"But what happened to the safe?" she asked. "You were following the king. How'd someone manage to rob him with you so close?" I scowled No one likes to fail, even if it was in a good cause. Her face softened. She felt sorry for me.
"I didn't see a thing," I said, impassively. "It had to have happened when he went into that thick clump of woods on the other side of the hill."
"Well, did you notice any footprints? Can you tell which way the thieves went?" she demanded.
"Massha," I said, with infinite patience. "I came here to do you a favor. I blew it I apologize. You deserve better, but I'm done. No one is paying me to track down a missing treasure chest."
"Sorry, Big Guy," Massha said. "I'm actually happier the way things came out."
"Me, too," I agreed. Nunzio and Gleep came up to join us. He and I exchanged comradely nods. Gleep leaped up, aiming for my face with his tongue. I pushed him away. "Let's go in. I bet they're pouring a toast to the happy couple. I could use a drink."
"So could I, Hot Stuff," Massha said, tucking her hand into my arm. "So could I."
M.Y.T.H. INC. PROCEEDS
By Jody Lynn Nye
The Klahd with the pinstriped suit coat stretched tight over his massive shoulders accepted the cup of tea offered to him by Bunny. Guido declined cream or sugar, as his habit, which I knew well, dictated. His cousin, Nunzio, not quite so muscular but more affable, accepted both. The fact that both were of a mind to take tea in the sitting room of our renovated inn when they were clearly rushed by other concerns told me how deep those concerns were. I settled myself at their feet to eavesdrop openly upon the proceedings.
"Much obliged," Guido said, taking a deep draught— less, I believed, to assuage thirst than to get the courtesies out of the way. He was never one for a cup of tea where coffee or ale were also on the menu, and he knew both were to hand. Bunny, who knew his mores, seemed to be using his acceptance of the ritual as a test to find out how desperate the Mob enforcers were to obtain the help of my pet. Bunny was nearly as protective as I of Skeeve's studies. The ruffled white pinafore that the red-haired female wore over her tight, green dress was a concession to her attempt to play hostess as well as guardian, but it did not conceal her voluptuous figure any more successfully than her mannered hospitality hid her annoyance and worry. Guido turned to the lanky, blond-haired male reclining in the chair to his right.
"Like I was sayin', Skeeve ..."
"Cookie?" Bunny asked, handing around a plate of tiny, pink-sugared dainties. Guido obediently reached for one.
In my long study of the lesser species, the ability to juggle a container of hot liquid, a plate of delicate comestibles, and a difficult conversation was the mark of a being with its wits about it Guido passed the test. Nunzio went him one better. When the plate came to him, he selected two of the sweet biscuits, one for himself, and one that he held out on his palm for me. In deference to my pet's affection for this creature, as well as my taste for the sweets, I scooped the cookie off the hand with my tongue. Nunzio reached out to ruffle my ears.
"Attaboy," he said, in his high-pitched tenor. "What a good dragon!"
"Thank you for your consideration," I attempted to say, but my immature vocal chords emitted only a sound: "Gleep!"
"You shouldn't be spoiling his appetite," Bunny said, reproachfully.
"Nunzio couldn't spoil that dragon's appetite if he fed him the whole plate and his right arm," Guido said. "Miss Bunny, we respectfully request that you relax. We are not here to ask the Boss to set foot out of his self-imposed exile. All we want is his advice."
Bunny eyed him with the suspicion of one who had heard such assurances before. "Promise?"
"Cross my heart and hope to die," Guido said, suiting his motions to the former part of his pledge, no mean feat while holding a delicate porcelain cup in one's fingers. "If I take the Boss farther than a trot outside to walk the dragon, then you may spit me with the rotisserie fork you have so thoughtfully concealed behind the door."
"Well, all right," she said, subsiding.
"Good," Guido said. "Then, perhaps you will sit down and pour yourself a cup of your most excellent tea, and listen to us."
Bunny sank into the chair at the end of the low table with a just audible sigh of relief.
I was reassured, too. Guido, for all that he was a Klahd. had a nearly dragonish sense of honor, not to be sneered at considering many of the others with whom he associated on a regular basis; I do not include the days spent in the company of my pet, naturally. Skeeve had good instincts regarding the qualities of those whom he called his friends. Klahds, like many pets, function almost entirely on instinct. We of higher species can only hope that they will evolve in the next million years or so until they have a greater grasp of reason and logic. But superior as he was to his fellows, Skeeve was still inclined to turn away from his own interests and assist his friends, no matter how pressing the need for his own work. In a being as short-lived as a Klahd. I objected to him wasting that precious time.
"In any case," Guido went on, "there's nothin' we're concealin' from you. You can listen in to our whole tale of woe. In fact, we would be grateful if you had any input that would help us to deal with the problem in which we find ourselves. You have good insights, and we would be mugs not to take advantage of that."
"Nothing is wrong with Uncle Bruce, is it?" Bunny asked, suddenly concerned. Her avuncular relative was the employer of the two males. He went by the sobriquet "Fairy Godfather," which suited his dress and manner of speaking, but anyone who forgot the second part of his title while possibly finding the first part risible was likely to be reminded of his manners in a forcible fashion. Apart from not enjoying his cologne, which made me sneeze, I found Don Bruce more dragonish in character, and therefore more suited to my company, than most, if not all, of his subordinates.
"The Don is fine," Guido assured her. "I would pass along to you his kindest affections, but he does not know we are here at the moment He is expectin' us to handle this problem ourselves, which we should, except that it seems to involve magik of a higher order than we are accustomed to dealin' with on our own. Hence, our risk of your displeasure."
"You remember King Petherwick, maybe?" Nunzio inquired.
"Sure, I do," Skeeve said, wrinkling his forehead thoughtfully. "He was one of the kings that Queen Hemlock more or less evicted when she expanded Possiltum's borders."
"To the detriment of the old reigning houses," Nunzio confirmed. "Including that of Shoalmirk, Petherwick's old realm. Yet, it is not to be denied that the current situation is more livable than under the previous management Hemlock is holding it together pretty good, with the help of Massha and J.R. Grimble. The people is less revolting than before."
"Where's Petherwick now?" Skeeve asked. "I know Hemlock exiled the former rulers who wouldn't submit to her overlordship, if that's the right word. He didn't want to take a demotion to duke."
"Well, would you?" asked Guido. "When you're used to runnin' the whole show, it's tough when they build a layer of bureaucracy over your head. Especially when your family's been in charge since the species started walkin' upright. Petherwick's in the Bazaar, as it happens. He's gone into retail, in a big way. He bought an insurance policy from the Mob to protect his 'realm,' as he calls it, but it is no more than a big emporium featuring cheap household goods manufactured by those thousands of flunkies who did not want to be left behind to languish under Hemlock's reign. He calls it 'King-Mart.' He's doin' pretty good business, as it turns out. Deveels like a bargain. Petherwick's markups are less than theirs, as a rule, and he don't care if buyers resell his goods, so plenty of dealers take advantage of the sales. In any case, it don't work out for the secondary market so good. Once the shoppers figured out where the merchandise was comin' from, they went back to the source. Petherwick's makin' money hand over royal fist"