Robert Asprin - Myth 15 - Class Dis-Mythed

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CLASS

DIS-MYTHED

Robert Asprin & Jody Lynn Nye

Meisha Merlin Publishing, Inc. Atlanta, GA

Chapter One

"It's nice to be wanted." J.JAMES

A high female voice ventured timidly, "Are you...Aahz?"

I looked up from a half-empty mug, and nearly spat out my mouthful of beer. Gazing

down at me in the close confines of the Haggard Sheep Inn in the Bazaar on Deva

were three Pervish females wearing trim, two-piece business suits and clutching

briefcases tightly to their chests. My first impulse was to sidle away rapidly, keeping

my back against the nearest wall. Next to dragons and Trolls, Pervect women are

some of the most dangerous creatures in all the dimensions. I ought to know: I was a

Pervect male. Our green, scaly skin covered impressively dense and strong muscles,

and inside the skull between our batwing-shaped ears lay devious brains capable of

following complex lines of analysis, always geared to our own advantage.

The females stared at me, yellow eyes watchful. I had long ago scoped out the exits in

every public building within five miles' radius of our headquarters. The back door

was fifteen steps behind me behind a curtain. Could I make it before they drew

weapons or cast spells?

Guido, a Klahd and former associate with whom I was having a friendly drink, froze,

then his hand inched toward the front of his suit coat where he concealed a miniature

crossbow. His pinkish-tan skin paled to a buff color. He obviously shared my

discomfort, but he wasn't going to let a business partner face a formidable foe alone.

"Who wants to know?" I growled at the three.

But the Pervish females weren't wearing expressions I associated with assassins or

bill collectors. In fact, I realized that their suits were in fashionable pastels with short

skirts and

their satchels were color-coordinated to go with the outfits. At first I thought they

must be lawyers. Then I realized how young they were. They weren't professionals.

They were school girls.

As if to confirm my analysis, one of them giggled.

"You must be Aahz. You look just like your picture."

The others tittered. I eyed them.

"Where did you see my picture?" I asked.

"Your mother showed it to us," the tallest one replied.

"My mother?"

"Your mother?" Guido asked curiously, leaning closer. I waved him back.

"What do you want?" I demanded.

"Well, Aahz...mandius?" the tall one began in a tentative manner.

"Just Aahz," I interrupted tersely. I was aware that all the patrons within five tables,

mostly red-skinned Deveels, the natives of this dimension, had stopped drinking and

had leaned as close as they could, the better to hear our exchange.

"Aahz, then. We need—This is kind of embarrassing—"

"Then sit down and lower your voices," I advised, beginning to lose patience. I glared

at the eavesdroppers, who suddenly remembered they had better things to do.

I gestured at the bench on the other side of the table. With uneasy and distasteful

glances, as if they had just picked up on their surroundings, the three females slid

onto it.

"Yeah?" I urged them.

They dithered.

"You ask him, Jinetta," said the smallest.

"No, it was Pologne's idea," the tallest said.

"It was not!" the middle one exclaimed.

My species is not easily embarrassed, so whatever was eating these three had to be

pretty bad. From birth we Pervects are raised to know we're a superior race through-

out the dimensions. Few types are capable of supporting both magik and technology,

and Perv has both. We're stronger, faster and smarter than most other dimension

travelers, or demons for short, so if that self-knowledge makes us a little arrogant, so

be it. Of all the beings in the Bazaar, these three Pervects had come to consult one of

their own.

I was becoming bored with the byplay. Cleared my throat meaningfully. The three

stopped their bickering and turned to face me.

"Well, Aahz," the tall one began in a perky voice, interlacing her fingers on the table.

"I just want you to know from the start that we're not beginners. We're all graduates

of MIP."

I raised an eyebrow. The Magikal Institute of Perv was one of our finest seats of

higher learning.

"Nice credentials, but so what?"

"Well—" the spokespervect glanced at her companions, "during our education, we

took a lot of lab courses and had a couple of remote study opportunities, but really,

none of our classes had much of a grounding in the real world."

"Stands to reason," I mused. "Professional academics, the kind who spend their whole

lives in universities, don't have a lot of grounding in the real world. And they figure

you're going to get plenty of practical experience once you get out. What's this got to

do with me?"

"We need practical education," the most petite of the Pervects said. "Right away."

"We're looking for a course of intensive study," the tallest picked up the talking-stick

again. "About six weeks. We consulted many, many people as to who the best

possible tutor in any dimension would be to give us instruction, someone who would

understand the really important issues of survival in the real world of magik. Only

one name kept coming up again and again, including here in the Bazaar on Deva..."

I preened. I didn't realize that my name was still one to conjure with, so to speak. I

eased back in my seat and rolled my mug around between my fingers.

"So you three sweet young things want me to teach you the ins and outs of practical

magik?" I purred.

"No!" the three chorused. "We need you to help us find the Great Skeeve!"

"What?" I roared, slamming down my stein.

"Well, you're his partner, aren't you?" the tallest one asked in surprise, flicking the

beer stains off her frilly blouse with little offhand magikal repulsion. "That's what the

Merchants Association told us. They said that you'd be able to tell us where to find

him. They said he's off-dimension, leaving no forwarding address, but as his closest

associate, you're sure to know where he went."

"WHAT AM I, CHOPPED LIVER?" I bellowed.

The three regarded me blankly.

"I'm sure you're a magician of some skill," the medium-sized one said in placating

tones that made my blood pressure blast through the roof.

'Get out of here!" I roared.

"But my Great Aunt Vergetta said that the Great Skeeve is the one we want," the tall

one pleaded. "She said he was the best she ever met, the most effective magician in

all the dimensions. Her club agreed with her. Lots of people said they've heard the

same."

The others nodded earnestly.

I made myself calm down. I knew all about Skeeve's run-in with Vergetta and her

Pervect Ten, a cabal of Pervish females with interlocking talents. I wasn't surprised

Skeeve's reputation had gone so far. I had gone through a lot of blood, sweat, tears

and expense to help spread that reputation around the dimensions. I also knew the true

extent of his talents behind that reputation. Most of what Skeeve knew he had learned

from me or the late magician Garkin, or picked up on the fly during one of our

missions. He'd gotten by on native smarts, dumb luck, his own magikal ability and a

little help from his friends. I wondered privately whether as a Klahd he could live

long enough to really master the Arts Magikal. I wasn't going to subject him to

humiliation from these three. Advanced degrees from MIP meant these three had

gone

through six years of the toughest professors and the best training in any dimension.

Once they found out they were that far ahead of him, they'd tear him apart.

"Forget it." I hoisted my mug and drained it.

"Please!" the shortest one begged.

I slammed the empty stein on the table and planted my palms firmly on either side of

it. "Can't you take 'no' for an answer? Get out of here before I rip your heads off!"

The Pervects weren't put off.

The medium-sized one leaned forward imploringly. "Please, just tell us where we can

find him?"

"He's on sabbatical, and I'm not going to let you interrupt him on some whim. Go

enroll in summer school."

"This is important!" the smallest one said.

"So are his studies," I snarled. "Forget it, I said."

"But we're willing to pay him," the tallest one said.

"He doesn't need it." I crossed my arms. I had recently gone to a lot of trouble to

make sure Skeeve wasn't going to be disturbed for as long as he wanted to stay out of

touch, and there was nothing these three fashion plates could say to change my mind.

"We really need his help," the tallest one pleaded. "We have GOT to learn how to

survive—"

"Shh!" the other two shushed her.

"If you'd just let us talk to him," the smallest one said, fluttering her green-scaled

eyelids. "Then he'd understand why we need his help."

"Sorry you wasted your time, ladies," I said. I turned my shoulder on them. The

interview was over. I signalled for a refill. The bartender's potboy hustled over with a

gallon jug, and slopped a quantity into our glasses. I took a casual swig.

"So, Guido, you try out that new Djinni restaurant yet?"

The Mob enforcer kept a weather eye on our visitors, but he gritted out a reply. "Too

spicy for me. I like to keep the enamel on my teeth."

The Pervects drifted off the bench, but they didn't go far. They stood there in the

middle of the grimy old pub like a fresh lick of paint on a garbage wagon, a neon sign

to pickpockets and muggers that here were three easy victims. Anyone with half an

eye could tell they needed some practical advice, but that wasn't my problem. Not

really. But I did give a glare to the unsavory elements hanging around in the room to

make sure they knew these females weren't to be picked on, even if they were as

clueless as newborn kittens. With my luck they'd get creamed in the next bar fight,

and I'd have to deal with locals who thought MAYBE Pervects weren't so tough after

all.

They were still moaning. I didn't care. Skeeve's privacy wasn't going to be interrupted

for a trio of coddled fashion plates.

"What are we going to do?" the tallest one wailed. "We won't be prepared! After my

parents put me through MIP at a cost of 5,000 gold pieces a semester, I can't find a

lousy tutor when it's a life-and-death matter? My parents would have paid anything to

get the Great Skeeve!"

I pointedly hadn't been paying close attention to their conversation, but my keen

hearing had picked up the words "thousand gold pieces." They had me from there on.

"You like Djinni food?" Guido asked me.

I held up a finger to put his question on hold.

"HOW much did MIP cost?" I asked the tall Pervect.

"Five thousand" the Pervect repeated, turning toward me. Her eyes were bright gold

with unshed tears. "A semester. Plus books and equipment. Plus housing and activity

tickets and my allowance—more than fifteen thousand a year!"

I couldn't see it, but I knew the little green-for-greed light had just gone off over my

head.

"Sit down, ladies," I purred. "You know, maybe the Great Skeeve could make a little

time to help you. If the price was right."

"Y'know, Aahz, the Boss said he don't want—"

"Give the ladies a chance, Guido," I interrupted smoothly, cutting off his protest. I

didn't want to blow what suddenly had turned into a potential earner. My inner cash

were trust-fund babies or better. They perched on the bench, looking hopeful.

"Well, you know," I began, "the Great Skeeve don't work cheap. He is the best, and

he expects fees according to his skills. And status."

The great-niece nodded. "Auntie Vergetta said we could expect that. How much

would he want?"

"Well, the fees have to support our company's efforts," I said innocently, forestalling

a squawk from Guido. "To carry on his efforts for the greater good. How about, say,

five hundred a week?"

The three smiled with relief.

"Total?" the tallest one asked.

"Each."

"No way!" the middle one protested.

"Take it or leave!" I roared. "The Great Skeeve doesn't deal with pikers!"

"No, no!" the smallest one said. "How about three hundred each?"

I grinned. Now the dealing was going the way I liked it.

Chapter Two

"How would teaching get anyone in trouble?"

SOCRATES

"Skeeve, stop it!" Bunny ordered me, exasperation plain on her pretty face. "They're

too pink!"

"Are you sure?" I asked. I stopped adding color and stood back to get a better look at

my illusion spell.

"Yes, I'm sure! They're Klahds, not Imps!"

I peered at the image. It issued from Bunny's Perfectly Darling Assistant, or PDA,

Bytina, a palm-sized clam-shell of brushed red metal, and had been blown up by me

with a touch of magik to cover the surrounding walls, covering the peeling paint and

worn woodwork of the old inn. Striking poses in a copse of fake hazel trees were

several beings wearing elegant clothing that seemed out of both time and place. From

what I could tell by the old-fashioned phrases they were spouting, the male wearing

the cross-gartered hose was pledging eternal devotion to the young female with long

braids and a dress so tightly bodiced that every breath drew my—attention. An older

male in a long houppelande and a twisty turban, the female's father, was against the

union. They were Klahds, members of my own race. Honesty forced me to admit they

were more fuchsia than the usual Klahdish varegations of pale beige through dark

brown. Reluctantly, I mentally unreeled some of the rainbow I'd fed into the picture.

Bunny tapped her foot impatiently.

"How about now?" I inquired.

"Not yet."

"How about now?" "No."

"How about now?"

"No."

"Now?"

"No."

"Now?"

"No! Yes," Bunny amended suddenly. Her shoulders relaxed. "Good. Now, make

their heads smaller."

"Bunny, they look fine!" I argued. "You can see their expressions better this way."

She redoubled the exasperation and aimed it straight at me. I turned back to my

handiwork and studied it. I had to admit she was right again. The people did have the

aspect of lollipops on sticks. At the time I had thought it was advantageous, since the

last time I'd been to a play the actors were so far away from me I could never tell who

was emoting about what. Once I reduced the proportions to normal it seemed as

though a crowd was standing in the room of the old inn with us. I liked the effect. I

noticed that the backdrop they were standing in front of looked more unrealistic than

ever.

"I could improve the scenery," I offered, raising my hands with my thumbs together

to make a square. "Make it seem like a real forest."

"No, thanks," Bunny shot back.

"Oh, come on," I wheedled. "It'd be a lot better that way."

"No!" Bunny said. "What IS it about men, that they can't stop fiddling with controls

for a single moment? I went for a ride with my uncle on that flying carpet he bought

in the Bazaar, and he practically rebraided the fringe on one short little ride!"

I retired to the corner, chagrined.

"Well, if you don't need my help any more—" I began.

Bunny smiled sweetly at me. "I didn't need it to start with. But thank you for

enlarging the picture. It does make it easier to watch."

She sashayed back to the cushy armchair in the center of the room, now surrounded

by the play, already into its second act. She wasn't so hard to watch herself, being a

very curvaceous woman the circumference of whose bosom was

approximately two thirds of her height and with red hair that was clipped short to

draw attention to the silky skin of her cheeks and neck. Don't misunderstand me—I

wasn't interested in Bunny romantically. I had once underestimated her because of her

looks. She had used them as camouflage to conceal a surprising intelligence,

something that we in M.Y.T.H., Inc. came to appreciate more than her family and

former associates in the Mob had. She was one of my best friends, someone whose

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CLASSDIS-MYTHEDRobertAsprin&JodyLynnNyeMeishaMerlinPublishing,Inc.Atlanta,GAChapterOne"It'snicetobewanted."J.JAMESAhighfemalevoiceventuredtimidly,"Areyou...Aahz?"Ilookedupfromahalf-emptymug,andnearlyspatoutmymouthfulofbeer.GazingdownatmeinthecloseconfinesoftheHaggardSheepInnintheBazaaronDevawerethre...

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Robert Asprin - Myth 15 - Class Dis-Mythed

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