one usually has to tolerate
when drinkin' in a public place, thereby insurin'
that they are makin' their passes at folks of an
equal or higher income bracket, and as to the
watered drinks . . . well, the only reason I can
come up with that they aren't complainin' about
this is that they probably figure that booze is
unhealthy, so a weak drink is somehow healthier
than a strong one.

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Robert Asprin

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

133

You see, I have ascertained through eaves-
droppin' that health, and specifically healthy con-
sumables, is a very big issue with these upwardly
mobile folks. It's like they're used to thinkin' that
you can get anythin' with enough money . . .
and they've gotten it into their heads that by
spendin' more for health foods and health drinks,
they is never gonna die. Of course, they spend so
much time worryin' and naggin' each other about
good health, that they tend to generate sufficient
stress to keel over and croak from heart attacks . . .
but this seems to be an acceptable, if not desirable,
option as it is generally viewed as "the high pressure
which is the mark of a successful career person" and
therefore has become somethin' of a badge of status.
What is somehow overlooked in all this is that much
of the stress is needless anxiety they inflict upon
themselves by worryin' about such things as status
and health foods.

Perhaps it is because of the high-risk nature of
my chosen profession, but I personally have no
illusions of my own immortality. The way I see it,
there are enough unpredictable things in life that
can kill you that the only rational approach to life
is to take what little pleasures youse can as they
presents themselves, so that when your number
comes up, you can at least die knowin' you've had
a full and happy life. I think that life should be
more than an exercise in self-denial, and even if I
was guaranteed that I could live forever by abstain-
in', I'd probably continue my occasional indul-
gences. I mean, who wants to live forever . . .

.

particularly if that life has been designed to be
borin' and devoid of pleasure?

I am reflectin' on this when a broad elbows her
way in next to me at the bar. At first I think she is
just really desperate for a drink, which as I said is
understandable considerin' the slow service, and
step aside, usin' my not inconsiderable bulk to
make room for her.

"Got my target picked out for me?"

It takes a second for me to realize that I am the
one this question is bein' addressed to, as she sez
it casual without lookin' at me direct.

"Tananda?" I sez, lookin' at her hard.

She is jvearin' a different disguise tonight . . .
a shoulder length cloud of dark curls and a dress
made of some clingy fabric that . . . well, shows
off everything she's got underneath it.

"Don't look at me!" she hisses, quietly grindin' a
heel onto my toe to emphasize her point while
glancin' at the ceilin'. "We aren't supposed to
know each other . . . remember?"

"Oh, right . . . sorry."

I go back to starin' into my glass, doin' my best
to ignore her presence . . . which is not easy as
the crowd is pressin' a considerable amount of her
against me as we're standin' there.

"Okay, who's our pigeon?"

"You see the two broad-shouldered guys at our
table? The loud ones? I figure the one on the left
will do you just fine."

Guide and I have decided on Shu Flie for our
victim. Of the crew, we're probably the least fond

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Robert Asprin

of the Flie brothers, and while either of them
would probably serve our purposes, Shu is the
more dominant and might start trouble if Tananda
made a play for his brother instead of him. As our
objective is to cause trouble between the army and
the civilians, fightin' within our own ranks would
be counter-productive.

"Who's the yummy one across the table from the
animals?"

I sneak a peek behind me to be sure who she's
talkin' about.

"That? That's Junebug. He used to be an actor or
a dancer or somethin'."

"He'll do," she sez firmly, a predatory note
creepin' into her voice.

I refrain from lookin', but have a strong suspi-
cion she is lickin' her lips . . . mentally, if not
physically.

"I don't think that's such a hot idea. Tananda," I
sez. "There's sort of a thing goin' between him and
Spyder. At least, she's got a thing for him."

"Who?"

"Spyder. The chick in uniform sittin' next to
him."

"That's female?"

While, as you know, I had much the same
reaction the first time I met Spyder, for some
reason it bothers me hearin' it from Tananda.

"Don't let the hair fool you/' I sez, "She's pretty
tough."

"That's sweet of you, Guido," Tananda sez,
misunderstandin' what I was sayin', "but the day

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

135

I can't hold my own against that, I'll hang it up.
Well, off to work."

"What I mean is . . ." I try to say, but Tananda
is already gone, slitherin' after Junebug like some
kind of feline snake sidlin' up to a drunk canary.

This is just swell! While I suppose our "army vs.
civilians" objective could be achieved by a cat fight
between Tananda and Spyder, it wasn't exactly
what we had in mind when we planned this
scenario.

As it turns out, though, I needn't have worried.
Watchin' from the bar, I see Junebug respond to
Tananda's come-on like a first offender latchin'
onto his lawyer, and instead of startin' a fight,
Spyder just stands up and stomps out of the place
with a scowl on her face and her ears laid back in
her multicolored hair.

"Who's that talking to your buddy?" Frumple
sez, materializin' in front of me.

I make a big show of lookin' back at our table.

"Just a broad/' I shrug casual-like, signallin' for
a refill. "Why?"

"No reason. For a minute there I thought she
looked familiar is all."

He heads off down the bar to fetch my drink,
leavin' me a little uneasy. 1 tell myself there is no
reason why the Deveel should recognize Tananda,
as her current disguise bears no resemblance to her
regular appearance. Still, he is an unstable element
in the current equation, and I would just as soon
keep him out of it entirely, if possible.

"I thought we were targeting Shu Flie/' Nunzio

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Robert Asprin

sez, easin' in beside me at the bar. It may have
been crowded where we were, but people usually
manage to make room for someone Nunzio's size,
especially if he's talkin' to someone my size.

"We were," I sez. "But Tananda has her own
ideas on the subject."

"Well it sure put Spyder's nose out of joint. I
don't think I've ever seen her so mad. Unless it
was the time ..."

"Hey . . . Abdul!"

It was Junebug, standin' right behind us tryin' to
get Frumple's attention. He has his arm draped
around Tananda's shoulders, but if you look real
close youse can see that she is actually holdin' up
most of his weight.

"Yeah? What do you want?"

Though he wasn't particularly pleasant about it,
the speed with which any of our crew could get the
Deveel's attention was evidence that he hadn't
forgotten we all knew his secret.

"I ... we need ... a room."

"There aren't any available."

Frumple starts to turn away, only to find his
movement is restricted . . . specifically by my
cousin who has reached across the bar and taken
hold of his shoulder.

"Give him a room," Nunzio sez, soft-like.

Now, when Nunzio talks quiet like that, it usually
means he is about to lose his temper . . . which, in
this case, is understandable. I mean, we have put an
awful lot of trouble into this setup to have it thwarted
by anything silly like room availability.

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

137

"But there aren't any ..."

"Give him the room you keep for yourself.
You're going to be too busy down here to use it for
awhile."

"I'm not that busy," the Deveel argues, tryin' to
twist out of Nunzio's grip. "And if . . ."

"You could be a lot busier ... if you know
what I mean," Nunzio sez, startin' to tighten his
hand.

"All right! Okay! Here!" Frumple sez, producin'
a key from his pocket and passin' it to Junebug.
"Last door on the right!"

"Thanks, Nunzio," Junebug calls over his shoul-
der as he and Tananda weave their way toward the
stairs.

My cousin waits until they are out of sight before
he bothers to release his grip on Frumple.

"Now, see how nice it makes you feel to bring a
little happiness into someone else's life?"

The Deveel bares his teeth in a silent snarl, then
heads off down the bar to tend to the growin'
number of shouters.

"Well, that didn't take long," I sez, lookin' at the
stairs where Tananda and Junebug have vanished.

"Not surprising, really," Nunzio sez with a leer.
"I mean, how long would you dawdle around if
Tananda invited you into her room?"

If you surmise from this that I have not given my
cousin a complete account of my meetin' with
Tananda, you are correct. I decide to change the
subject.

"One question, cousin/' I sez, takin' a sip of my

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Robert Asprin

drink. "How are we supposed to know when to
intrude on the proceedin's?"

"I dunno, I guess we wait until we hear Tananda
start callin' for help."

I swivel my head around and stare at him.

"Nunzio," I sez, "has it occurred to you that
with the racket goin' on down here, she can shoot
off a cannon and we won't be able to hear her?"

This brings a scowl to his face.

"Good point," he sez, borrowin' a sip from my
drink.

"Good point? Is that all you got to say?" I am
startin' to get worked up now. "What do you think
is gonna happen if we miss our cue and don't break
things up?"

"Hmmm . . . well, if we don't rescue her, then
Tananda's gonna have to deal with Junebug her-
self."

". . . Which means one of our squad ends up in
the hospital," I finishes for him. "Either that or
Tananda takes a bunch of lumps waitin' for us to
show up like we said we would."

"Like I said . . . good point."

"Well, I'm not gonna just sit here," I sez, stand-
in' up. "You comin' with me?"

"You mean bust in on 'em right now?"

"That's just what I mean. Why not? They've
already been up there for awhile."

At this point, I am besieged by mental images of
Tananda bein' pawed by Junebug ... all the
while callin' vainly for us to help her.

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

139

"Just a second, Guido," Nunzio sez, then raises
his voice. "Hey! Bee!"

Our junior magician comes scuttlin' over to us.

"What is it, Nunzio?"

"I want you to go out and find some police and
bring them back here."

"Police? But why ..."
- "Just do it! Okay?"

"Sure Nunzio. City police or Military Police?"

"Both, if you can manage it. Now get going."

He turns to me as Bee goes sprintin' out into the
night.

"All right, Guido. It's party time!"

Chapter Twelve:

"It sure looks to me like a big night
tonight!"

ARTHUR, REX

IN OUR PLANNIN', we had neglected to establish a
means by which Tananda was to let us know
which room they was gonna be in. (Oversights
such as this is why 1 am usually willin' to let
someone else . . . like the Boss ... do our
plannin' for us!) Fortuitously, the Deveel had
given them directions loud enough for us to hear
at the same time as he was handin' them the key,
so we have no trouble findin' where we are sup-
posed to be.

"I don't hear anything ... do you?" Nunzio
sez, cockin' his head outside the door.

By now, however, I am gettin' a head of steam
up and am in no mood to quibble over details.

"Maybe you should have thought of that before

)'ou sent Bee for the cops," I sez, backin' up to get
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142

Robert Asprin

a runnin' start. "But since you did, we are kinda
committed to be there when the waltz starts . . ,
know what I mean?"

"Well, just remember that the key to this work-
ing is to try to promote confusion whenever pos-
sible."

"That shouldn't be hard," I snarl, and launch
myself at the door.

I have specifically mentioned our objective of
"confusion" so that youse folks readin' this will
not think your brains have suddenly gone Fruit
Loops while tryin' to sort out this next series of
events . . . that is, it's supposed to be confusion'!

Anyway, the door goes down, as doors are
inclined to do when I hit them goin' full tilt, and
the two of us pile into the room . . . which I am
not too busy to notice is considerably nicer than
the room Frumple gave me yesterday.

To our startlement, there is no altercation occur-
rin' in the room ... at least, not until we arrive.
Tananda and Junebug are in a huddle on the sofa,
but any noise she is makin' is not screams of
outrage. Still, as we have made our entrance, my
cousin and me have little choice but to continue
with the script as originally planned.

Nunzio latches on to Junebug, liftin' him clear of
the sofa whilst I turns my attentions to Tananda.
"Are you okay, lady??" I sez in my loudest voice,
which projects pretty well thanks to my old drama
coach. "Just take it easy!!"

"Damn it, Guido! Not yet!!" she hisses, glarin' at
me as she struggles into a sittin' position.

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

143

Now, this is not part of our planned dialogue,
and I glance over at Junebug quick-like to see if he
has noticed that Tananda has let it slip that we
know each other. I need not have concerned
myself.

Nunzio is holdin' Junebug high enough that his
feet are not touchin' the floor, hangin' onto him by
the front of his uniform while shakin' him hard. Of
course, on the out-stroke, he is also slammin' our
colleague into the wall in a repeated manner
solidly enough to shake the buildin'. He has done
this to me on a couple of occasions, so I can state
from personal experience that while it may look like
he is tryin' to help you clear your head, the
actualities of the situational is that after hittin' the
wall a few times, you're lucky to remember your
name, much less why he is carryin' on in this
manner.

"Calm down, Junebug!" my cousin is shoutin'.
"She isn't worth it!! We don't want no trouble!!!"

Seein' as how Junebug is distracted, which I can
tell by the way his eyes are rollin' around inde-
pendent-like in his head, I turn my attention to
Tananda once more.

"Look, Tananda," I growl, lowerin' my voice
so's only she can hear me, "I apologize if our timin'
is less than exact. You can beat on me for it later. In
the meantime, might I point out that the curtain is
already up and you have been entrusted with a
rather important role in our performance?"

"But we were just starting to . . ." she pauses

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Robert Asprin

here and draws a long, ragged breath. "Oh . . .
All right!"

With this, she reaches up, takes hold of the
shoulder of her dress, and rips it diagonally across
her body down to the hip ... in doin' so givin'
me a quick glimpse of a lot more of Tananda than
it has previously been my privilege to view.

"He was going to . . . Oh, it was just awful! What
kind of people are you, anyway?"

She pauses in her hysterics.

"Guido!" she sez, urgent-Iike.

I am still starin' at the portion of the dress she is
now tryin' to hold together with one hand.

"Hmmm? Oh ... Yeah! Just take it easy, lady!!"
I sez, avertin' my eyes as I am a little embarrassed.
"He didn't mean nothin'H"

"Get him away from me!!! Just get him away!!!"

That cue I can remember.

"Come on Nunzio," I sez. "Let's get him out of
here!"

With that, we each grab Junebug by one arm and
usher him out of the room through the crowd
that's startin' to gather. I look back at Tananda and
give her a wink, but she just sticks her tongue out
at me quick-like before continuin' her hysterics.

"WHAT KIND OF A PLACE IS THIS?" she
screams after us. "Letting animals like that mix with
decent people ..."

I lose the rest of her performance as we are
carryin' Junebug down to the main floor by now.

The crowd what has been outside the room was
nothin' compared to what was waitin' for us in the

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145

bar. Everybody in the place is crowdin' around to
see what is goin' on ... well, crowdin' at a
distance like folks do when they don't want to be
right up dose to the action. Toward the back, I can
see the uniforms of some of the local constabulary,
though they are havin' trouble reachin' us through
the heavy traffic. Of the Military Police there is no
sign ... so I figure we will just have to start
without them.

"What's going on up there?" Frumple demands,
appearin' at my side.

"Here," I sez out of the side of my mouth,
pushin' some money into his hand. "Take this."

"What's this for?" he sez, scowlin' at my offerin'.

"That should cover the bar bill for our table since
this afternoon."

"Your bar bill?" he frowns. "I don't get it. We
had a deal. I give you free drinks, and you don't
bust up my place or tell anyone . . . my secret."

"Don't worry," I sez, showin' him a few teeth.
"Your secret is safe."

"Then what . . . Hey! Wait a minute! You aren't
going to . . ."

Just then, the police reach us.

Now, earlier Nunzio and me was commentin'
how there wasn't anyone in the bar who could give
us a run for our money. This situational changes
when these cops roll in. There are four of them,
and while none of them looks particularly tough
physically bein' uniformly soft around the middle,
there is a steadiness in their eyes that anyone in

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Robert Asprin

the business can spot as the mark of someone what
don't get particularly rattled when trouble starts.

"All right!" the biggest one of 'em says, steppin'
up to us. "What's going on here?"

As you might guess, people of Nunzio's and my
profession are not overly fond of the authorities of
the law, particularly the street variety, and we
usually give them wide berth. So in actual confron-
tation such as this, it is not too difficult for us to act
unpleasant.

"What kind of town is this?" Nunzio bellows,
glarin' around at the crowd. "A man in uniform tries
to have a quiet drink . . . and the next thing you
know, some bimbo is trying to set him up for a bum
rap!!"

"Just take it easy, soldier," the cop sez, friendly-
like. "You're among friends now. There are a
couple of us who were in the service ourselves
once."

This is somethin' we hadn't counted on. The last
thing we need right now is for the cops to act
reasonable. I figure it is about time I take a hand in
the proceedin's personally.

"Oh, yeah?" I sneers. "What happened? You chicken
out when it looked like there might actually be some
fightin' to be done? Figured it was safer hasslin' drunks
than gettin' shot at?"

"Cool down, soldier," the cop smiles, but I can
see his lips are real tight. "Let's just step outside
and discuss this."

"You hear that?" Nunzio shouts to the Flie broth-
ers who are still holdin' down our table. "They don't
mind taking our money for drinks . . . but when we

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147

catch 'em tryin' to roll one of our boys, THEN they try
to send us packing!"

"Oh yeah?" Shu Flie bristles and stands up,
crowdin' toward us followed close by his brother.
"Well if they want us out of here, they're gonna
have to throw us out!"

Caught between us on one side and the Flie
brothers on the other, the cops start gettin' ner-
vous, swivelin' their heads back and forth tryin' to
keep an eye on all of us.

"Now hold on a minute!" the cop we was talkin'
to sez. "Who are you saying was trying to roll
you?"

"That floozie upstairs!" Nunzio snarls, jerkin' a
thumb back over his shoulder. "She gave our buddy
the big come on . . . crawlin'all over him, you know?
Then when we go up to see if he's all right 'cause he's
been drinkin', she's goin' through his pockets!"

"That's right!" Hy Flie sez. "We were sittin' right
over there when this bombshell starts playing up
to Junebug here!"

"Of course, they stick up for each other!" one of
the guys in the front of the crowd snorts to the
fellow next to him.

I don't think he meant to be heard, but Shu Flie
was standin' right beside him and caught it.

"Are you callin' my brother a liar?" he sez, startin'
for the loudmouth.

I'm thinking we got the fight in the bag, but one
of the cops gets between 'em holdin' them apart
with a hand on each of their chests.

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Robert Asprin

"Back off! Both of you!" he orders. "We're going
to get to the bottom of this ..."

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF THAT SOLDIER!!"

The Military Police have arrived and come
pushin' through the crowd to join our discussion
group.

"Military personnel are to be handled by the MPs and
not pushed around by some cop with a chip on his
shoulder!"

The sergeant in charge of the MPs is a real
bruiser and just the kind of Joe I wanted to
see . . . not too bright and dog-stubborn. He has
three of his buddies with him, so we really out-
number the cops. Then I see some more police
uniforms comin' through the door and have to
revise my count again. It looks like a real party
shapin' up.

"We weren't pushing him around!" the first cop
sez, steppin' in nose to nose with the MP sergeant.
"What's more, this investigation involves a civil-
ian, so until we find out what happened ..."

"We caught some bimbo tryin' to roll one of our boys!"
Shu Flie shouts at the MP. "And now they're all
tryin' to cover up for her!"

"Is that so!" the MP scowls, glarin' around at the
bar. "These soldiers risk their lives to keep things
safe for you, and this is the thanks they get?"

What a great guy, I think. What a great, gullible,
thick-headed guy. He could probably get this fight
started all by himself . . . if we let him.

"/ resent that remark!" our cop snarls, finally
startin' to lose it. "We risk our lives too, you know!"

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

149

"Oh excuse me! I forgot!" the MP smiles nasty-
like. "You're in constant danger of choking to
death on a doughnut!"

"Doughnut, is it?" the cop sez, lookin' around
slow at the other cops . . . maybe to count heads
and check the odds before decidin' what to do or
say next.

I turned my head to sneak a wink at Nunzio, just
in time to see Tananda make her entrance from the
stairs.

"THERE THEY ARE!!!" she shrieks, "Those are
the soldiers that attacked me!!"

It would seem that she has been busy with her
disguise gizmo, because the bruise I have earlier
commented on is now clearly in evidence . . .
although to an experienced eye such as my own, it
is obvious that it is not a recent injury. Of course,
bein' Tananda and havin' a flair for the dramatic,
she has not stopped there. While the dress she is
wearin' is the same color as the one she had on
earlier, its hemline and fit are a lot more modest
than the hot outfit she used to get Junebug's
attention ... a /of more. On top of that, her
wild, sexy hairdo now looks more like some librar-
ian's maidenly bun what has been pawed to
pieces. The real beauty of all this, however, is that
she is standin' where the cops can see her, but the
MPs can't! Of course, the crowd can see her, too.

"That's no floozie!" the guy what mouthed off
earlier sez.

"Hey! I think she works with me!" someone else
chimes in.

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Robert Asprin

"See what happens when they let soldiers in
here?"

The crowd is startin' to get ugly, but to give the
cop credit, he tries to calm things down.

"Just relax, everybody!" he hollers. "We're han-
dling this!"

Then he turns back to the MP, his face all grim-
like.

"We've got to get to the bottom of this, sergeant,"
he sez. "I want you to hold those three men . . ."

As he's sayin' this, he raises his hand to point in
our direction.

Now there is a gag that Nunzio and I have
pulled so often that we don't even have to look at
each other now to know what to do. We are still
holdin' Junebug up by his arms, and the cop is
close enough that when he tries to point at us, it's
an easy matter for us to move Junebug sideways in
front of his hand . . . then let go!

Unless you are watchin' real close at the right
moment, this looks exactly like the cop took a poke
at Junebug and decked him!

Realizin' the already tense nature of the situa-
tional, this is a little like beatin' on a blastin' cap
with a hammer.

The MP starts to reach for the cop, but I get there
first . . . mostly 'cause I know what is comin'
and have a head start.

"Let me!" I sez, then I do somethin' I've been
waitin' to do all my life.

I lay my best punch on a cop ... in front of
witnesses!

Chapter Thirteen:

"Weren't you expecting me?"
J. RAMBO

ME AND NUNZIO have a bit of a wait before the
company commander shows up at his office. This
is fine by me, as it gives me a chance to stop my
nose from bleedin' quite so much, and we even
talk the MPs guardin' us into gettin' some disin-
fectant to put on our knuckles.

If from this youse infers that it was quite a brawl,
youse is correct. It was . . . and what's more we
are the dear winners. Now, the civilian cops may
have different opinions regardin' this, but we was
still standin' at the end of it and they wasn't so I
feel we are justified in claimin' the victory.

As I mentioned, our guards are okay guys and in
a pretty good mood to boot, which is understand-
able as they was fightin' on our side in the fracas
under discussion. We have a pretty good time with
151

152

Robert Asprin

them while we are waitin', swapptn' tales from the
fight that were at least partially true, interruptin'
each other all the time with comments of "Did you
see it when I . , . ?" and "Yeah, what about
when that big cop. . . ." In fact, we are gettin'
downright chummy with 'em, but then the captain
walks in.

AH our talkin', stops when he appears, though
he musta heard us long before we saw him, so
there isn't really any point tryin' to pretend we
have been this quiet all the time. Still, he doesn't
look happy, so without any kind of spoken agree-
ment we all drop back into our appointed roles. By
this I mean the guards stand at parade rest and
look stern, whilst me and Nunzio just sit and look
uncomfortable . . . which isn't too hard since, as
I said, we have not emerged from the fracas
unscathed.

We watch in total silence as the captain sits
down at his desk and starts studyin' the report
which has been placed there. I suppose I could of
looked at it myself when we was talkin' with the
guards, but to tell you the truth it hadn't occurred
to me until I see the captain readin' it and realize
the fates of Nunzio and me might well be decided
by what is in it.

Finally, the captain looks up as if seein' all of us
for the first time.

"Where are the others?" he sez to one of the
guards.

"At the infirmary tent, sir," the guard sez.

The captain raises his eyebrows.

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

153

"Anything serious?"

"No sir. Just a few bumps and bruises.
Besides ..."

"The guard hesitates and glances at me, and I
knew I was on.

"I told 'em they should get patched up and let
me talk to you first, captain . . . sir," I sez. "You
see, it was Nunzio and me what started the fight,
and the squad just pitched in later to help us
out ... so I figured that . . . well, since we
was responsible . . ."

"Can you verify this?" the captain sez to the
guard, cuttin' my oration short.

"Yes sir."

"Very well. Send word over to the infirmary. Tell
the rest of the squad they are free to return to their
quarters after their wounds are treated. Sergeant
Guido and Corporal Nunzio are taking full respon-
sibility for their actions."

"Yes sir," the guard sez, then salutes and leaves.

This is a bit of a load off my mind, as I have been
worryin' a bit about gettin' the crew into trouble
with our gambit. A bit, but not all ... as there
remains the question of what the captain is gonna
do about me and Nunzio. This is a for real ques-
tion, as the stare the captain is levelin' at us is real
noncommittal, which is to say he neither looks
happy nor upset . . . though I'm not sure what
he would have to be happy about in this situa-
tional.

"Are you aware," he sez finally, "that I was

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Robert Asprin

called off stage to deal with this matter? One song
into my final set, no less?"

"No sir," I sez, 'cause I hadn't been.

This simple statement did, however, settle two
things in my mind. First, there is the matter of his
rather flashy outfit . . . which while it is indeed
quite spiffy, is decidedly non-regulation. Second, it
removed any doubts I might be havin' as to the
level of benevolence the captain is feelin' toward
us ... noncommittal stare or not.

"According to this," he sez, lookin' at the report
again, "you two were involved in, if not the actual
instigators of a barroom brawl, not only with
civilians, but with the local police as well. Is there
anything you'd like to add to that?"

"One of those civilians tried to roll one of our
squad," I sez.

I figure that now we have accomplished our
mission, it is time to start lookin' out for ourselves.

"Then, when we try to get him out, the others
try to say he has assaulted her. As far as the
cops ... I mean, the local police go, well, they
was tryin' to arrest us all, even though our own
military police were right there on the scene of the
alleged crime, and we was taught in basic
trainin' . . ."

"Yes, yes, I know," he waves. "Soldiers are to be
tried in military, not civilian court, so you two took
on a whole room full of civilians over a point in the
Military Code. Is that it?"

"Yes sir. That and to try to help one of our
squad."

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

155

"Very well," he sez, and looks over at the
guards. "You men can go now. I'll handle this from
here."

We wait quiet-like until the MPs file out of the
room, then a little longer as the captain is studyin'
our files again.

"You two have only been assigned to me for
about a week . . . and only enlisted a few weeks
before that. Is that correct?"

"Yes sir."

"So you're fresh out of Basic and already a
sergeant . . . and corporal. And now this."

He goes back to starin' at our files, but I am
startin' to feel a little less anxious. While there is no
question of us beatin' the rap, as we have con-
fessed, it's startin' to sound like we might get off
with nothin' more than losin' our stripes ... a
possibility which does not distress me overly
much. Not bad for not havin' a mouthpiece to do
our plea bargainin'.

"The civilian authorities are recommending you
be disciplined severely . . . that you be made an
example of to discourage other soldiers from fol-
lowing your example."

I start feelin' anxious again. This does not sound
so encouragin', and after a career unblemished by
a single conviction, I am not eager to spend time in
an army stockade. I wonder if it is too late to
withdraw our confession . . . and whether the
MPs are still outside.

"Very well," the captain sez finally, lookin' up
from our files. "Consider yourselves disciplined."

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Robert Asprin

We wait for him to say more, then realize thaf s
all there is.

"Sir?"

The captain gives a tight little smile at our
reactions.

"Do you men know what an army that's grow-
ing as fast as ours needs the most?"

I experience a sinkin' feelin' in my stomach, as I
have heard this speech before. Nunzio, however,
was not present the last time it was run past me.

"A better tailor," he sez.

The captain blinks in surprise, then erupts in a
quick bark of laughter.

"That's pretty good," he sez. "A better tailor.
You've got a point there, Corporal Nunzio . . .
but that wasn't what I was referring to."

He drops his grin and gets back on track.

"What we need are leaders. You can train men to
shoot, but you can't train them to lead. Not really.
We can show them the procedures and tell them
the principles so they can at least go through the
motions, but real leadership . . . the charisma to
inspire loyalty and the guts to act in a crisis . . .
that can't be taught."

He picks up the report and tosses it back down
careless-like.

"Now, publicly we have to discourage our sol-
diers from fighting with civilians, whatever the
provocation. Any other position would endanger
our welcome in the community . . . such as it is.
We are aware, however, that there are those who
try to exploit our men at any opportunity, and

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

157

many who frankly resent us ... though I never
could understand why."

I am willin' to let this pass, but Nunzio doesn't.

"Maybe it's because the army is the major recip-
ient of their tax money," he sez.

"But their taxes are being lowered, not increased
by our campaigns," the captain frowns.

Just as it did the first time I heard it, this
statement strikes an impure note in my mind.
Again, however, I am not allowed time to pursue
it.

"Whatever," the captain sez, shakin' his head.
"The truth of the matter is, that while we cannot
publicly condone incidents such as the one you
were involved in, there are far worse things in the
army's eyes than to be willing to fight for your men
and the Military Code. The fact that you were
willing to take this stand against civilians, police
even . . . and after only three weeks in the army
too . . . Tell me, have you men given any
thought to going Career? Of making the army your
permanent occupation?"

This takes us a little aback, as we have given this
idea about the same consideration we would give
pokin' ourselves in the eye with a sharp stick.

"Ummm ... to be honest with you, sir," I
manage at last, "we was gonna see how things
worked out in our first tour of duty before tryin' to
reach any decision."

This struck me as a diplomatic answer, as it is
not wise to tell a man you think his career choice

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Robert Asprin

stinks on ice ... especially when he is in a
position of control over your immediate future. For
some reason, however, the captain seems to take
my response as an encouragin' sign.

"Perhaps I can make the decision a little easier
for you," he sez, startin' to scribble in our files.
"I'm promoting you both. Nunzio, you're a ser-
geant now . . . and Guido, you're getting an-
other stripe. Of course, we can't have you
wandering around town now ... or your squad
either, for that matter. It might get our civilian
hosts upset. Tell you what. I'm going to transfer
you and your squad to Headquarters Staff. There's
always opportunity for advancement there. That's
all, men. You can go now . . . and congratula-
tions!"

I would like nothin' more than a little time to
think over this latest development, but it is not to
be. Nunzio barely waits until we are clear of the
commander's office before he starts on me.

"Guido," he sez, "am / crazy, or is the army?"

"Probably both," I sez, "though I'll admit I think
the army has an edge on you in the 'foo-foo land'
department."

"I don't get it. I just don't get it," he continues
like I hadn't said anythin'. "I mean, we disobeyed
standing orders . . . even roughed up the cops
for cryin' out loud. And we get promoted for that"!"

"It would seem," I sez carefully, "that we're
bein' rewarded for 'action against the enemy.' I

M.Y.T.H. INC, IN ACTION

159

guess we just miscalculated who the army sees as
'the enemy/ is all."

We walk on in silence for a few, each of us
reflectin' on what has occurred.

"I guess there is a good side to this," I sez at
last. "If we are gonna continue our attempts to
disrupt the army, headquarters is probably the
best place to do it from."

"True enough," Nunzio sighs. "Well, Guido, let
me be the first to congratulate you."

"On what?"

"Why, on your promotion, of course," he sez,
glancin' sideways at me. "I know exactly how
much it means to you."

I think of hittin' him, but he has deliberately
stepped out of range as he lays this on me.

"Nunzio," I sez, "let us not forget your
own . . ."

"Hey guys!! Wait up!!"

We look around to find Spyder comin' up be-
hind us.

"Oh, hi Spyder."

"So what happened?" she sez, tryin' to get her
wind back as she catches up to us.

"Well, there was a bit of a fight after you left,
and . . ."

"I know that," she interrupts. "I heard. Sorry I
missed it. I meant afterward. Are you guys in
trouble?"

"Naw," Nunzio shrugs casual-like. "In fact,
we're all being transferred to Headquarters

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Robert Asprin

Staff ... oh yeah, and Guido and me got pro-
moted."

He sez this real easy, expectin' her to be as
surprised as we was. Strangely enough, however,
she lets it skate on by her.

"What about the civilian authorities? What are
you gonna do about them?"

"Nothin'," I sez. "Why should we?"

"Are you kidding? The way I heard it you
punched out a cop! They aren't gonna just ignore
that!"

"They're gonna have to," I shrugs. "As soldiers,
we are subject to discipline by the military, not
civilian courts."

"We are?" she frowns, stoppin' in her tracks.

"Sure. Don't you remember? They told us about
that back in Basic."

"I told you you should pay attention to the
Military Law lectures," Nunzio sez, grinnin' at her.

"Gee," she sez, chewin' her lip. "Then I guess
you don't need the help I brought you."

"Help? What help?"

"Well, I thought you were gonna be in trouble
with the civilian authorities, and since I knew you
guys was connected, I figured I should find some-
body to pass the word to so . . ."

Until now 1 had only been listenin' casually. As
Spyder spoke, however, a loud alarm began to
sound in the back of my mind ... a very loud
alarm.

"Connected?" I sez, interruptin'. "You mean like
with the Mob?"

M.Y.T.H. INC, m ACTION

161

"Of course," she sez.

"You went lookin' for the Mob?" Nunzio sez,
catchin' on at last.

"That's right. Found 'em too."

"Wait a minute," I frowns. "When youse said
you 'brought back help,' were you sayin' you've
got somebody along now?"

"That's right," she sez, lookin' around. "He was
with me when I spotted you a second ago. I may
have gotten a little ahead of him, but he
should ..."

"Hello Guido . . . Nunzio . . . long time no
see."

The owner of this new voice melts out of the
shadows close to us ... too close.

"Hello, Snake," I sez, edgin' a little away from
Nunzio so we both have lots of room for whatever
is gonna happen next.

"You remember me!" he sez, though his mockin'
smile makes it clear he is not surprised. "I wasn't
sure you would."

I don't think anyone would have trouble remem-
berin' Snake . . . except for maybe, witnesses . . .
as he is what you would call highly memorable. He
is tall and real thin, and has a habit of dressin' all in
black like he is now, which is why he was able to
ease up on us in the shadows.

"You guys know each other?" Spyder sez,
hesitant-like lookin' back and forth between us.

"Oh, we're old friends," Snake sez in that
smooth, purrin' voice of his.

162	Robert Asprin

"Actually, it's more like 'associates,'" Nunzio
corrects, easin' even further apart from me.

While both Nunzio and me know Snake, we
have never pretended to like him. He is one of the
top enforcers for the Mob, but tends to like his
work a little too much for our tastes. You have
perhaps noticed that when the occasion calls for it,
neither Nunzio nor me are adverse to the judicious
application of violence, but as it goes against our
delicate natures we have trained ourselves to ter-
minate such encounters in the briefest possible
time. Snake, on the other hand, likes to prolong
and drag out his work as much as possible . . .
and he works with a knife. He can be as fast as his
moniker when the situation calls for it, however,
and though Nunzio and me had been confident
about roustin' a room full of normal people earlier
this evening, there is a serious question in my
mind as to whether both of us workin' together
can take Snake if things get ugly.

"Why don't you head on back to the barracks,
Spyder," I sez, not takin' my eyes off Snake. "Our
colleague here probably has some things he wants
to discuss with us ... privately."

"Not me!" Snake says, holdin' up his hands
palms out in what to my eye is an exaggerated
show of innocence. ". . . Though I'll admit I think
a conversation between us would be ... interest-
ing. No, I'm just here to escort you to another old
friend."

"And who would that be?" Nunzio sez.

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163

Snake's smile slips away and his voice drops a
dozen degrees.

"Don Brace wants to talk to you ... he wants
to talk to you real bad."

Chapter Fourteen:

"You countermanded me on whose
authority?"

POPE JOHN

"THAT'S QUITE SOME babe you got there."

I shoot a sideways glance at Snake when he sez
this, but his manner seems as respectful as his tone,
so I decide he is sincere and not tryin' to be sarcastic.

"She's okay/' I sez, noncommittal-like.

Realizin' we are in trouble with the Mob, it does
not seem like the best idea to seem too close to
Spyder.

"So what happened to her hair?"

"I think she likes it that way," I shrugs. "Who
knows with broads. Of course, it looked better
before the army cropped it short."

"That reminds me of a joke I heard once,"
Nunzio sez. "It seems this guy takes an alligator,
then cuts off its nose and tail, and paints it
yellow ..."

165

166

Robert Asprin

"You know," Snake interrupts, "while we were
looking for you, she was asking me about joining
the Mob after her enlistment is over."

I realize now why Snake is bein' so talkative. He
is checkin' politely to see if either Nunzio or me
has any claim on Spyder . . . professionally or
personally. This is understandable, for while I do
not think he is afraid of us, every guy knows that
messin' with another guy's moll or, in the Mob,
his recruit is apt to be considered a challenge, so
it is wisest to check things out carefully before
proceedin'. While it is not exactly gettin' permis-
sion, havin' the courtesy to ask is a good way to
avoid blunderin' into somethin'; thereby avertin'
hurt feelin's, not to mention needless bloodshed.

"She's got her own mind," I sez cautious-like.
"Of course, she was askin' me and Nunzio the
same thing a week ago, so we was kinda figurin' to
sponsor her if it came to that."

"Okay, got it," Snake nods. "Of course, that
depends on where you guys are going to be in the
future."

He sez this easy enough, but it is a cold re-
minder of the realities of our situarional. He is
actin' friendly, like has no grudge against us other
than, perhaps, professional rivalry. There is no
doubt in our minds, however, that if Don Bruce
gives him the word to whack us, he will do his best
to carry out that order.

"Speaking of our future," Nunzio sez, "where
are we going?"

I have a pretty good idea of the answer from the

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

167

direction we have been walkin', and Snake con-
firms it.

"Back to Abdul's Sushi Bar and Bait Shop," he
sez. "Or, as Guido here would say, the scene of the
perpetration."

"Snake," I sez, drawin' myself up a little, "are
you tryin' to make fun of the way I talk?"

"Me?" he sez, all innocent-like. "Heavens no.
I've always admired your command of the lan-
guage, Guido, as does everyone else in the Mob I
know. Besides . . ."

We have reached the doorway of our goal, but
he pauses briefly to finish his sentence.

"I ... certainly wouldn't want to offend any-
one as tough as you ... or you either, Nunzio.
By the way, I love your new outfits. They really
show off your legs, know what I mean?"

Now, I have been expectin' some kinda wisecrack
about our uniforms ever since Snake stepped out of
the shadows. It is oblivious to me, however, why he
has waited until now to mouth off, as it allows him to
duck through the door before we can reply by beatin'
his head in ... which is exactly what he does,
leavin' us little choice but to follow him in.

"There they are now. Come in, boys! Come in!"

The scene which greets us can be taken in at a
glance, but what that glance shows is none too
promisin'.

The place is a wreck, with overturned and
broken tables and chairs scattered everywhere. I
had known we made a bit of a mess in the course
of the altercation I mentioned earlier, but whilst it

168

Robert Asprin

was in progress my attention was much more
occupied with inflictin' damage on people whilst
avoidin' receivin' damage from the same, so I had
not been takin' close note of what was happenin'
to the place itself. Lookin' at it now without the
distractin' activity, however, it is clear that house-
keepin' is gonna have their work cut out for them.

Don Bruce is leanin' against the bar drinkin'
wine from one of the few remainin' bottles . . .
drinkin' directly from the bottle as there are no
unbroken glasses remainin' that I can see. Though
his greetin' was real friendly, there is no pretendin'
that this is a social call, as scattered around the
room, leanin' against the wall in the absence of
chairs, is no less than half a dozen Mob goons.

"Hi guys! Come join us!"

This comes from Tananda who is standin' on
one side of Don Bruce. She has dumped her
disguise for the occasion, but is wrapped in Don
Bruce's lavender coat. While he maybe doesn't care
for females the way Nunzio and me do, Don Bruce
is always the finest of gentlemen when it comes to
dealin' with them. Standin' next to him on the
other side, is ...

"That's the ones! Those are the guys that busted
up the place! I thought I was paying you for
protection!!"

Frumple is there. For a minute I think he's
dropped his disguise as well, but then I realize that
he's still disguised as a local and that his face is
bright red 'cause he's hoppin' mad.

"All right, all right!" Don Bruce sez, soundin' a

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

169

little annoyed. "We'll consider that a firm identifi-
cation. Just get your place fixed up and send us the
bill . . "  better still, give us a list of what you
need in supplies and repairs. We can maybe get
you some discounts from the distributors and
contractors . . . know what I mean?"

"I should think so," Frumple snorts, reachin' for
the wine bottle.

"In the meantime," Don Bruce sez, movin' the
bottle out of his reach, "why don't you take a little
walk or something. There are a few things I want
to discuss with the boys here."

The Deveel hesitates for a second, then nods his
agreement.

"All right," he sez, but he shoots us a black look
as he starts for the door. "I should have known
that double-crossing Skeeve was behind you
two ... 1 suspected it from the start. Him and
this floozie of his ..."

"Hold it!!"

Don Bruce's voice cracked through the place like
a whip, and I knew Frumple had made a
mistake ... a bad mistake.

"What did you just say about Skeeve? . . . And
Miss Tananda here?"

The goons have come off the wall and are startin'
to drift forward.

"I ... um . . . that is . . ." the Deveel sez,
lookin' around desperate-like.

"Perhaps you should consider being a bit more
careful in your selection of words when describing

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Robert Asprin

an associate of mine ... or a lady who is a
personal friend and present at the time."

"Well . . . you see . . ." Frumple tries, but
the Don isn't finished yet.

"I've reconsidered my settlement offer," he sez.
"I don't think that fixin' this place up again will
do ... considering the damage to your reputa-
tion. I think we'll have to set you up in a whole
new place."

This confuses the Deveel, but he is scared
enough to remember his manners.

"Thafs nice of you," he sez. "But I don't
think . . ."

". . . On Deva!" Don Bruce sez, droppin' the
other shoe.

For a second Frumple's eyes snap wide open.
Then he turns on us like a cornered rat.

"You . . . you gave me your word!" he
screeches. "You said you wouldn't tell anyone . . ."

"They didn't have to tell me nothin'/' Don Bruce
snaps. "I got ears in a lot of places . . . indudin'
the Bazaar."

"But I can't go back there!"

"I know that, too," Don Bruce sez cold-like.
"Still, that's our offer. Either we set you up on
Deva ... or you stay right here and pay for your
own repairs. Take it or leave it."

Now, I hadn't known that Don Bruce knew that
Frumple was a Deveel, just like I was unaware that
the Deveel was unwelcome in his own dimension
for some reason. My surprise, however, was

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

171

nothin' compared to Frumple's reaction. He looks
like he's in shock.

"I ... I can't go back there," he manages to
repeat, finally.

"Good. Then it's settled." Don Bruce is suddenly
friendly again. "Now why don't you go ahead and
take that walk . . . and by the way ..."

The Deveei turns to find the Don starin' at him
real hard-like.

"... Remember what I said ... I got ears in
a lot of places. If you start runnin' off at the mouth,
or do anything to give Skeeve, Miss Tananda, or
the boys here any grief, I'll hear about it. Remem-
ber that. Now, get outta here."

Frumple slinks off, and as soon as he's gone.
Don Bruce jerks his head at the goons.

"You boys take a walk, too," he sez. "What we
got to talk about is private . . . and Snake?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"Keep an eye on that joker, will you? Make sure
he doesn't talk to anyone . . . 'cause if he tries,
I'm afraid he might have a little accident. Know
what I mean?"

"Got it, Boss," Snake says, and follows the
others out into the night.

"Well, boys," Don Bruce sez, turnin' to us at
last. "Now that we're alone, I think it's about time
we had us a little talk."

He is real friendly as he says this, but as you
yourselves can see from the preceedin' incident
with Frumple, this is not as reassurin' as it would
appear. It occurs to me that I would not like to sit

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Robert Asprin

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

173

in on a Dragon Poker game with Don Bruce, as he
would doubtless make you a friendly loan so's you
could keep playin' while at the same time havin' a
whole extra deck of cards hidden in his lap.

"Miss Tananda here was just tellin' me about
your current operation . . ."

"That's right," Tananda sez. "Don Bruce
didn't . . ."

. . . and realizing, as you have just heard, that
I pride myself in being informed/' the Don contin-
ues, talkin' right over Tananda . . . which is a
bad sign, "it was a little embarrassing to have to
admit my ignorance until your little friend came
to me this evening for help. Now, what I want to
know is . . ."

"What are you doing operating in the kingdom of
Possiltum . . . especially considering the agree-
ment we made?"

"Agreement?" Tananda sez in a small voice.

"That's right," Don Bruce sez, turnin' to her.
"You weren't around at the time, but way back
when I first met Skeeve, we made a deal and I gave
him my personal word that the Mob wouldn't
move on the kingdom of Possiltum."

"But what does that ..."

"... and since Skeeve . . . and through him,
all of you . . . are now on the Mob's payroll as
employees, your presence here is breakin' my word.
Capish?"

"I see," Tananda sez, glancin' over at us with
new understandin'. "But tell me, Don Bruce, if the
Mob isn't operating in this kingdom, then what are

you doing taking protection money from mer-
chants like Frumple? In fact, what are you doing
here at all?"

This is a good question, and one which has not
occurred to me . . . though I suspect I know the
answer. The Don has enough grace to look a little
embarrassed, though, when he gives it.

"All this is from before I gave my word," he sez.
"I never said we was going to give up the opera-
tions we already had in place."

"Hmmm ..." Tananda frowns, "it sounds like
a pretty fine distinction to me."

Of course, the Mob makes a lot of money from
such fine distinctions . . . but this does not seem
like the time to bring it up.

"That may be," Don Bruce sez, his voice harden-
in' up again. "But it's beside the point. I'm still
waiting to hear what you're doing here!"

"Oh that," Tananda smiles. "Well, you
see . . . umm . . ."

Though Tananda is no slouch at Dragon Poker
and is actin' very confident, I can see she is stuck
and trying to bluff.

"Relax, Tananda," Nunzio sez, speakin' for the
first time since we came in. "1 can explain it."

"You can?" I sez, slippin' a bit in my surprise.

"Sure," my cousin insists, lookin' at me hard like
he does when I'm supposed to be ready to provide
him with an alibi.

"All right, Nunzio," Don Bruce sez, settlin' back
against the bar, "start talking."

"Well, you see, Don Bruce," Nunzio sez, "the

,L

174

Robert Asprin

Boss is unhappy with the agreement you refer-
enced regarding the Mob's relationship with Pos-
siltum."

"Oh he is, is he?" the Don snarls, but Nunzio
holds up a hand and continues.

"The way it is/' he sez, "is the Boss figures that
circumstances have arisen which neither of you
took into account in the original negotiation . . .
specifically, the new expansion policy that's push-
ing the borders out."

"Go on," Don Bruce sez, but he's nodding now.

"The spirit of your agreement was that the Mob
wouldn't infringe on the kingdom's territory, but the
way if s going, the kingdom is pushing into the Mob's
territory. What's more, the letter of your agreement is
keeping the Mob from protecting what's ours."

"So I noticed," the Don sez, sarcastic-Iike.

"Now, the Boss doesn't think this is right.
What's more, he feels personally responsible since
it was his sloppy negotiating for the kingdom that
has placed you in this predicament. The problem is
that as he is now working for the Mob and not for
the kingdom, he is not in a position to renegotiate
the terms to make things right again."

"Yeah," Don Bruce sez thoughtful-like, "I can
see that."

"Now, you may not know it, Don Bruce," Nun-
zio continues, "but the Boss thinks the world of
you and would never do anything to hurt you or
your reputation. Because of this, and because he
feels responsible for your current difficulties, he
has taken it upon himself to correct the situation

M.Y.T.H. INC, IN ACTION

175

by mounting a covert operation to halt the king-
dom's expansion. In fact, the reason he has been
keeping this secret from you is for a little extra
insurance. This way, if anything goes wrong, you
can swear under oath that you knew nothing
about it, and certainly never took a hand or gave
an order against Possiltum. What he's doing, Don
Bruce, is setting himself up to be a scapegoat . . .
all to take the pressure off you!"

While I am occasionally less than complimentary
when referrin' to Nunzio's long-winded tenden-
cies, there are times when I am truly grateful for
his talent for shovelin' . . . like now. Even bein'
as aware as I am of the truth of the matter, that the
Boss has probably overlooked his agreement with
Don Bruce completely when givin' us this assign-
ment, I am not sure I could separate fact from guff
in my cousin's rendition, even with the aid of a pry
bar.

"That Skeeve!" Don Bruce laughs, hittin' the bar
with his fist in his enthusiasm. "Can you see why
I love him? He's really trying to do all this on his
own . . . just for me? I'll tell you, boys ..."

He glances around, then hunches forward be-
fore continuin'.

"You have no idea how much grief the other
Mob bosses have been giving me because of that
agreement. Especially the boss of the Island Mob."

"You mean Don Ho?" I sez.

"Thafs right," Don Bruce nods. "Even the boss
of the senior citizens' Mob . . . Don Amechie!
They've all been on my case. I'm just surprised

176

Robert Asprin

that Skeeve was aware of it. I keep telling you, that
boy's got real promise. You know what an organi-
zation as big as ours needs the most?"

"Leadership," Nunzio and me answer at the
same time.

"Lead . . . Hey! That's right!" the Don sez,
blinkin' at us in surprise. "You know, you boys
have been shaping up pretty well yourselves since
you started working for Skeeve. Maybe I should
start giving some thought to setting you up with
your own operations."

It occurs to me that this promotion thing is
gettin' totally out of hand.

"Ummm . . . We're pretty happy with things
the way they are, Don Bruce/' I sez, quick-like.

"Yeah," Nunzio chimes in. "We figure the way
things are going, the Boss is gonna need all the
help we can give him."

"Hmmm ... I suppose you're right," the Don
sez, makin' us both a little uncomfortable with
how unwillin' he seems to give up the idea of
advancin' us in the ranks. "Tell you what, though,
like Skeeve says, I can't taken an open hand in this
thing you got going, but if you want I can assign a
few boys to give you a hand!"

A picture flits across my mind. A picture of me
tryin' to sleep, much less operate, with Snake
loiterin' about in the near vicinity.

"I ... don't think so," I sez. "we're pretty
used to workin' with the crew we got already.
Besides, any of the boys you assigned to us would
have to enlist . . . and there's no guarantee
where they'd get assigned."

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

177

"... And most of them would quit before
they'd be seen in public in those outfits you're
wearing," Don Bruce laughs, wirtkin' at Tananda.
"Yeah. You got a point."

Me and Nunzio force smiles, which is as close as
we can manage to joining in the merriment.

"Well, be sure to let me know if there's anything
I can do to help."
"Sure, Don Bruce."
"Thanks, Don Bruce."

"Oh yeah! One more thing. How's Bunny doing?"
"Bunny?" Tananda sez, comin' off the bar like a
prizefighter. "That little ..."

"Sure! You remember Bunny," I interrupts quick-
like. "Don Bruce's niece who's workin' with us?"
"Oh! Right!" Tananda blinks, and settles back again.
"She's working out real well, Don Bruce," Nunzio
supplies hurriedly. "In fact, right now she's holding
down our office while we're out in the field."

"Yeah, right," Don Bruce waves. "But how is
she getting along with Skeeve?"

Even though we can maybe snow him from time
to time, the Don is pretty quick, and he catches our
hesitation and glances at Tananda.

"Say . . . you aren't interested in Skeeve your-
self, are you. Miss Tananda?"

Tananda thinks for a second, then wrinkles her
nose.

"Not really," she sez. "I guess he's kind of like a
kid brother to me."

"I see," Don Bruce nods. "Well, as a favor to me,
could you take Bunny under your wing, too? She

178

Robert Asprin

likes to talk tough and comes on like she's real
experienced and worldly, but inside she's still just
a kid. Know what I mean?"

In response, Tananda just nods slow-like. To my
eye, she seems less than thrilled with the
idea . . . especially after hearin' how serious Don
Bruce takes promises.

"You know how the Boss is when it comes to
dames," I sez, quick-like. "Slower'n a bail bonds-
man what's been stung three times runnin'."

I am tryin' to draw attention away from Tananda,
but the Don is ignorin' me and starin' at her instead.

"Say . . . are you okay?" he sez, misreadin'
her signals. "It looks like you've been takin' more
than your share of lumps in this operation."

"I'm just a little tired," she sez, flashin' a quick
smile. "You're right, though. I'm not getting any
younger, and I'm not sure how many more nights
like this I can take."

"Why don't you head on back to Big Julie's and
hook up with Chumley?" I sez. "We're gettin' trans-
ferred out of here, and there's not much you'll be
able to do on your own realizin' the shape you're in."

'Transferred?"

"Thafs right," Nunzio sez. "We've been pro-
moted and transferred to headquarters. It seems
the Mob isn't the only ones who can spot leader-
ship potential."

As an indication of the physical and nervoi
stress of the night we have been through, I do n<
have the energy to even think about throttiin' him

Chapter Fifteen:

"An army travels on its paperwork!"

J. CARLSON

"WELL, SERGEANT GUIDO, you and your squad come
highly recommended. Yes, highly recommended
indeed!"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Okay, so I am layin' it on a little thick. Consid-
erin' the number of officers I'm seein' here at
headquarters, however, it seems like the wisest
attitude for an enlisted type like me to
assume . . . which is to say one step up from
grovelin'.

"Well," he sez, settin' our files to one side and
startin' to rummage through the other stacks of
paper on his desk, "let's see what we can find for
you in the way of assignments."

Actually, I would be surprised if he can find his
feet in this office. It has only been a few times that
179

180

Robert Asprin

I have seen so much paper stuffed into as little
space as there is in this office . . . and most of the
other times was in the offices I poked into while
lookin' for this one. There is paper stacked every-
where, on the chairs and on the floor, on the window
ledges and on the tops of file cabinets . . . not to
mention the stacks set on the top of already filed
paper in the open drawers of said cabinets. There are
also, of course, assorted piles of paper on the desk-
top of the officer I am speakin' to, and it is through
these stacks he is currently rummagin'.

"Ah! Here's something," he sez, pausin' to peer
at one of the sheets he has been rifflin' through.
"What would you say to my assigning you and
your crew as sanitation engineers."

"As what?"

"You know/' he sez, "digging and filling la-
trines."

It occurs to me that while there might be some
potential for disruptin' the army from such a
position, it is not a route I would be particularly
eager to take. You see, Nunzio still ribs me about
my work with the Realistic Doggie Doodle with
Lifelike Aroma that Actually Sticks to Your Hands
on my last assignment for M.Y.T.H. Inc., and I
would therefore prefer to avoid workin' with vari-
ations on the real thing this time around.

"It sounds like a stinkin' detail . . . sir," I sez,
the words sort of slippin' out.

I try to recover by addin' ". . . if you'll forgive
the play on words . . . sir."

Thaf s so he'll know I read.

M.Y.T.H. INC, m ACTION

181

I expect him to get a bit upset at my forthright-
ness, but instead he just gives a little shrug.

"Of course it is," he sez with refreshin' honesty.
"But remember where you are, Sergeant. This is
Headquarters . . . the brains of the army. It only
stands to reason that most of that brain power is
devoted to finding nicer, cushier assignments for
the owners of those brains . . . which is to say
the place is armpit deep in politics ... if I make
myself clear."

"Not really, sir."

The officer sighs.

"Let me try to explain it this way. Here, every-
body knows somebody, and uses their connections
to get the best jobs. The higher the connections,
the better the jobs. You and your squad, on the
other hand, have just arrived and consequently
know nobody . . . which means that for a while,
you'll have to content yourselves with the jobs no
one else wants. I expect that as you make connec-
tions, you'll get better duties, but for the time
being that's the way it is."

I consider mentionin' my connections with the
Mob, but decide they will be of little value in this
circumstantial and may even be construed as a
threat. Then something else occurs to me.

"Is General Badaxe available, sir?"

This gets the officer's attention.

"You know General Badaxe?" he sez from under
sky-high eyebrows.

"Not to any great extent, sir/' I admit. "We just
met once in passin'."

182

Robert Asprin

"Oh. Well, he is here at Headquarters, of course.
I think you'll find that he's indisposed,
however ... at least he has been for the last
couple of weeks."

"Would that indisposition by any chance be
female, sir? Extra, extra large . . . a lot of makeup
and jewelry?"

This earns me a lot harder look from the officer
before he answers.

"As a matter of fact, yes," he sez at last. "Youi
seem remarkably well informed for someone who
has just arrived at Headquarters ... or do you'
know the . . . young lady as well?"

For several reasons I figure it would be wisest
not to admit the true relationship Nunzio and me
has with Massha.

"She was with the general when I met him at
court, sir," I sez, sorta truthfully.

"You've been to the Royal Court?"

"Yes sir ... but it was a while back . . . just
before the king married Queen Hemlock."

"I see," the officer sez, thoughtful-like, then sets
the paper he was holdin' aside and starts rummag-
in' again.

"Well in that case, perhaps I can find something
a bit more pleasant in the way of an assignment."

"Take your time sir," I sez. "I can understand
how things can be a bit disorganized with the
general gone so much."

"Not really," the officer sez, absentminded-like.
"If anything, they're going smoother."

"Excuse me? . . . sir?"

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

183

"What? Oh," he sez, returnin' his concentration
to the situational at hand. "Well, I probably
shouldn't say anything, but since you already
know some of the personalities involved ..."

He pauses to glance around like someone might
be loiterin' among the stacks of paper . . . which
considerin' their height is a real possibility.

"If you know General Badaxe, then you proba-
bly already know that while he is a more than
adequate leader, he is rather inflexible in his atti-
tudes as to how things should be done. That is, he
wants things done his way, whether there is a
better way of doing things or not."

This description sounds like everyone in the
army I've met above the rank of corporal, but I
content myself with noddin' in agreement.

"Well, a lot of us officers who came on board
during the current expansion drive originally
served under Big Julie back when he led the
invasion of Possiltum. In some ways it's nice
because it guaranteed us rank in the Possiltum
army, but it also means we know there are other
ways of doing things than the way General Badaxe
wants . . . lots better ways. The trouble is, until
now we haven't been able to implement any
changes or improvements without disobeying or-
ders from the general."

"And now?" I urge, not even botherin' to add a
"sir" to it.

"Now, with the general 'indisposed,'" the of-
ficer smiles, gettin' a little lost in his own thoughts,
"we're left pretty much on our own, Which means

184

Robert Asprin

we get to do things our way for a change. If Badaxe
stays out of our hair for another few weeks, we
should have this army whipped into shape so we
can really get down to business. I'll tell you,
serving under Big Julie might have been a pain
from time to time, but that man sure knows how to
run an army. I wonder how he's doing now that
he's retired?"

"Last time I saw him, he was doin' great."

If I had said God himself was walkin' through
the door I couldn't have gotten a bigger reaction
from the officer. He sits up straight sudden-like,
and his eyes lose their dreamy focus and center on
me . . . though I notice they are buggin' out a
little.

"You know Big Julie?" he sez in kind of a reverent
whisper. "When was the last time you talked with
him?"

"A couple weeks back," I sez. "Just before
Nunzio and me enlisted. We was sippin' some
wine with him and some friends over at his villa."

"You were a guest at his villa? Tell me, is it . . ."

The officer breaks off and shakes his head like a
dog.

"Excuse me, sergeant," he sez, in much more
normal tones. "I didn't mean to pry. It's just
that . . . well, Big Julie is something of a legend
around Headquarters. I was a junior officer when I
served under him, and never met him
personally . . . just saw him a couple of times
during reviews and inspections."

"That's too bad," I sez, with real sympathy.

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

185

"He's really a great guy. You'd like him . . . sir."
I finally remembers I was talkin' to an officer,
and my "sir" seemed to remind him of why I was
in his office in the first place.

"Now that I think of it," he sez, pullin' some
papers off the top of one of his stacks, "there is
something here that I could assign you and your
crew to. Would you like to take over running one
of our supply depots?"

This sounds like just what we need to do the
most damage to the army's attempts to reorganize.
I also notice that the officer is now askin' me about
which assignment I want.

"That sounds fine, sir."

"Good," he sez, startin' to scribble on the sheets.
"We have a whole supply crew in the infirmary
right now got a bad batch of chili or something.
Anyway, I'll just put you and your squad in there
as replacements, and when they get out, they can
take the sanitation engineer slots."

It occurs to me that these other guys are gonna
be less than thrilled with their new assignment,
but that, of course, is not my problem. Still, it will
be a good idea if for a while we keep a lookout for
anyone tryin' to sneak up on us from the down-
wind side.

"Thank you sir," I sez, and mean it.

"Just report to Supply Depot Number Thirteen
and you'll be all set."

"Yes sir ... ummm ... is it far? I mean, I
got my crew outside and we got all our gear with
us . . ."

186

Robert Asprin

"Just flag down one of the wagons going your
way and hitch a ride," he sez. "One of the nicer
things about working at Headquarters . . . with
the supply depots right here is that there are lots of
wagons around. You'll rarely have to walk any-
where."

"Yes sir. Thank you again, sir."

"Oh . . . Sergeant Guido?"

"Sir?" I sez, turning' back to him.

He is pushin' a stack of papers across his desk
toward me that must weigh more than twenty
pounds.

"Since you'll be riding, you might as well take
this with you instead of waiting for it to be
delivered by courier."

"I ... I don't understand, sir," I sez, eyein'
this mountain of dead weight suspiciously like it
was a distant relative arrivin' unannounced. "Do
you want I should store this for you over at the
depot?"

"Of course not," the officer sez, givin' a little
laugh. "This is for your requistion and inventory
forms."

I am likin' this less and less the more I hear.

"You mean we gotta fill all this out just to move
somethin' in or out of the depot . . . sir?"

"You misunderstand me, sergeant," he sez
quick-like. "These aren't the forms themselves."

I experience a quick flood of relief.

". . . These are just the instructions for filling
out the forms!"

The relief I had been feelin' disappears like a

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

187

single shot of whiskey in a big bowl of watered-
down punch.

"The instructions," I echoes weakly, starin' at
the pile.

All of a sudden this assignment is not lookin' as
good as it had a few minutes ago.

The officer notices the expression on my face.

"Come, come now, sergeant," he sez, givin' me
what I guess is supposed to be a fatherly smile.
"It's not as bad as it looks."

"It isn't?"

"No. It's really quite simple once you get the
hang of it. Just read these instructions all the way
through, then follow everything they say to the
letter, and everything will be fine."

"If you say so, sir," I sez, unconvinced.

"Yes, I do say so ... sergeant," he sez, givin'
up his sales effort. "I told you we were going to get
things under control and to do that, proper docu-
mentation is vital. It may look like a lot of needless
hassle, but believe me, unless all the paperwork
for supplies is filled out correctly, the best of
armies will bog down and become ineffective."

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir."

With that, I salute and get out of his office
quick . . . takin' the stack of paper with me, of
course. All of a sudden, my depression over seein'
the massive list of instructions disappears. In-
stead, I am feelin' a degree of optimism I have not
felt since the Boss sent us on this assignment
without realizin' what he was doin', the officer has
just made our job a lot easier.

I

188	Robert Asprin

"Without proper paperwork," he had said, "the
army will bog down and cease to be effective . . ."
and, as you know, the effectiveness of the army was
a matter of no small concern to me and Nunzio.

Chapter Sixteen:

"So what's wrong with following
established procedures?"

M. GORBACHEV

THE WAREHOUSE WHICH was Supply Depot Number
Thirteen was truly immense, which is to say it was
big. In fact, it was so huge that youse got the
feelin' that if the weather turned bad, they could
move all the stuff out of here and have the war
indoors. The only trouble with that idea was that
by the time they got everythin' moved out, odds
are they would have forgotten what it was they
" was fightin' about in the first place . . . but even
if they could remember, they'd probably be too
tired to want to fight about it.

There was racks of stuff everywhere, with aisles
big enough to drive a wagon down scattered
around so as to carve everythin' into a series of
islands, and lots of tunnels and crawlspaces twist-
in' their way into each of the islands. It occurred to
189

190	Robert Asprin

me upon first viewin' this expanse that it was
gonna be a perfect base of operation for us, as
when and if anythin' went wrong, it would make
one whale of a hideout. This thought was ampli-
fied when we discovered that the crew what had
worked here before us had apparently opted to
live on-site, as there were a lot of "nests" and
hole-ups around the warehouse furnished with
cots and hammocks and pillows and other stuff
obliviously filched from the piles of supplies.

In short, it was a sweet setup, and the crew loses
no time settlin' in, after some of them scattered
and went explorin' to find out just what sort of
stuff we have inherited to ride herd on while a
couple of us tried to make sense out of the paper-
work and charts heaped up on the desks.

"Hoo-ey!" Shu Flie sez, emergin' from the stacks
with his brother at his side. "I've never seen so
much stuff in one place! They got everything
here!"

"A lot of it's pretty old, though," Hy Flie sez.
"We had newer stuff than some of this junk back
on the farm . . . and most of that stuff is still
around from Pop Flie."

"Pop Flie?" I sez before I has a chance to think
about whether or not I really wants to hear the
answer.

"That's our grandpa," Shu explains. "Course,
sometimes we call him . . ."

"I get the picture," I sez, interruptin' before he
can explain any more.

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

191

It occurs to me to make a point of not ever visitin'
the Flie residence.

"What I can't figure," Junebug sez, joinin' our
discussion, "is how they keep track of all this stuff.
I mean, there doesn't seem to be any order or
scheme to how things are stored. It's like they just
keep pushing the old pile further back and stack
the new stuff in front as it comes in without any
effort to group things by category."

This sounds uncomfortably like the beginnin' of
an idea which could improve our efficiency . . .
which is, of course, the last thing my cousin and
me want to see happen. Sneakin' a glance at
Nunzio, I can see he's thinkin' the same thing, and
catchin' my eye he gives a little shake of his head
to confirm that observational.

"Ummm ... I don't guess it is such a bad
system, Junebug," I sez, thinkin' fast. "I mean,
would you want to rearrange all this stuff to make
room for each new shipment as it comes in?"

"You could get around that by leaving extra
room in each storage category," he sez, not backin'
off from his idea. "We gotta do something to orga-
nize this mess. Otherwise, we'll be spending all
our time just trying to locate each item when we
have to fill an order. I can't see how they've been
operating around here without some kind of sys-
tem."

"They've got a system all right," Spellin' Bee
sez, lookin' up from the Forms Instruction Manual
he was readin'. "The problem is, they've got so
much duplicate paperwork to fill out they probably

192

Robert Asprin

never had any time left over to try to organize the
warehouse itself! I can't believe they expect us to
fill out all these forms for every item in and out of
inventory."

What the officer told me flashes across my mind,
and it gives me an idea.

"Do you think you can come up with a better
trackin' system. Bee?" I sez.

"Probably," he sez, shuttin' the instruction man-
ual. "Let's see . . . we'd need some sort of floor
map . . . two of them actually, one so we know
what's already here and where it is, and a second
to establish the redefined areas . . . and then a
simple In/Out Log so we could track the move-
ment of items ..."

"Okay," I interrupts, "get started on it. Figure
out what we're gonna have to do and what you'll
need in the way of information."

This, of course, earns me a hard look from
Nunzio.

"I ... If you say so, Guido," Bee sez, hesi-
tantly, glancin' at the instruction manual. "But
shouldn't we be following the established proce-
dures?"

"Just go ahead and work up your plan," I sez.
"We'll worry about fillin' out the army paperwork
after we get this place functionin' the way we think
it should."

"Okay," Bee shrugs. "Come here a second,
guys, and I'll show you what I need. If you can
start mapping out what's already here, I can start
roughing out an In/Out Log, and ..."

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

193

"Excuse me, Sergeant Guido," Nunzio sez. "Can
I have a word with you ... in private?"

"Why certainly, Sergeant Nunzio," I smile, givin'
it right back to him, and follow him as he moves a
little ways away from where the crew is huddlin'.

"What are you trying to do?" he hisses, as soon
as we are alone. "Maybe I missed a loop, but I was
under the impression that improving efficiency
was the last thing we wanted to do here!"

"It is," I sez, "except everyone on the crew is
thinkin' just the opposite. I'm just stallin' for a
little time by insistin' that Bee come up with a
complete plan before we actually have to implement
any changes."

"Okay," Nunzio nods, "but what happens after
he finishes comin' up with a new setup?"

"Then we either stall some more ... or see if
things will actually get fouled up more if we go
ahead and try to go against army procedures. The
officer what was briefin' me seemed pretty certain
that the whole army will grind to a halt if all that
paperwork Bee is talkin' about doesn't get filled
out. At the very least we should have a chance to
find out whether or not he is right."

"I dunno," my cousin frowns. "It seems to me
that . . ."

"Guido! Nunzio!!"

We turn to find an apparition bearin' down on
us. At first, I think it is one of those new armored
wagons the army has been experimentin' with . . .
only done up as a parade float. Then I look again,
and see that it's . . .

194

Robert Asprin

"Massha!"

By the time I get this out, our associate has
reached us, wrappin' one meaty arm around each
of us in a humongous hug.

"I heard you guys were here and just had to come
by and say 'Hi'!"

Because I am sorta to one side of her instead of
directly in front of her, I can see past her to where
our crew has stopped what they are doin' to gape
at us ... which is the normal reaction of folks
what is seein' Massha for the first time.

"H . . . Hi, Massha," Nunzio sez, managin' to
squirm loose. "How are things going? Any word
from the Boss?"

"Not a peep," Massha sez, lettin' go of me.
"There were some funny signs coming through a
while back on the monitor ring I gave him, but
they settled down and since then everything
seems to be normal."

"Do you think he's okay?" I sez. "He's been
gone nearly three weeks now."

"Maybe . . . maybe not," she shrugs. "Re-
member that time doesn't flow at the same speeds
on all dimensions. It may only have been a few
days where he is."

"I get it," Nunzio nods solemn-like. "Like in
Moorcock's Eternal Champion books."

"That's right," Massha beams. "As to your other
question, things couldn't be going better, Hugh
and I are hitting it off like a house afire. I'll tell you
boys, I don't like to brag, but I've got him so
lovesick, I don't think he remembers that he's in

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

195

the army . . . much less that he's supposed to be
running it."

Now, I haven't read the book they was chattin'
about a second ago, but this is somethin' I can
comment on.

"Ummm . . . Massha?" I sez. "That may not
be such a good thing."

"What do you mean?" she sez, her smile fadin'
as she looks back and forth between Nunzio and
me. "That was my assignment, wasn't it?"

"Tell her, Guido," Nunzio sez, dumpin' the job
of givin' Massha the bad news in my lap.

"Well, the way I'm hearin' it," I sez, wishin' I
was dead or otherwise preoccupied, "the army is
functionin' better without him."

"But that doesn't make sense!"

"It does when you consider that the layer of
officers directly under him trained and served
under Big Julie," Nunzio sez, redeemin' himself by
comin' to my rescue. "The more you keep him
away from his troops, the more those officers get
to run things their way . . . and it seems they're
better at this soldierin' than General Badaxe is."

"So you're saying that the best thing I could do
to louse up things is to let Hugh go back to
commanding the army?" Massha sez, chewin' her
lower lip thoughtful-like. "Is that it?"

"So it would seem," I sez, relieved at not havin'
to be the first to voice this logical conclusion. "I'm
really sorry, Massha."

She heaves a hugh sigh, which on her is reaily
somethin', then manages a wry grin.

196	Robert Asprin

"Oh well," she sez. "It was fun while it lasted.
Nice to know I can still distract a man when I set
my mind to it, though."

Politeness and self-preservation convince me to
refrain from makin' any editorial additions to this
comment.

"I guess I'll just say my goodbyes and head back
to Big Julie's," she continues. "Any word from the
other team?"

"They've called it quits, too," Nunzio sez.
"You'll probably see them when you get to Big
Julie's and they can fill you in on the details."

"So it's all riding on the two of you, huh?" she
sez, cocking an eyebrow at us. "Well, good luck to
you. I'd better get moving and let you get back to
work. It looks like your friends are waiting for
you."

I glance over where she is lookin' and sure
enough, the whole crew is standin' there, alter-
nately glancin' at us and mutterin' together.

Wavin' goodbye to Massha, we ambles over to
join them.

"Who was that?" Spyder sez, kinda suspicious-
like.

"Who, that?" I sez, tryin' to make it casual. "Oh,
just an old friend of ours."

"Scuttlebutt has it that she's the general's girl-
friend," Junebug sez in a flat voice.

"Where'd you hear that?" Nunzio sez, innocent-
like.

"Here and there," Junebug shrugs.  "Face it,

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

197

there can't be many people around Headquarters
who would fit her description."

He had us there.

"Isn't it about time you guys told us exactly what
is going on?" Spellin' Bee sez.

I realize, far too late, that we have been seriously
underestimatin' the intelligence of our crew.

"What do you mean by that?" Nunzio sez, still
tryin' to bluff his way out of it.

"Come on, Nunzio," Junebug sighs, "it's been
pretty obvious since Basic that you and Guido here
don't really belong in the army. You've got too
much going for you to pass yourselves off as
average recruits."

"You fight too good and shoot too good for
someone who's supposed to be learnin' all this for
the first time," Shu Flie sez.

". , . And you've got too many connections in
high places," Spyder adds, "like with the Mob."

". . . And with devils," Bee supplies.

". . . And now with the general's girlfriend,"
Junebug finishes. "All we want to know is, what
are you guys really doing in the army? I mean, I
suppose it's none of our business, but as long as
we're servin' together, what affects you affects us."

"Bee here thinks you're part of some secret
investigation team," Hy Flie sez, "and if that's
what's going on we'll try to help . . . unless it's
us you're supposed to be investigating."

"Well, guys," Nunzio sez, shakin' his head, "I
guess you found us out. Bee's right. You see, the
army wants us to . . ."

198

Robert Asprin

"No," I sez, quiet-like.

Nunzio shoots me a look, but keeps goin'.

"What Guido means is we aren't supposed to
talk about it, but since you've already ..."

"I said 'No,' Nunzio!" I sez, squarin' off with
him. "The crew's been play in' it straight with us all
along. / say it's time we told them the truth . . .
the real truth."

Nunzio hesitates, as he is not real eager to go
head to head with me, then glances back and forth
between me and the crew.

"Okay," he sez finally. "It's your funeral . . .
go ahead and tell them."

Then he leans against the desk with his arms
folded while I fill the crew in on our assign-
ment . . . startin' with how the Boss's plan to
keep Queen Hemlock from tryin' to take over the
world fell apart when King Rodrick died, right up
to our current plans to try to use our position in the
supply depot to mess up the army's progress.
They're all real quiet while I'm talkin', and even
when I'm done no one sez anythin' for a long time.

"Well," sez Spyder, breakin' the silence, "the
way I see it, we can't mess up every shipment or
the army will just jerk us out of here. We'd better
hold it down to one in five for a while."

"One in ten would be better," Junebug sez.
"Otherwise ..."

"Wait a minute! Stop the music!" Nunzio ex-
plodes, interruptin' the conversation. "Are you
guys sayin' you're willin' to help us screw things
up?"

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

199

"Sure. Why not?" Shu Flie sez, puttin' a hand on
my shoulder. "You and the Swatter here have been
lookin' out for us since Basic. It's about time we did
something for you for a change."

"Besides," his brother chimes in, "it's not like
you're trying to bring down the kingdom or de-
stroy the army. You're just out to slow things up a
little . . . and that's fine by us."

"What it boils down to," Spyder smiles, "is that
after working with you two all this time, we know
you well enough to trust you to not hurt us ...
or anyone else for that matter . . . unless it's
absolutely necessary. I think I speak for all of us
when I say we've got no problem putting our
support behind any plan you think is right. Am I
right, guys?"

There is a round of nods and affirmative grunts,
but I am only half payin' attention. It is occurrin' to
me that I am buildin' a better understandin' of
what the Boss means when he sez he's nervous
about commandin' more loyalty than he deserves.
While the crew is sayin' they don't believe we
would do anythin' to hurt them, I am thinkin'
about how we set them up for the barroom fight in
Twixt ... a detail I omitted when I was testifyin'
about our recent activities. This makes me feel a
little low, and while I am not about to refuse their
help, I find it strengthens my resolve to avoid such
leadership and decision makin' positions in the
future.

"What about you. Bee?" Nunzio is sayin'. "You
aren't lookin' too happy. You want out?"

200

Robert Asprin

"N . . . No. It isn't that," Bee sez, quick-like.
"I'm willing to help as much as I can. It's just
that . . . well, I was sort of looking forward to
trying to get this place organized."

"You can still do that, Bee," Junebug sez,
winkin' at him. "We still need to know what's
going on, even if we only use the information to
slow things up."

"It's just too bad we don't have our own team-
sters," Shu Flie sez. "Then we could really mess
things up."

"What was that, Shu?" Nunzio sez, suddenly
lookin' real attentive.

"What? Oh. Well, I was thinking that if we could
have our own drivers to do the delivering instead
of using army wagons, we could scatter our ship-
ments all across the kingdom."

"No ... I mean what did you say about team-
sters?"

"Teamsters," Shu repeats. "You know. The guys
that drive freight wagons ... at least, that's
what we called 'em back on the farm."

I look at Nunzio and he looks at me, and I realize
from our smiles we is thinkin' the same thing.

"Spyder," I sez, "you found the Mob once in
Twixt ... do you think you could do it again?"

"Sure," she shrugs. "Why?"

"I got a message I want you to get to Don
Bruce," I smiles. "I think we just found somethin'
he can do to help us."

Chapter Seventeen;

"Ya gotta speak the language."
N. WEBSTER

"HEY, SWATTER/' Shu Flie sez, lookin' out one of the
warehouse windows, "do you know there are a
buncha wagons and drivers sitting outside?"

"No," I sez, "but if you hum a couple bars, I'll
fake it."

Okay, so it's an old joke. Like I've said before,
the army runs on old jokes. Unfortuitously, this
particular joke is apparently a little foo old for our
farm-raised colleague.

"Say what?" he sez, lookin' kinda puzzled.

"Strike that," I sez. "Are they army or civilian?"

While it is procedure to have army wagons and
drivers take shipments out of the supply depot,
deliveries from suppliers is done by the supplier's
own transports, and are therefore civilian.

"Civilian," Shu sez.

201

202

Robert Asprin

"Are the wagons full or empty?"

"They look empty from here."

I look over at Nunzio.

"Think it might be the teamsters we're expect-
in'?"

"Easy enough to check," he shrugs. "Hey Shu!
What are they doing?"

"Nothing," the Flie brother reports. "They're
just sitting around and talking."

"Sounds like them," Nunzio smirks. "I think it's
your deal, Junebug."

As you might be able to detect from this last
comment, we're all occupied with our favorite
pastime, which is to say, Dragon Poker.

"Shouldn't one of you go out and talk to them or
something?" Shu sez, wanderin' over to our table.

"It wouldn't do any good," I sez, peekin' at my
hole cards. "They'll talk to us when they're good
and ready . . . and not before. Pull up a chair
and relax."

As it turns out, it is several hours before there is
any contact with the drivers. When it finally
comes, it takes the form of a big, potbellied indi-
vidual with a tattoo on his arm who comes wad-
dlin' through the door and over to our game.

"Hey, hey!" he snarls, "is somebody gonna talk
to us or what?"

Now, just because Nunzio and me is big guys
what get our way by tossin' our weight around
does not mean we are particularly tolerant of
anyone else who does the same thing.

"We figured you guys would talk to us when

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

203

you were good and ready and not before," Nunzio
sez, gettin' to his feet. "You got a problem with
that?"

"Oh yeah?" the guy hollers, goin' nose to nose
with Nunzio. "Well for your information, we'll
talk when we're good and . . . and . . . oh.
Yeah."

It takes a little doin', but I manage to hide my
smile. This guy is already at a disadvantage in the
negotiations, as my cousin has beaten him to his
own punch line. Havin' lost the edge in the bluster
department, he retreats to his secondary defense
of indifference.

"We ... ah ... heard around that you guys
was lookin' for some civilian transport, so we
thought we'd drop by and see what the score was
for ourselves."

"The stuff's over there on the loadin' dock/' I
sez, jerkin' a thumb in the appropriate direction.
"And here's the list of where it's supposed to go.
Bill us."

I nod to Bee, who hands the guy the papers for
the shipments we have selected. Like I say, we'd
been expecting them.

The guy looks at the list he's holdin' like if s a
road kill.

"Just like that, huh?" he sneers. "Don't you
wanna talk about our haulin' rates?"

"No need for that," I shrugs. "I'm sure you'll
charge us a fair price."

"You are?" he sez, squintin' suspicious-like.

"Sure," I sez, givin' him my best collection

204

Robert Asprin

agent's smile, "especially seein' as how the rates is
gonna be reviewed . . . and if they look outta
line, there's gonna be an investigation,"

"An investigation," the driver sneers. "We get
Royal investigations all the time . . . and we ain't
changed nothin' yet. If they give us too much
grief, we just threaten to shut down haulin' all
over the kingdom."

"We wasn't talkin' about fc Royal Investigation,"
Nunzio sez. "We was thinkin' of another judgment-
al body."

"Oh yeah? Like who?"

Nunzio winks at me, and I take a deep breath
and give it my best shot.

"Don . . . de don don. Don . . . de don don
Bruuuuuce!"

Though my singin' voice is not what you would
call a real show stopper, the guy gets the message.
His smile droops, and he swallows hard . . . but
he's a fighter and tries to rally back.

"Yeah, okay, so you get our 'special' rates. Just
don't expect any express delivery."

Now it's Nunzio's turn to show off his grin.

"Friend," he sez, "if we wanted efficiency, we
wouldn't have sent for the teamsters."

"What's that supposed to mean?" the guy bel-
lows, gettin' back some of the color he lost when
we mentioned Don Bruce.

"Just that your normal delivery schedules will
suit us fine," I sez, innocent-like. "Know what I
mean?"

"Yeah . . . well ... I guess that's settled,"

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

205

the guy sez, lookin' back and forth between Nun-
zio and the men. "We'll go ahead and get started."

As he is goin', I find I cannot resist takin' one
last dig at him.

"Say, Nunzio," I sez in a loud voice. "What do
you call a teamster in a three piece suit?"

"The defendant!" Nunzio shoots back just as
loud.

This humor goes right past the others in the
crew, but the driver gets it. He breaks stride, and
for a second I think he's gonna come back to
"discuss" it with us at length. Instead, he just
keeps on goin' and contents himself with slammin'
the door for his witty response.

"You know, Guide," Nunzio sez, goin' back to
studyin' his cards, "special rates or not, eventually
we're going to have to pay these jokers . . . and
we do not currently have access to the funds we
are accustomed to operating with in M.Y.T.H.
Inc."

"Relax, cuz," I sez, seein' the current bet and
raisin' it, "I got an idea for that, too."

I have a chance to try out my plan that afternoon
when a shipment arrives from one of our suppli-
ers. I wait until the unloadin' is almost complete,
then amble over to the driver.

"Say . . . you got a minute?" I sez, friendly-
like.

"Okay," the driver shrugs. "Whaf s up?"

"Well," I sez, lookin' around like I'm expectin' a

206

Robert Asprin

cop, "I got some information you should pass back

to your outfit."

"What's that?"

"There's a rumor goin' around that the queen is
callin' for an audit on military spendin'," I sez.
"Somethin' about a lot of our suppliers chargin' us
more for supplies than they do civilians."

"An audit?" he repeats, suddenly lookin' real
nervous.

"Yeah, scuttlebutt has it that any outfit caught
gougin' extra profits out of army contracts is gonna
get shut down and their entire inventory confis-
cated by the government."

"Is that legal?"

"Hey, we're talkin' the queen here. If she sez it's
legal, it's legal."

"When is this gonna happen?"

"Not until next month, the way I hear it," I sez.
"I just thought you might like to know a little in
advance. You know, so just in case any of youse
guys' prices should need some quick readjusting
youse could do it before the audit started."

"Hey thanks! I appreciate that."

"Yeah? Well, let your management know about
it and see if they appreciate it, too. If they do, then
maybe it would be a good think if in addition to
adjustin' their prices, they made a little refund to
postdate the price change . . . like maybe you
could drop it off here when you make your next
delivery?"

"I'll do that," he sez, noddin' vigorously. "And
thanks again. We won't forget you."

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

207

Things went pretty smooth after that. We only
had to plant our audit rumor a couple times for the
word to spread through the suppliers, and soon
there was a steady arrival of "refunds" . . . more
than enough to pay off the teamsters. What's
more, Bee's plan for reorganizin' the warehouse
worked well enough that we ended up havin' a fair
amount of leisure time each day, which we de-
voted to sharpenin' our Dragon Poker
skills ... as well as to our new hobby: Creative
Supplyin'.

This pastime proved to be a lot more fun than
any of us had anticipated, mostly because of the
rules we set for ourselves. Since we agreed to only
botch up one out of every ten orders, we have a lot
of time to decide exactly which orders will get
botched up and how. You see, to keep ourselves
covered, we decide that it is best to switch items
that either had identification numbers close
enough to each other that the error would seem
like a simple misreadin', like a 6 for an 8 ... or
that were of a similar nature or appearance so it
would just look like we pulled the wrong item, like
sendin' summer weight uniforms to an outfit re-
questin' winter weight gear.

My personal favorite was when we sent several
cases of Propaganda Leaflets to an outfit that was
desperately askin' for toilet paper. It seemed some-
how appropriate to me.

Like I say, it was a lot of fun ... so much fun,

208	Robert Asprin

in fact, I had a sneaky feelin' that it couldn't last.
As it turned out, I was right.

The end of the festivities came when I got an
order to report to our commandin' officer.

"Stand easy, Sergeant Guido. I've just been
reviewing your unit's efficiency rating, and from
what I'm seeing, it looks like it's time we had a
talk."

I am more puzzled than nervous at this, as we
have not been forwardin' the required copies of
our paperwork . . . mostly because we have not
been fillin' out the required paperwork at all. This
is confirmed by the officer's next words.

"It seems your squad is not overly fond of filling
out the supply forms required by regulations,
sergeant."

"Well, sir, we've been pretty busy tryin' to learn
the routine. I guess we've gotten a little behind in
our reports."

"'A little behind' hardly describes it," he sez,
tightenin' his lips a little. "I can't seem to find a
single form from your supply depot since you took
over. No matter, though. Fortunately there is
sufficient cross-reporting to give me an idea of
your progress."

This makes me a little uneasy, as we have
figured there would be several rounds of requests
and admonishments on our negligent paperwork
performance before any attention was paid to the
actual performance of our jobs. Still, as I am not
totally unaccustomed to havin' to explain my ac-

M.Y.T.H. INC, IN ACTION

209

dons to assorted authority figures, I have my alibis
ready to go.

"Are you aware, sergeant, that your squad is
performing at ninety-five percent efficiency?"

"Ninety-five percent?" I sez, genuinely sur-
prised, as our one-in-ten plan should be yieldin' an
even ninety percent.

"I know it sounds high," the officer sez, misun-
derstandin' my reaction, "especially considering
that sixty-five percent is the normal efficiency
rating, even for an experienced supply crew. Of
course, a practiced eye can read between the lines
and get a pretty good idea of what's happening."

"Sir?"

"Take this one shipment, for example," he sez,
tappin' one of the sheets in front of him. "It took a
shrewd eye with attention to detail to spot that this
request for winter weight uniforms was actually
several months old, and to realize that substituting
summer weight uniforms would be more appro-
priate."

A small alarm started goin' off in the back of my
head, but the officer was still talkin'.

". . . or take this item, when you substituted
cases of these propaganda leaflets for toilet paper.
Everybody's heard about the morale problem of
that unit, but it seems you not only had an idea
about what to do, you acted on it. It's worked,
incidentally . . . word is, their esprit de corps is at
an all-time high since receiving your shipment."

As he is speakin' I am starin' at the leaflet he has
shoved across the desk. Now understand, we had

210

Robert Asprin

sent this stuff out without openin' the cartons, so
this is the first time I am seein' one of the actual
leaflets. It features a large picture of Queen Hem-
lock, who is not a bad lookin' broad normally, but
looks particularly good in this picture as she is
wearin' little more than a suggestive smile. Under-
neath the picture in large letters is the question:
WOULDN'T YOU RATHER BE ON MY SIDE?
Though I do not pretend to be a sociology expert
like my cousin Nunzio, I can see where this would
perk up a depressed soldier.

". . . But I'm getting bogged down in details,"
the officer is sayin'.

"In addition to your shipping efficiency, are you
aware that the turnaround time for an order at
your depot is less than a third the time it takes to
get an order through any other depot?"

I am startin' to see the direction this interview is
goin', and needless to say I am not enthused with
it.

"That's mostly Private Bee's doin' sir," I sez,
tryin' to get the focus off me. "He's been experi-
mentin' with a new organization system in our
warehouse ... as well as a new 'reduced paper-
work' trackin' system."

"Private Bee, eh?" the officer sez, makin' a note
on his pad. "Tell him I'd like to see him when you
get back to your unit. I'd like a bit more informa-
tion about this experimental system of his . . .
and speaking of experiments ..."

He looks up at me again.

"I understand you've been using civilian trans-

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

211

ports for some of your deliveries. Is that another
experiment?"

"Yes, sir," I sez.

I figure he'll be upset about this, so I am willin'
to take the blame. It seems, however, that once
again I have misjudged the situational.

"You know, sergeant," he sez, leanin' back in his
chair, "the army considered using civilian trans-
ports for the disbursement of supplies, but aban-
doned the idea as being too expensive. From the
look of things, though, you may have just proved
them wrong. Of course, you should have cleared it
with me before implementing such an experiment,
just as it was beyond your authority to authorize
Private Bee to change established procedure, but
it's hard to argue with your results. Besides, it's a
rare thing these days to find a soldier, especially an
enlisted man, who's not afraid to show a little
initiative."

I experience a sinkin' feelin' in my stomach.

". . . And if there's one thing an organization
that's growing as fast as ours needs ..."

I close my eyes.

". . . it's leadership. That's why it gives me such
great pleasure to approve your promotion to lieu-
tenant, and ..."

My eyes snap open.

"Wait a minute!" I sez, forgettin' all about the
proper modes of addressin' a superior. "You're
makin' me an officer??"

My reaction seems to take the officer by surprise.

"Well . . . yes," he sez.  "Normally we'd re-

212	Robert Asprin

quire your attending officers' school, but in this
situation ..."

"That does it!" I snarl, losin' my temper com-
pletely. "/ QUIT!!"

Chapter Eighteen:

"Has anybody got a plan?"
G.A. CUSTER

To SAY THE least, our reunion with the rest of the
M.Y.T.H. Inc. team at Big Julie's was somethin'
less than a celebration.

Oh, we are all glad to see each other, and our
host is more than generous with the wine from his
vineyard, but contrary to popular belief, drinkin'
does not necessarily improve one's mood. To my
experience, what it does is to amplify whatever
mood youse is already in ... so if youse is happy,
youse gets very happy, and if youse happens to be
depressed, youse gets very depressed . . . and the
unfortuitous circumstantial was that we was not
very happy.

There is no gettin' around the fact that we have
failed dismally in our efforts to stop Queen Hem-
lock, and while we could try to convince ourselves
213

214

Robert Asprin

that it was an impossible task for five individuals
and a dragon to achieve, this is the first time since
we incorporated that we have failed to come
through on an assignment. Realizin' that it wasn't
a real job, as in one we had been commissioned for,
but just a favor for the Boss didn't help
much ... as, if anythin', we felt worse about
lettin' the Boss down than we would about refund-
in' a client's fee.

"Did you have much trouble getting out of your
enlistment?" Tananda was sayin' after we finish
explainin' why we are back.

"Not really," Nunzio sez, reh'llin' his goblet from
a pitcher of Big Julie's wine. "Oh, eventually we
had to call in General Badaxe to approve it, but
after we told him we were on a special assignment
for Skeeve, he signed the papers without asking
any more questions. The only problem we had was
that they really wanted us to stay . . . right. Lieu-
tenant?"

He starts to grin at me, then notices from the
look on my face that I am not in a mood to be
kidded.

"Fortunately," he continues hastily, "the bait
they kept offering was to promote us even
higher . . . which, to say the least, was a temp-
tation we had no difficulty resisting."

What my cousin is carefully omittin' from his
report is that the real problem we had with leavin'
wasn't with the army ... it was with our crew.
Speakin' for myself, I hadn't realized how much
they all meant to me until our discharges had been

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

215

approved and we was ready to say goodbye. I
guess it wasn't until then that it hit me that I'd
probably never see any of them again.

"Goodbye, Guido," Spellin' Bee had said,
shakin' my hand solemnly. "I really appreciate the
help you've given me with my magik. I guess I've
been so caught up learning the techniques that I've
never stopped to think of all the ways it can
actually be applied."

"That's nothin'," I sez, feelin' a little embar-
rassed. "When you get out, look us up and I'll
introduce you to the Boss. He knows a lot more
about that magik stuff than I do, and I don't think
he'll mind givin' you a few pointers."

"Do you really think that would be all right?"
Bee sez. "I haven't said anything before, but the
Great Skeeve has always been sort of an idol to me.
I ... I'm not sure I can learn enough about
magik here in the army to where he'd want to
bother with me."

"There's magik and there's magik," Nunzio sez,
puttin' a hand on Bee's shoulder. "I think he'd like
to meet you even if you don't get any more magik
training than you've got right now. That was a
pretty impressive system you came up with for
organizing the warehouse, and our outfit is always
on the lookout for . . . ah, administrators."

I roll my eyes and he shrugs at me, apologetic-
like.

The commandin' officer had been impressed
with Bee's system ... so much, in fact, that he
was bein' promoted and transferred into the task

216	Robert Asprin

force assigned to improvin' the army's efficiency.
Consequently, there was some question in the
minds of Nunzio and me if he would ever actually
see any further magik trairiin' . . . which was, I
guess, why Nunzio said what he did.

Personally, I wasn't sure we could use Bee if he
did show up, as the M.Vf H. Inc. operation is
service-oriented and therefore doesn't have any
warehouses, but I kept this thought to myself.

"Gee, thanks guys," Bee sez, biinkin' a bit more
than usual. "Well . . . see you around, I guess."

"You guys take care of yourselves . . . you
hear?" Spyder sez, standin' on her tiptoes to give
each of us a big hug.

"Sure, Spyder," I sez, biinkin' a little myself.
"And listen . . . when you get out ... if you're
still interested in joinin' the Mob, you come see us
first . . . got that?"

"Got it," she sez, noddin' vigorous-like,

". . . and stay away from Snake," Nunzio sez,
"you want help . . . you come to us!"

"Sure thing . . . and you guys remember, if
you need any help . . . well, if there's anything
you think I can help you with, you let me know
and I'll be there. Okay?"

"That goes for the rest of us too, Swatter," Shu
Flie sez, grabbin' my hand and pumpin' it once.
"You give the word, and we'll come runnin'."

"I'll remember," I sez. "Just let us know when
you all get out. We wouldn't want to interfere with
your army duties."

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

217

I meant this as a kind of a joke, but they all
seemed to take it serious.

"Don't worry about that," Junebug sez, lookin'
me in the eye hard-like. "We know where our first
loyalties lie ... and you do, too."

Like I said, it wasn't an easy partin'. The hardest
part, though, was knowin' that whatever we said
about them lookin' us up, the odds were that if
they did try, they probably wouldn't be able to
find us. As soon as this assignment is over,
we'll be headin' back to our headquarters at the
Bazaar, and unless they learn how to dimension-
travel . . .

"So what do we do now?" Tananda sez, pullin'
my mind away from my memories and bringin' it
back to the present. "Pack it up and head for
home?"

"I believe there is one more option which I
brought up at the beginning of this assignment,"
Massha sez slowly, starin' into her wine.

It takes me a second to remember, but finally it
comes back to me.

"You mean, whackin' the queen?" I sez.

She nods. Then there is a long time when no one
sez anything as each of us thinks it through.

"Well," Nunzio sez finally. "I suppose we
should give it a shot ... at least then we can say
we tried everything before we gave up."

I hesitate a second longer, then nod my agree-
ment.

"All right, cuz," I sez, "you're on. Big Julie, if

218	Robert Asprin

you can find that gear we stored here before we
enlisted, Nunzio and me can ..."

"Whoa . . . stop . . . HOLD IT!!" Massha
sez, holdin' up a hand. "Who said you two were
going to be the ones to go after the queen?"

"Well . . . it's oblivious, ain't it?" I sez, a little
annoyed that my attempt to grab the assignment
has been thwarted, but willin' to try to bluff my
way through. "I mean, this is right up our
alley . . . seein's as how it is what we are trained
to do."

"... And from what you've said about your
disagreements with your drill instructor, that train-
ing is geared more toward enforcing than killing."

"Don't you worry about that," Nunzio sez,
givin' her a tight little smile. "We're just against
unnecessary killing. In this case, it seems that it's
necessary."

"Well, when I suggested it, I figured that / was
going to be the one to go after her," Massha sez,
with no trace of her normal "happy-fat-lady-
vamp" act.

"You?" I sez. "Excuse me for pointin' it out,
Massha, but though you're more than a little
intimidatin' physically, I don't think that physical
acts are your forte."

"Who said anything about getting physical?"
she sez, holdin' up her ring-laden hands. "You
think I wear all this stuff for decoration ... or
ballast? I've got a few toys here that should take
care of things just fine."

Although she is still a beginner in the natural

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

219

magjk department, Massha held her own as a city
magician for a long time before she signed on as
the Boss's apprentice on the strength of the me-
chanical magikal gear she has collected . . . most
of which is in the form of jewelry. While I have
suspected as much ever since we first met, this is
the first time that she has confirmed that at least
some of her baubles are of a lethal variety.

"Besides," she finishes, crossin' her arms deci-
sively. "I'm Skeeve's apprentice ... so the job
falls to me."

"... And we're his bodyguards who are specif-
ically supposed to eliminate any threats to the
Boss's well being," Nunzio snaps back. "While I
don't doubt your sincerity or the reliability of
your toys, Massha, whackin' somebody takes
experience . . . and Guido and I are the only ones
on the team with experience in that area."

"Aren't you forgetting something, boys?"
Tananda purrs, breakin' into the argument.

"What's that, Tananda?"

"While you two may be trained and experienced
as generalists in controlled violence, part of my
background is specifically as an assassin. By your
own logic, then, it looks like the unpleasant task
falls to me."

"Not to spoil your fun, little sister," Chumley
sez, "but I was rather counting on giving it a go
myself."

"You?" Tananda laughs. "Come on, big brother,
you've still got your arm in a sling."

220

Robert Asprin

"What . . . this?" the troll sez, glancin' down
at his arm. "It's hardly worth mentioning, really."

He pulls his arm out of the sling and wiggles his
fingers, then sets his elbow on the table beside
him.

"Do any of you want to try arm wrestling with
me? Or will you concede the point?"

"Really, Chumley," Tananda sez, ignorin' the
challenge, "just because that thick hide of yours is
hard to get through ..."

"... Is the exact reason why I'm the logical
choice for the assignment," the troll finishes with a
smile.

". . . Except for the minor detail of your ap-
pearance/' Massha adds. "Sorry, Chumley, but
you're the last of us I'd figure for the assignment.
Any of the rest of us could pass for natives, but
you'd stand out like a sore thumb without a
disguise spell."

"So I borrow little sister's makeup mirror."

"Not a chance," Tananda sez, stubborn-like.

". . . Or I simply borrow a hooded cloak or
something for a disguise," Chumley continues
smoothly as if she hasn't spoken. "How about it,
Big Julie? Have you got anything lying around in
an extra-extra large?"

"As a matter of fact," the retired general sez, "I
was thinking of doing the job myself."

"What?"

"You?"

"That's ..."

"... BECAUSE," Big Julie continues, silencing

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

221

us all with the simple technique of raisin' that
voice of his to an authoritative level, "because I'm
an old man and therefore the most expendable."

We all sink back into our chairs, too embarrassed
to look at each other. With these few words, he has
gotten to the heart of what was prompting our
apparently bloodthirsty argument.

"I've been listening to all of you," he sez, takin'
advantage of our uneasy silence, "and what no-
body seems to want to say out loud is that trying to
assassinate the queen is pretty much a suicide
mission. Political leaders . . . and particularly
royalty ... are the best guarded folks in any
nation. Even if you can get to them, which is
uncertain at best, the odds of getting away after-
ward are so small they aren't even worth consid-
ering."

He looks around the gatherin'.

"Of course, I don't have to tell you this because
you all know it already. That's why each of you is
so eager to take the job ... to let the others off
the hook by nobly sacrificing yourself. Well, my
advice, as your tactical advisor, is to forget the
whole thing and go home . . . since I don't be-
lieve Skeeve ever intended for things to go this
far ... or, if you're determined to have the
queen killed, then to let me do it. Like I said
before, I'm an old man who's doing nothing but
idling away my retirement with petty self-
indulgences. All of you are contributing more to
life, and are therefore more valuable, than I am.
Besides," he lets a little grin play across his face, "it

222	Robert Asprin

might be kinda fun to see a little action just one
more time. I never really figured on dying in bed."

"That's sweet of you, Big Julie," Tananda sez,
"but it's totally out of the question. Even though
you've worked with us as an advisor, you're not
really part of the team . . . and I'm sure this is
one job Skeeve wouldn't want us to subcontract."

"I think we're agreed at least on that," Massha
sez, glancin' around our assemblage. "If it's going
to be done, it's going to be done by one of us."

"Then you still figure to try for Hemlock?" the
ex-general frowns.

"I think," Chumley announces, standin' up and
stretchin', "I think that we're all too tired and have
been drinking far too much to make a rational
decision. I suggest we all retire for now and pick
up this discussion in the morning when our heads
are clearer."

"You know, that's the first sensible idea I've
heard in the last half hour," Tananda sez, stretchin'
a bit herself . . . which would be fun to watch if
I wasn't still thinkin' about the problem at hand.

"Good thinking, Chumley," Nunzio sez.

"Right."

"Sounds good to me."

With everyone in agreement, the party breaks
up and we all start to drift off to our rooms.

"Nunzio," I sez, as soon as the others are out of
hearin' range. "Are you thinkin' what I'm
thinkin'?"

"That we should figure on getting up a little
early tomorrow?" he sez.

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

223

". . . Because if anyone goes for the queen, it's
gonna be us," I declare.

". . . And if we leave it to the group to decide,
someone else might get the job . . ." he adds.

". . . Whereas if we simply present them with a
fait accompli, it'll be too late to argue," I finish.
"Right?"

"Right," he answers.

Like I say, though Nunzio and I sometimes have
our differences, we work together pretty well
when the stakes are high . . . which is why we
are both smilin' as we wave good night to the
others.

Chapter Nineteen:

"We must hurry . . . it's almost over!"

P. FOGG

As I MENTIONED, Nunzio and me have brought along
a few accessories on this assignment which we
stored at Big Julie's for fear the army might be less
than appreciative if we showed up to enlist already
equipped . . . especially as our personal gear
tends to be of a much better quality than that
which the army issues.

Bein' true professionals, we spend considerable
time sortin' through our travelin' kits for items
which would be of specific use for the job at hand.
The knuckle dusters, sawed-off pool cues, lead
pipes and such we set aside , . . as they would
normally be used for much more subtle ventures,
and attemptin' to apply them in a fatal manner
would be both time-consumin' and messy. Though
it broke our hearts, we also decide to leave behind
225

226

Robert Asprin

our lolo crossbows. While they are great in an
open confrontation, they are a bit bulky to be
considered as concealable weapons which counts
against them as whatever we use will have to be
carried in under the noses of the queen's guards.
While these deletions shorten our equipment list
somewhat, we are still left with a fair assortment of
tools from which to make our final selection.

Nunzio finally settles on a pocket, pistol-grip
crossbow and a length of piano wire . . . just in
case . . . while I opt for a blowgun and a nice set
of throwin' knives. For those of youse who may be
surprised by the latter choice, I would note that
while I might not be as good as Snake is, I am still
no slouch when it comes to shivs. Unfortunately I
cannot provide youse with references to this fact,
as those who would be in a position to testify on
the degree of my skill from firsthand experience
are, un fortuitously, no longer with us ... but I
digress.

"You know, Guido," Nunzio sez, startin' to
stash his gear in the spiffy civilian clothes we're
now wearin' again, "there is one problem with us
taking this contract on ourselves."

"What's that?"

"Well, if we get caught afterwards, which as Big
Julie points out is a definite possibility if not a
probability, then we are again faced with a situa-
tion where it looks like the Mob is interfering with
the kingdom of Possiltum."

"Come on, Nunzio," I sez. "We have been
workin' for the Mob for a number of years now.

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

227

and in all that the time the authorities have not
even come close to provin' there is any direct
connection between ourselves and that august
organization."

"I wasn't thinking about the authorities," my
cousin sez, grim-like. "I was thinking about Don
Ho and the other Mob bosses to which Don Bruce
referred."

"Oh . . . Yeah."

I had not considered this, but it is definitely a
point worth reflectin' upon. However, I am still
unwillin' to let one of the others on the M.Y.T.H.
Inc. team take the fall instead of us.

"Tell you what," I sez. "Chances are, only one of
us will do the actual whackin' . . . right?"

"Well, yeah. So?"

"So if it looks like he's gonna get caught, then
the other one whacks him. Then the survivor can
say that the one what whacked the queen was a
renegade, and was eliminated for violatin' the
Boss's orders."

"Sounds good to me," Nunzio sez. "Let's get
going."

If, perhaps, our attitude toward dyin', not to
mention the possibility of maybe whackin' each
other, sounds a little callous, I would suggest
youse consider anew what it is Nunzio and me do
for a livin'. We is bodyguards . . . which means
that along with our jobs, we accept the possibility
that at some point one or both of us might have to
die so that the person what we are protectin' does
not. I repeat, it is part of the job . . . and we'd be

228

Robert Asprin

pretty dumb bunnies if that part of the job descrip-
tion came as a surprise to us after all this time.

As to the possibility of one of us havin' to whack
the other . . . well, I don't relish the thought of
droppin' Nunzio any more than I like the idea of
him droppin' me. Still, once one has accepted the
above referenced possibility of dyin' on the job to
protect the Boss's body or reputation, then it
requires little additional justification to accept that
dead is dead and afterwards it doesn't really mat-
ter exactly who it was what did the number on
youse. If anythin', if Nunzio did me or vice versa,
then at least we would be assured of it bein' a neat,
professional job with a minimum of fuss and
bother.

Anyhow, it is just after dawn as we sneak out of
the villa, openin' the door an inch at a time in case
it squeaks, then easin' onto the patio as soon as it's
open far enough for us to slip through. At this
point seein' as how it seems we have effected our
exit without arousin' the others on the team, I
pause to give Nunzio a wink and a thumbs up
sign.

"Morning, boys!" comes a familiar voice from
the far side of the patio. "Care for a bit of break-
fast?"

Bigjulie is sprawled on a recliner, soakin' up the
morning sun as he picks at the food laid out on the
table next to him.

"Shhh! Could you keep it down?" Nunzio
hisses, puttin' a finger to his lips as he hurries over
to our host.

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

229

"What for?" Big Julie sez, still speakin' in that
loud, projectin' voice of his.

"Well . . . ummm ..." I sez, shootin' a
glance at Nunzio who just shrugs. "To tell you the
truth, Big Julie, we are takin' it on ourselves to
bring yesterday's argument to a close by goin' after
the queen before there is any further discussion.
This effort will, of course,'go to waste if the others
hear you and emerge before we have made our
departure."

"Oh . . . it's too late to worry about that," he
sez, casual-like.

"Excuse me?"

"They've already gone . . . one at a time, of
course."

"They did? When?"

"Well, let's see ... Tananda was the first . , .
she left last night . . . then Chumley took off
when he woke up and realized she was gone.
Massha . . . well, she lit out about an hour ago
when she found out the others had gone . . .
you know, that woman moves pretty fast consid-
ering the weight she's carrying."

"So they're all ahead of us," Nunzio sez,
disgusted-like. "And here we thought we were
being clever getting an early start."

"Well, there is one detail I notice your team-
mates neglected to mention yesterday," Big Julie
sez. "You see, today is the day the queen holds her
public court and hears cases and complaints from
anybody . . . first come first served. That makes
it perfect for the kind of questionable deed you

230	Robert Asprin

were discussing . . . but the lines form early,
both for those seeking an audience and those who
simply want to be in the audience."

"Oh that's just swell!" I sez. "Tell me, Big Julie,
if you don't mind my askin', why didn't you try to
stop them?"

"Me?" he blinks, innocent-like. "I had my say
yesterday . . . and as I recall was unanimously
told to butt out. That makes it none of my
business . . . though I'll admit I'd be no more
eager to try stopping any of the others than I'd be
to try to stop you two. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I guess I see your point," Nunzio sez
quick-like, lookin' grimmer than I've seen him in a
long time. "Well, come on, Guido! We've gotta
hurry if we're gonna be in this game at all!"

Just as Big Julie predicted, the palace throne
room was packed to the walls with even more folks
waiting outside to get in if anyone left early. As I
have mentioned before, however, Nunzio and me
is of sufficient size that most folks give ground
when we crowd them, so we are able to eventually
elbow our way in to where we can at least see.

The crowd what has shown up just to watch is
linin' the walls about twenty deep or jammed into
the balconies, leavin' the center of the room open
for those havin' business with the queen. Seein' as
how that pack is standin' in a line which stretches
back out the door, we have little choice but to join
the audience . . . which hides our presence to a

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

231

certain extent, but greatly reduces our chances of a
quick withdrawal after we finishes workin'.

"There's Massha," I sez, though it's kinda need-
less, as she is standin' in the line waitin' to go
before the queen and is very noticeable in that
company. "Can you see the others?"

Nunzio just shakes his head and keeps scannin'
the audience on our right, so I start doin' the same
for the crowd on the left.

Of course, I realize it is unlikely I will be able to
spot Tananda, since with that disguise mirror of
hers she can look like anyone she wants. I suspect
though, knowin' her to be more than a little vain,
that even disguised she will be both female and
attractive.

Chumley, however, is another matter entirely.
All I gotta do is look for a good sized figure in an
outfit that hides its face, and . . .

Nunzio gives me a quick elbow in the ribs to get
my attention, then jerks his head up toward the
ceilin'. It takes me a minute to figure out what he's
tryin' to point out to me, but then somethin'
moves in the shadows of the rafters and I see her.
It's Tananda, and she's flat on one of the heavy
timbers easin' her way closer to the throne. At
first, I'm afraid she'll fall, but then I realize that
she's . . .

"Quit looking at her/' Nunzio hisses in my ear.
"Do you want the guards to spot her?"

I realize I have been starin' up at her like some
kind of a tourist, and that if I keep doin' it, other
people . . . like the guards . . . are gonna start

232

Robert Asprin

wondering what I'm lookin' at and start checkin'
the rafters themselves.

"So what do we do now?" I whispers back,
tearin' my eyes away from Tananda's progress.

"We move," Nunzio sez, ". . . And fast, if
we're gonna score before she makes her try. With
this crowd, though . . . tell you what. You try
easin' up on the left there and I'll go up this side."

"Got it!" I sez, and put a gentle elbow into the
kidney of the guy ahead 6f me, thereby openin' up
a route to the other side of the throne room.

Sayin' we'll get close to the throne, however,
proves to be considerably easier than actually
gettin' there. At first I am worried about movin'
too fast and catchin' the guards' eyes as someone
tryin' too hard to get close to where the queen will
be. After a few minutes of fightin' with the crowd,
though, I am more concerned with bein' able to
move at all. It seems like the closer to the front of
the room I gets, the more determined the people
are to not give up their place.

By the time I am halfway to the throne, I am
startin' to get desperate over how long it's takin'
and look around to see where Nunzio is. As it
turns out, he is havin' even more trouble than me,
havin' progressed a mere six steps before gettin'
boxed in behind a gaggle of old biddies. They are
not about to give ground for anyone, and it ap-
pears that short of punchin' his way through
them, he isn't gonna make it to the front at all.

Of course, this leaves it to me to beat the others
to the queen . . . which suits me just fine. Re-

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

233

doublin' my efforts, I sneak a peek upward to
check Tananda's progress, only to find I can no
longer see her at all.

Just then, someone lets loose with a blast of
brass horns . . . and the queen appears.

For a moment, I am too stunned to keep pushin'
forward ... in fact, I lose a couple steps.

You see, I met Queen Hemlock back at the same
time I met the Boss, and more recently had a
chance to refresh my memory while gazin' at a
propaganda leaflet. While she is not what you
would call a knockout, neither is she exactly plain.
The woman easin' herself onto the throne, how-
ever, looks so much different than those images
that if they hadn't hollered out her name as she
walked in, I probably wouldn't have recognized
her. Of course, even just passin' her on the street,
the crown would have been a pretty strong clue.

She looks like she hasn't been sleepin' very well,
as there are big dark circles under her eyes, and it
looks like she's been off her feed . . . well, more
so than normal as she's always been a bit on the
scrawny side. Then the first guy in line starts
yammerin' about how he thinks his business is
payin' too much taxes, and for a minute I think
she's gonna burst into tears.

It occurs to me that however successful her
expansion may look from the outside, it doesn't
look like it's makin' Queen Hemlock any too
happy.

just then I spot Chumley ... or at least a big
figure in a hooded cloak . . . edgin' along the

234	Robert Asprin

wall behind the guards not ten feet from where the
queen is sittin', and know I have run out of time.
Slidin' one of the throwin' knives down my sleeve,
I start eyeballin' the distance between me and
Hemlock. It's gonna be one heck of a throw, but it
won't get any easier by my starin' at it, so I step
back for balance and . . .

. . . And all hell breaks loose at the back of the
room!

At first I think the guards have jumped Nunzio,
but when I look his way he is standin' clear of the
action, lookin' right back at me and pointin' des-
perately out the door, mouthin' somethin' I can't
make out over the hubbub. I crane my neck tryin'
to figure out what he's pointin' at, but all I can see
is the crowd outside the throne room is
partin' . , . makin' way for something or some-
body.

There's a ripple of noise spreadin' forward from
the back of the crowd, buildin' in volume as more
and more voices join in. Abandonin' my efforts to
see what's goin' on, I bend an ear to try to sort out
what it is they're sayin'.

"... magician ..."

"He's back!"

"HE'S COMING!"

". . . COURT MAGICIAN!!!"

"LOOK!! THERE HE IS!! IT'S ..."

"THE GREAT SKEEVEH!"

. . . And it was!!

Just as I make out the words, the crowd at the
back of the throne room parts, and the Boss comes

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

235

walkin' in ... and Aahz is with him!! They seem
to be arguin', of course, and are totally ignorin' the
crowd around them which first surges back, then
presses forward like a wall.

I am out of the audience before I am aware that
I have trampled several of Possiltum's citizens in
my haste, and pass Massha who is always a little
slow off the line because of her size. I see Nunzio
comin' through the crowd, knockin' people down
like duckpins, and am vaguely aware that I am
doin' the same . . . but I don't care. I am just
happy to see the Boss here and in one piece.

"SKEEVEH"

I hear someone shout in a voice that sorta
sounds like the queen's, but by now I am six steps
out and closin' fast.

Now, I have never been fond of the Mob tradi-
tion of men huggin' each other, but this time I
figure to make an exception.

"BOSS!!" I hollers, and throws my arms wide
and . . .

. . . And the room spins . . . then everythin'
goes black!

Chapter Twenty:

"/ want a rematch!"
M. TYSON

"GuiDo! HEY! COME on! Wake up!"

I can hear Nunzio's voice, but decide to keep my
eyes closed a little while longer. Havin' had nu-
merous similar experiences in the past, I have no
difficulty figurin' out what has happened . . .
which is to say I have been knocked cold. The
difficult part is recallin' the circumstantials which
led to this condition, a task which is not made any
simpler by the fact that my brain is still a little
scrambled from the experience . . . which is why
I have chosen to pretend I am still out to lunch
whilst I composes myself.

We were in the throne room . . . then the Boss
walked in with Aahz ... I started over to greet
him . . . Nunzio was comin' over to do the same
thing . . . then . . .

237

238	Robert Asprin

I get a fix on Nunzio's location from his voice,
then open my eyes and sit up quick-like, grabbin'
him by the throat as I do so.

"Did you just sucker punch me, cousin?" I sez,
curious-like.

The world starts to spin again a little, makin' me
reconsider the wisdom of havin' tried to move so
fast so soon after regainin' consciousness, but I
blink a couple times to clear my vision and it settles
down. I also notice that Nunzio is turnin' a little
purple, so I loose my grip on his throat so's he can
answer me.

"It . .  . wasn't me!" he squeaks.

Seein' as how Nunzio is usually very proud of
his work . . . particularly on those occasions
when he has just worked on me ... I figure he is
tellin' the truth and open my grip the rest of the
way.

"Well if you didn't do it," I frowns, still blinkin' a
little, "then who ..."

"Meet Pookie," he sez, pointin' over my shoul-
der with his left thumb, as his right hand is busy
rubbin' his throat. "She's the Boss's new body-
guard."

"New bodyguard?" I sez, takin' a look behind
me and . . .

The world stops ... as does my heart and
lungs.

Now, when I say this chick is stunnin', it has
nothin' to do with the fact that she just knocked
me cold. She has the smooth, strong lines of a
panther . . . except for a few pleasant roundin's

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

239

one does not normally find on a cat of any size.
She also has green scales and yellow eyes which
are regardin' me levelly.

"Sorry about the mix-up," she sez, not soundin'
at all sorry, "but you came in so fast that Skeeve
didn't have a chance to tell me you were on our
side. Anyway, pleased to meet you ... I guess.
Here's your knife back."

I look at the throwin' knife she is holdin' out and
realize it is indeed one of mine. I musta still been
holdin' it in my hand when I went to greet the
Boss, which is an embarrassin' oversight. One of
the troubles with havin' big hands is that some-
times one forgets one is holdin' things.

"New bodyguard, huh?" I sez, not bein' able to
think of anythin' wittier to say as I accepts the
knife and stashes it.

"We met on Perv," she sez, a little frosty.
"Skeeve needed a bodyguard . . . and it seems
he didn't have one with him."

Now I am not so far gone that I can't spot a
professional rebuke when I hear one.

"We didn't like it, either," I growl, "but the Boss
ordered us not to go along with him and asked us to
lend a hand here instead."

Pookie thinks about this for a second, then gives
a small nod.

"That explains a few things," she sez, unthawin'
a little. "Skeeve's being alone had me wondering
about you two, but I guess you really didn't have
much choice in the matter."

240	Robert Asprin

There is no reason why her approval should
mean anything to me ... but it does.

"So, you're from Perv, huh?" I sez, tryin' to
prolong the conversation.

"She's my cousin," Aahz sez, and for the first
rime I become aware that he is standin' nearby.

In fact, the whole team is standin' here, and
I ...

"Your cousin!" I sez, the words finally sinkin' in.

"Don't worry," Pookie sez, givin' me a small
smile and a wink. "We aren't at all alike."

"Can you guys keep it down?" Tananda hisses at
us. "I'm trying to eavesdrop on this!"

Wrenchin' my attention away from Pookie, I
finally start to focus in on what's goin' on.

We are still in the throne room, but the crowds
are gone. In fact, the whole place . . . floor and
balconies . . . are empty of people and guards
except for us. Well, us and the Boss, who is sittin'
on the throne steps chattin' with Queen Hemlock.

". . . so everything was going pretty well, until
Roddie caught some bug or other and died," she is
sayin'. "When I didn't die, too, I realized those
rings you gave us didn't really link our lives . . .
incidentally, I'd get my money back on those if I
were you ..."

"You mean the King really did die of natural
causes?" I whispers.

"So it seems," Tananda murmurs back. "Now
put a sock in it. I want to hear this."

". . . and you know I've always wanted to ex-

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

241

pand our borders just a teensy tiny bit,  so I
figured, 'Why not give it a try?' ..."

"From what I hear," the Boss interrupts, "the
expansion goes way past 'teensy tiny' in anyone's
definition."

"I know," the queen sighs, deflatin' a little. "It
just seems to have gotten away from me. My advi-
sors "  - "  you remember Grimble and Badaxe? . . .
well, they keep assuring me that everything is
fine . . - that as long as I keep lowering the taxes,
the people will support me . . . but I keep having
this feeling that I've lost control of . . ."

"Lowering the taxes while you expand your
borders?" the Boss breaks in. "But that can't be
done! A bigger kingdom means more expense, not
less! You still have the cost of local government,
plus the cost of extra layers of bureaucracy to
manage the local bureaucracies."

It finally dawns on me what has been botherin'
me about this "lower taxes" thing every time I hear
about it. I also remember that I had to take Econ.
101 three times.

"I know," the queen sez. "I've been covering the
extra cost from my old kingdom's treasury, but
that's almost gone. Grimble keeps saying that
things will level off eventually when the kingdom
gets big enough, but ..."

"It's not going to happen," the Boss sez, shakin'
his head. "You can't beat the mathematics of the
situation. You're either going to have to raise the
taxes or pull your borders back ... or go bank-
rupt."

242	Robert Asprin

"Oh Skeeve!" Hemlock sez, givin' him a quick
hug. "I knew you could figure it out. Thaf s why I
sent for you."

"Sent for me?"

"Of course, silly. The ring. Didn't you get it?"

"Well, yes. But . . ."

"I never was much good with letters," the queen
continues, "but I was sure you'd get the message
when I sent you Roddie's ring ... of course, I
had to send a little of him along with it ... you
were right about the rings not coming off, by the
way."

"That was Rodrick's ring?"

"Of course. You don't think I'd cut off my finger,
do you?"

She holds up her hand and waggles her fingers
at him ... all of them, includin' the one with her
ring on it. The skin on the finger we had gotten
had been so soft and smooth, we had all assumed it
as a woman's finger. Of course, stoppin' to think
about it, kings don't work much with their hands,
either.

"Anyway, you got the message, and you're here
now ... so everything's going to be all right."

"The message," the Boss sez, lookin' a little
confused . . . which to my mind is understand-
able. "Umm . . . just to be sure we understand
each other, would you mind saying what you
wanted to tell me in words instead of using . . .
graphic communications?"

"Isn't it obvious?" the queen sez. "I need your

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

243

help to manage things,  so I'm offering you a
position."

"Well . . . I'm kind of busy these days," the Boss
sez, "but I guess I can spare a little time to help you
straighten things out as your advisor ..."

". . . as my consort," the queen corrects.

The whole team flinches at this, and we swap a
few worried looks back and forth between us.

The Boss, however, is a little slower on the
uptake.

". . . of course, the first thing you'll have to do
is to order the army to stop advancing until we
figure out what to do next."

"Consider it done . . . and then Grimble and I
will . . . CONSORT??!!"

As I have said, the Boss can be a bit slow from
time to time, but eventually he catches on.

"Of course," Hemlock beams at him. "I figure
we can get married, then if we diwy up some of
these bothersome duties, we'll still have time
to . . ."

"CONSORT???"

The Boss seems to be stuck on the word.

"That's right," the queen says, cocking her head
at him. "Why? Have you got a problem with that?"

The temperature in the throne room seems to
drop along with the chilly tone in her voice.

". . . Because if you do, there is another option.
I can do what you suggested back when Roddie
and I got married."

"Which was . . . ?" The Boss sez in a small
voice.

244	Robert Asprin

"Abdicate." Somehow the queen manages to
make the one word sound like a sentence ... a
death sentence. "I can step down from the throne
and name you my successor. Then you can try to
run this whole mess all by yourself!"

Check and mate.

This whole conversation is makin' me more than
a little uneasy . . . but that is nothin' compared
to what it is doin' to the Boss. He looks absolutely
panicky . . . not to mention sorta green around
the gills.

"I . . . I . . ."he stammers.

". . . But don't you think it'll be so much nicer
if you just go along with my original idea?" Hem-
lock sez, all kittenish again. "That way, you get the
whole kingdom and me!"

"I ... I don't know," the Boss manages at last.
"I've never thought about getting married."

"Well think about it," the queen sez, gettin' a bit
of an edge on her voice.

"No ... I mean, I'll need some time to think
about it."

"Okay," Hemlock nods. "That's fair."

"Maybe in a year ..."

". . . I'll give you a month," the queen sez,
actin' like the Boss hadn't said anythin'. "Then I'll
expect your answer one way or the other. In the
meantime, /'// order the army to stop and you can
start going over the books with Grimbie. I mean,
that will be a good idea whatever decision you
make, won't it?"

"I ... I guess so."

M.Y.T.H. INC. IN ACTION

245

This is not lookin' good. The Boss has never
been good with skirts, and it looks like Hemlock is
gonna be able to lead him around by the nose.

"I think I've heard enough," Tananda sez. "I'll
see you guys later."

"Where are you going, little sister?" Chumley
sez, voicin" the question for all of us. "It looks like
Skeeve is going to need all the help we can give
him . . . and then some."

"Actually," she sez, "I was going to head back to
the home office. I figure I need a little break, so I
thought I'd tend the home fires while my hair
grows back."

"Really?" Chumley frowns.
"Of course," she purrs, flashin' a wide smile,
"that will free Bunny from her duties. I think I'll
send her back here to lend a hand."
"Bunny?"

"Well you can't expect Skeeve to straighten
things out here without his administrative assis-
tant, can you?" she sez, innocent-like. "Besides,
Bunny's a lot better at dealing with figures than I
am."

She pauses and sends one last dark look at the
queen.

". . . at least, I figure in this situation she will
be."

NEXT: Skeeve tries to unravel the puzzle of the
opposite sex in ...

Sweet Myth-tery Of Life.