MYTH-Interpretations: The Worlds of Robert Asprin (3 page)

"If you don't mind my asking," Pookie said carefully, "why isn't he having you and your deputies take care of this Hefalump instead of advertising for outside help?"

"What me? Go traipsing around the woods chasing some huge critter that's only bothering the farmers?" the sheriff seemed actually surprised at the thought. "That wasn't what we were hired for. I'm more than happy to leave it to the young bloods who are out to make a name for themselves."

"Anyone out there ahead of us right now?"

"Naw," the sheriff said, scratching his beard. "Last one came back and left a couple days ago. There were a fair number parading through here for a while, but it's kind of petered out lately. Guess the word has gotten out that the Hefalump is tougher than anyone thought and doesn't take kindly to anyone trying to shoo it away."

Pookie looked at Spyder who shrugged in return.

"Well, I guess we'll go talk to the Duc
.
.
.
Duke now," the Pervect said. "Any tips you can give us on handling the Hefalump?"

The sheriff thought for a moment.

"Take extra bandages," he said finally. "And be sure your insurance is paid up."

If the sheriff was unimpressive, the Duke of Rybred was positively underwhelming.

Whereas the sheriff had been stocky with a bit of a pot belly, the Duc was short and pudgy. He also walked with a rolling waddle that made him look
.
.
.
well, like a duck. Though he dressed well, he had a habit of rubbing his hands together and licking his lips like a miser with an unexpected tax refund. It left one with a feeling one should count one's fingers after shaking hands
.
.
.
if one cared to shake hands at all.

"Well, well, well," he said, licking his lips and rubbing his hands together. "If nothing else, you two are the most attractive adventurers to try our little quest. Tell you what. Instead of going after the Hefalump and maybe getting your sweet selves dinged up or killed, what would you say to hiring on as my personal bodyguards? It would only be for public appearances
.
.
.
though I'm sure we would work out some kind of a bonus program for overtime."

"I think we'll take our chances with the Hefalump," Pookie said. "That was for five hundred in gold. Right?"

"That's right," the Duc said, apparently unaffected by the rejection. "Five hundred once the beast is killed or scared off. Now you two girls be careful when you go after it."

"You have no idea how careful we can be." Pookie smiled. "For example, how do we know we'll get out money after we've killed the critter?"

The Duc's smile wavered a little.

"Why because I've told you I'll pay you. Surely you don't doubt my word?"

"Not yours specifically," Pookie said. "Still, it isn't entirely unheard of that an adventurer has taken on some dangerous assignment only to find that when it was over, whoever hired him had a sudden memory lapse as to the exact amount promised. Some have even forgotten that payment was promised at all. On the off chance that something like that happened to us, we don't have much recourse. I mean, what can we do? Sue you? As I understand it you're the one who sits in judgement around here. We couldn't forcibly take it from you without having to face your household guards who, of course, would be on the alert at that time. Even if we got mad and just killed you, that still wouldn't get us our money. See what I mean?"

"Yes. I can see where that would be a problem," the Duc said, avoiding their eyes.

"Now, we don't mind risking our necks for money," Pookie said. "That's our business. It's just that we'd like some kind of assurance that we'll actually get our money at the end of it."

"What do you suggest?"

"Put it in escrow," Pookie said with a shrug. "Send the money to
.
.
.
say, the sheriff to hold until the job's over. We check with him, make sure the money's there and waiting for us, then we go after your Hefalump."

"That's fine by me," the Duc said, licking his lips. "I'll be glad when this situation is handled, believe me. As far as I'm concerned, the beast could go on doing its thing. It didn't bother anybody until they expanded their fields into his territory. If the farmers hadn't threatened to withhold their taxes until I did something about it, I would have just ignored the whole thing."

"Part of the price of ruling, I guess," Pookie said. "So, if we're in agreement, we'll drop by the sheriff's
.
.
.
say, tomorrow to check on the reward. Then we'll be on our way."

*
*
*

".
.
.
496
.
.
.
497
.
.
.
498
.
.
.
499
.
.
.
500! It's all here."

Pookie waved at her junior partner as she poured yet another flagon of wine for the sheriff.

"I gotta hand it to you two," the sheriff said, raising the flagon in a mock toast. "I always thought the Duc was clever, but you've got him beat. ‘Put the money in escrow.' I tell you with all the sell-swords and adventurers that have come through here, no one else has come up with that move."

"We've just had a little more experience with money grubbers than most." Pookie smiled, sipping at her own drink.

"Umm
.
.
.
can I ask a question?" Spyder said.

"You not only can, you may," her companion said.

"Huh?"

"Never mind." Pookie waved. "What's the question?"

"Well, you keep talking about how clever the Duc is." Spyder frowned. "I wasn't all that impressed with him."

"Bit of a scum bag, isn't he," Pookie said with a grimace. "Do you see what I mean about the offers female bodyguards get?"

"So what makes him so clever?"

"You have to learn to listen closer, dear," Pookie said. "The Duc had no intention of paying us
.
.
.
or anyone else regardless of the failure or success."

"He didn't?"

"Add up the pieces," Pookie said, counting off the points on her fingers. "First, the farmers try to expand their holdings and run into a local critter, the Hefalump, that takes offense at their trespassing. Second, by his own admission, the Duc would have ignored it, but the farmers threatened to withhold their tax monies unless he did something. His response was to offer a reward to anyone who would kill or scare off the beast."

Spyder frowned thoughtfully, then shook her head.

"So what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing's wrong with it," Pookie said. "It's actually very clever. He had to do something, so what he did was make an offer. A move that cost him no money or effort. Simply by making the offer, he kept the farmers paying taxes."

".
.
.
And if anyone were actually successful going up against the Hefalump, he could renege on the payment and it still cost him nothing," Spyder finished. "That is kind of clever. But we outfoxed him with this escrow thing. Huh."

"Not really." Pookie shrugged. "Remember the sheriff here answers to the Duc. That why the Duc agreed to readily. Tell me, sheriff, were your instructions to send the money back as soon as we went after the Hefalump, or were you supposed to wait until tomorrow?"

Silence answered her.

"Hey! He's asleep!" Spyder said.

"Yes," Pookie said without looking. "And with what I put in his drink, he should be out until well after midnight."

She rose to her feet and stretched.

"So, little sister, gather up that lovely gold and we'll be on our way."

"What?" Spyder exclaimed. "You mean we're just going to take the gold without going after the Hefalump at all? But that's
.
.
."

".
.
.
Stealing," Pookie said. "If you want to pretty it up, the Duc was ready to swindle adventurers by taking advantage of their short sightedness. We're just returning the favor. Remember I told you that adventurers are thieves or killers
.
.
.
and you specifically said that, if possible, you'd rather be a thief?"

She paused and considered the sleeping sheriff.

"Of course, if you've changed your mind, we could slit his throat on the way out."

"But won't they come after us?"

"And admit that they've been flim-flamed? By a couple females?" Pookie smiled. "I doubt it. Even if they do, they don't even have our names when it comes to tracking us down. Looking for a Klahd and a Pervect, they'd be lucky if they didn't run smack into Aahz and Skeeve."

Gleep's Tale

Robert Lynn Asprin

Inevitably, when conversing with my colleagues of the dragon set, and the subject of pets was raised, an argument would ensue as to the relative advantages and disadvantages of humans as pets. Traditionally, I have maintained a respectful silence during such sessions, being the youngest member in attendance and therefore obligated to learn from my elders. This should not, however, be taken as an indication that I lack opinions on the subject. I have numerous well-developed theories, which is the main reason I welcomed the chance to test them by acquiring a subject as young and yet as well-traveled as Skeeve was when I first encountered him. As my oration unfolds, you will note
.
.
.
but I'm getting ahead of myself. First things first is the order of business for organized and well-mannered organisms. I am the entity you have come to know in these volumes as
.
.
.

"Gleep! C'mere, fella."

That
is Nunzio. He is neither organized nor well-mannered. Consequently, as is so often the case when dealing with Skeeve and his rather dubious collection of associates, I chose to ignore him. Still, an interesting point has been raised, so I had probably best address it now before proceeding.

As was so rudely pointed out, I am known to this particular batch of humans, as well as to the readers of these volumes, simply as Gleep. for the sake of convenience, I will continue to identify myself to you by that name, thereby eliminating the frustrating task of attempting to instruct you in the pronunciation of my
real
name. Not only am I unsure you are physically able to reproduce the necessary sounds, but there is the fact that I have limited patience when it comes to dealing with humans. Then, too, it is customary for dragons to adopt aliases for these cross-phylum escapades. It saves embarrassment when the human chroniclers distort the facts when recording the incidents
.
.
.
which they invariably do.

If I seem noticeably more coherent than you would expect from my reputed one-word vocabulary, the reason is both simple and logical. First, I am still quite young for a dragon, and the vocal cords are one of the last things to develop in regard to our bodies. While I am quite able to converse and communicate with others of my species, I have another two hundred years before my voice is ready to attempt the particular combination of sounds and pitches necessary to converse extensively with humans in their own tongue.

As to my mental development, one must take into consideration the vast differences in our expected lifespan. A human is considered exceptional to survive for a hundred years, whereas dragons can live for thousands of years without being regarded as old by their friends and relations. The implications of this are too numerous to count, but the one which concerns us here is that, while I am perhaps young for a dragon, I am easily the oldest of those who affiliate themselves with Skeeve. Of course, humans tend to lack the breeding and upbringing of my kind, so they are far less inclined to heed the older and wiser heads in their midst, much less learn from them.

"Hey, Gleep! Can you hear me? Over here, boy."

I made a big show of nibbling on my foot as if troubled by an itch. Humans as a whole seem unable to grasp the subtleties of communication which would allow them to ascertain when they are being deliberately ignored, much less what it implies. Consequently, I have devised the technique of visibly demonstrating I am preoccupied when confronted with a particularly rude or ignorant statement or request. This not only serves to silence their yammerings, it slows the steady erosion of my nerves. To date, the technique yields about a twenty percent success ratio, which is significantly better than most tactics I have attempted. Unfortunately, this did not prove to be one of those twenty percenters.

"I'm talkin' ta
you
, Gleep. Now are ya gonna go where I tell ya or not?"

While I am waiting for my physical development to enable me to attempt the language of another species, I have serious doubts that Nunzio or Guido will master their
native
tongue, no matter how much time they are allowed. Somehow it reminds me of a tale one of my aunts used to tell about how she encountered a human in a faraway land and inquired if he were a native. "I ain't no native!" she was told. "I was born right here!" I quite agree with her that the only proper response when confronted by such logic was to eat him.

Nunzio was still carrying on in that squeaky little-boy voice of his which is so surprising when one first hears it, except now he had circled around behind me and was trying to push me in the direction he had indicated earlier. While he is impressively strong for a human, I outweighed him sufficiently that I was confident that there was no chance he could move me until I decided to cooperate. Still, his antics were annoying, and I briefly debated whether it was worth trying to improve his manners by belting him with my tail. I decided against it, of course. Even the strongest humans are dangerously frail and vulnerable, and I did not wish to distress Skeeve by damaging one of his playmates. A trauma like that could set my pet's training program back years.

Right about then, I observed that Nunzio's breathing had become labored. Since he had already demonstrated his mental inflexibility, I grew concerned that he might suffer a heart attack before giving up his impossible task. Having just reminded myself of the undesirability of his untimely demise, I decided I would have to humor him.

Delaying just long enough for a leisurely yawn, I rose and ambled in the indicated direction
.
.
.
first sliding sideways a bit so that he fell on his face the next time he threw his weight against me. I reasoned that if he wasn't sturdy enough to survive a simple fall, then my pet was better off without his company.