Bunny was next. She'd rehearsed her act with me in my room at the inn the night before, and if nothing went wrong she'd knock the judges off her feet. I'd never known she was so talented. She danced with a partner who was no more than a broomstick in men's clothes. The bristly end was the figure's head, gloves were attached to the end of the tunic's sleeves, and shoes were sewn onto the bottom of the hose. And as they danced, they sang a duet. Bunny did both parts, singing in her normal tone for her lines, and pitching her voice down low for her partner's.
“It was the closest to boys we had at Madam Beezel's Academy for Girls,” she said apologetically. “My parents were very strict.” I thought it was a terrific act, and I told her so. She squeezed my arm for good luck before the host called her name.
She swirled out onto the stage with her partner in her arms, and the music began.
“We two,” Bunny sang. “We two are like one / When we're on the dance floor / Out on the town having fun / You are me and I am you / Whenever we are close I see you and me / we two, we two are like one …”
I enjoyed it. It reminded me a lot of what Aahz called “vawdvil.” I even saw one or two of the judges moving their heads in time with the music.
It took a little while for the others to catch on to what her act was about, but when they did, the attacks came from every direction. Gusts of wind blew her long skirt up over her head, showing tiny blue unmentionables underneath. Her feet slipped on invisible oil slicks or white patches of ice that appeared on the stage floor, then vanished without a trace. I threw defensive spell after defensive spell around her. They were bombarded by hostile magik. A few spells slipped through my protection. Bunny's “partner” grew extra arms and legs. Its face changed into a hideous mask and started to sing.
“Boo hoo, you hopeless dum-dum! / You dance with a pushbroom / we all assume you're insane / *&%$ you …” Bunny flagged, not knowing what to do next.
This I could help with. I tore energy from every force line I could reach, and covered the horrible face with a handsome male visage, and filled in the raucous noise with my own voice. Suddenly, instead of dancing with a broom, Bunny seemed to be in the arms of a handsome man.
“Do you mind if I cut in? / Go on with your song / you're beautiful…”
Over its shoulder she shot me a look of such gratitude I could feel my ears burning. I let her go on singing. Now the contestants turned their attention to me, but I was ready for them. I'd had to concentrate on doing spells while a baby dragon licked my face or while an angry Pervect yelled or while armies of heavily armed men and horses charged straight at me. What had I to fear from a thousand angry women?
Plenty, it turned out. Since I wasn't onstage, out of reach, they mobbed me, scratching, kicking, and even punching. A swipe from a felinoid female drew blood from my cheek. The Salamander burned through my boot top and singed my feet. The Perv woman cocked her arm back to throw an uppercut. I dodged her fist, and tumbled straight into the claws of the Deveel contingent, who got in a few licks of their own. Floor stewards came hurrying over to see what was the matter, but they were thrown back across the room. I hunched over in a tight ball, protecting my eyes with my arms. Whatever else happened, I couldn't let the illusion drop. Bunny's score, and her mission, depended on it.
“All right, enough!” a man's voice over my head shouted. “Ladies, back to your places or you'll be disqualified!”
The feet kicking my back withdrew, and I uncurled. A hand grabbed my arm and helped me get to my feet.
“You're not the only one who can throw your voice,” Bunny said. Faces glared at me over Bunny's shoulder, but hers was the only one I cared about. She looked tired.
“How did it go?” I asked.
She held out her other arm. Her erstwhile partner lay across it. When I let the illusion drop, nothing remained but a few tatters of cloth and some ashes. They crumbled to the floor.
“Thank you for what you did,” she said. “But I don't think itll be enough to help.”
I glanced over at the judges' table. The brass girl I knew was standing behind the gold judge, pouring molten liquid into a glass. She caught my eye with a sad look and shook her head. Bunny saw it, too.
“I can't win this,” Bunny said. “I'm ready to give up.”
“No,” I insisted. “You can win it. There's still tomorrow.”
“And that is what I'd do with the Bub Tube if I am so fortunate to win it,” Bunny said. She put down the parchment on which her speech was written. “This is awful, Skeeve. It sounds so phony. The Bub Tube won't go to assure world peace, or harmony among the dimensions. I'm not going to be using it, my uncle is. And you know his business.”
I sighed and thrust my hands into my hair. The talent contest had been a disaster. The Pervect had won, with one-fifth of a point more than the Gnome. Bunny was near the bottom of the ranking, about the same as she'd gotten from the beauty parade. This was her last chance to make good.
“This is what you'd do with it if you got it,” I said, hopefully. “Or you could tell the truth. The honest answer might be such a novelty that it might surprise them into giving you the title.”
“If I got it,” Bunny said. “This part of the contest is worth fifty percent of the total. At best I'll come in somewhere in the middle.”
I thought hard. “But you'd move up if your best competition moved down, wouldn't you? It's still possible.”
“It's still possible to win,” Bunny began, “but they all cheat so much. And they play dirtier than I ever dreamed.” She leaned forward and touched my cheek. “Does that still hurt?”
“A little,” I admitted, enjoying the play of her gentle fingers. “What if I could persuade them not to cheat?” Bunny brightened. “Do you think you can?” “I'll try,” I said.
“Excuse me,” I said, approaching a cluster of Klahdish women. They were helping one another fasten dresses and tidy their hairstyles. They straightened and eyed me warily. “Since I come from your dimension I wanted to start with you. Do you think it's fair that everyone has been using magik or technical devices during this contest?”
“Well, no,” said a tall woman with red hair. “But what about it? If we don't, well lose for certain.”
“My father is a grand wizard in Bream,” said a tiny woman with black hair. “He wants the Bub Tube, and he gave me plenty of spells to make sure I'll get it”
“I'll get it,” a buxom girl insisted, tossing her long blond tresses over her shoulder, “if I have to seduce every single judge on the panel.”
“But you're all beautiful, and all intelligent,” I said. “Why not play it straight and see who wins fairly and squarely?”
“Because we want to win,” they chorused.
“Those Deveels all use magik,” the wizard's daughter said. “If we didn't cheat, we wouldn't stand a chance.”
“What if I could get them to agree to compete honestly?” I asked.
“Well…” the redhead appeared to consider. “But everybody would have to do it”
“All right,” I said, overjoyed that my plan was going so well. All my years with Aahz, the master negotiator, were paying off. “Ill get them to agree.”
But my plan hit a snag in phase two.
“Are you crazy?” the tallest Deveel women asked. “Honest! You all say that. One of you Klahds asked for a fair fight last time there was a contest on Trofi, and she cheated. We're not going to fall for that again.”
“But the Klahds have given me their word they'll follow the rules,” I said.
Fiery red eyes bored into mine. “You don't look that stupid. Either you believe them, or you're in on it with them. In any case, get lost!”