Myth-Chief

FIVE

I admit I eyed the Imp with jaundice as he sidled into the room. Imps, with their bright pink skin and small, almost vestigial horns, looked like lesser Deveels. They weren't as smart, as cunning, or as sartorially sophisticated, but they were sneaky and determined. His shiny, houndstooth checked suit was of somewhat better quality than most of the folk I had met from his dimension. That meant he had the wherewithal to pay for my advice.

"So. er, Marmel, what kind of question can I answer for you?" I asked, glancing at his solid-tin business card.

"My old dad died last month," he said. Figuring he didn't look woebegone enough, he whipped a blue-and-yellow-spotted handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his eyes, which teared on cue. Even I could smell the onion he had hidden in the folds of cloth. I coughed, and he put the vegetable back in his pocket. "I've got a sister, see? Her name's Marmilda. Our old mother's gone, too. We're orphans."

"Sorry to hear that," I said. "How can I help?"

"Glad you want to," Marmel said, grinning affably, his fake tears forgotten. He stuffed the cloth back into his pocket. "It's like this: Dad left us both a share in the family business. That's okay. We make wolidgins. Best in all of Imper. Marmilda runs the operation. I'm the head of sales. That's fine."

I nodded, making a mental note to look up "wolidgins " "Then what's the problem?"

"Weil, outside of the business and the home—it's not exactly a mansion, but it's big enough for us and our families, see?—there isn't much else. Except for the Hoho Jug."

"The what?"

"That's what the old man always called it. His prized possession. It's worth a bundle. Powerful magik. It's a big pitcher, real fancy looking. You can pour wine out of it forever. It never runs dry."

"Why's it called the Hoho Jug?"

"When you holler down if the echo sounds kind of like 'ho-ho.'"

I shrugged. Imps weren't known for having a lot of imagination. "Why do you need my help with the Hoho Jug?"

"Well, I figure, that since I'm the outside rep for our business, it ought to go to me. Also, I'm the only son. Marmilda, she's the eldest, and she thinks, that since she's running the place, she wants to keep the employees happy, it ought to go to her."

"Who did your father want to have it? What's his will say''"

"No will," Marmel said, with a shrug. "We've looked everywhere. And that's what I don't get, because he was always meticulous about paperwork. But, look, we were both there at Dad's deathbed, and I swear he looked right at me and said I ought to have it."

"Were those his exact words?" I asked, reaching for a pencil. This was starting to sound promising.

"Nope. Sounded more like 'uh wah uh uh uv ah.' But that's what it sounded like to me. So, I asked again. I said, 'Dad, who gets the Hoho Jug?' And he pointed." "At you?" I asked.

"Well." Marmel didn't sound too certain. "Marmilda was sitting next to me. She says he pointed at her.

I'm pretty certain he pointed at me. Look, Mr. Skeeve, I need your help. When Dad died, the Hoho Jug disappeared. Dad told us plenty of times that it will only reappear when the rightful heir calls it back. Marmilda said if she gets it, she's going to sell it to raise capital. I don't want it out of the family. It's my inheritance. What do you say?"

"Sounds interesting," I said. I nodded. Figuring out which was the real heir—that sounded like something I could do. It wasn't a guard job, or item retrieval or any of the other things my friends did so well, so it didn't tread on M.Y.T.H., Inc.'s toes. If there was no clear mandate in the father's words, then maybe I could negotiate an amiable settlement between the siblings. The solution wasn't dependent upon my mediocre magikal skills, and I could do it on my own. "This is worth looking into. You know I can't guarantee that you're going to end up with the Hoho Jug as your exclusive property. But I'll help you find out the truth."

Marmel shrugged. "I'll take the chance. My spell or yours?"

"Lead the way," I said. "One minute." I leaned out the curtain and grinned at Bunny. "We've got a client," I told her. "Postpone my other appointments. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Good for you, Skeeve," she said, beaming. "Break a leg."

BAMF!

I had never spent much time in Imper. After Deva, which was mostly desert, and of that desert, most of it was the Bazaar, Imper seemed cold and damp. A wind full of raindrops slapped me in the face like a wet fish. I sputtered.

"No place like home, huh?" Marmel said, taking a deep breath of rain and pounding his fists contentedly on his chest. "Welcome to Sirecoose. C'mon, follow me."

Whereas the Bazaar was a warren of tents, wooden buildings, stables, corrals, the occasional sandstone emporium, and an endless maze of curtained stalls, Sirecoose comprised winding, cobblestoned streets lined with three-and-four-story houses and buildings that leaned over the throroughfares enough that an Imp could easily have leaned out an upper window and handed an object to his neighbor across the street. I spotted plenty of Mom 'n' Pop stores, with the family home clearly over the premises. Factories I spotted in the distance. Sparks poured out of the chimneys instead of smoke. Imper relied more heavily than most other dimensions on magik for its manufacturing.

Imps were well-known for poor, even frightening dress sense. I tried not to pay attention as we threaded our way through the noonday crowd. They favored bright colors and wild patterns, the combination of which made me feel faintly dizzy. A rose pink woman wearing a brilliant-orange-moire dress pushed between us.

Marmel's family business wasn't far from where we had appeared. Trade seemed brisk, as male and female Imps emerged from the wood-and-glass door carrying paper-wrapped bundles in their arms. They looked happy.

"So, how many wolidgins do you normally sell in the course of a month?" I asked.

"About the usual," Marmel said, ushering me inside the store. Only one customer was present, a stout matron who hmmphed when I accidentally impeded her procession to the exit door. She carried her parcel with an air of majesty. I peered around the shop, but nothing was on display.

Whatever wolidgins were, they must be kept in storage until they were requested. I hated to ask; it would make me look inexperienced.

A pert young Imp girl in a bright green and yellow dress smiled politely at her boss. "Hey, Treesa, my sister around?"

"No, sir," Treesa said.

"Good," Marmel said with a sigh. "C'mon, I'll show you the old man's room."

"You haven't told your sister that you're employing outside help," I guessed, as we climbed the narrow stairs to the third floor.

"No," Marmel said. "She'd blow her top. Here's Dad's room. We've kept it just the way it was when he passed away."

With no disrespect intended to the dear departed, it looked as if Marmel's father had gone out of his way to collect tasteless knickknacks in bulk quantities. Even in the curio shops in the Bazaar I had never seen a matched set of twelve cups shaped like bowling trophies. The stuffed squid on the mantelpiece with "Return to Picturesque Dover" etched on its side in curlicue letters nearly made me gag. No taxidermist should make an animal smile like that. Dirty postcards of naked women from a dozen dimensions had been framed in gold. A couple of them had personalized messages scrawled in the corner. I whistled. The old boy had gotten around. The bed, a four-poster of green wrought iron, was flanked by pink, white, and black end tables that looked as though they had been thrown out of a Trollish bordello for being too gaudy. I could hardly look at the bedclothes. If dear old Dad hadn't had a heart attack from having to look at the crazy rainbow print, then he was either too tough or color-blind.

"So, where was he looking when he pointed at you?" I asked.

"Wait a minute!" Marmel exclaimed. "Marmilda is coming! I should have told Treesa not to tell her I was home!" He grabbed my arm. BAMF!

I took a deep breath to protest and got a big mouthful of swirling dust. I whooped and coughed. Marmel clapped a hand over my face.

"Shh!" he hissed. "She'll hear us."

It took a moment to recover, but I did without making any noise. My eyes watered. I forced them to focus on our surroundings. We stood on wide, wooden floorboards. Above us, a weak sunbeam strained itself trying to shine through a filthy skylight in an arched ceiling. We were surrounded by dusty boxes and a lifetime supply of cobwebs.

"Where are we?" I coughed.

"In the attic," he said. He flattened himself on the floor and applied his eye to a crack between two of the boards.

I joined him, finding a convenient knothole in the dust-scented floor.

Marmilda could have been Marmel's twin. His stocky figure translated on her into a buxom, broad-hipped frame. She had the same darting, nervous look.

"He's not up here," she was saying to someone I couldn't see.

"Think he found it?" the other person said in a chesty, gravelly voice.

"No! At least, I hope not." Marmilda chewed on a thumbnail, in exactly the same way her brother had.

"Well, he better not. I want it, unnerstand? You better find it by tomorrow, or you're not gonna have to worry about where it is, right?"

The tone chilled me. I had heard it used on a professional basis by the Mob men who had worked for me for the past few years, Guido and Nunzio, though the speaker was neither of my former employees. Being on the receiving end would daunt anyone.

"I understand," Marmilda said. I was impressed by her cool. I am sure underneath she was frightened, but she held herself with dignity.

"Good. So long as we understand one another."

Marmel could hardly contain himself until the two left the room below us.

"My sister's in trouble!" he exploded.

"Who was that?" I asked.

"I think it's Narwickius," Marmel said.

"Narwickius!" I had heard the name. He came from Titanium. Even Trolls like Chumley spoke of Titans with respect. They were big and tough, all the more formidable because they possessed rapid mental facilities. When they wanted something, they went after it. Few races could stand up to them. Narwickius stood out among Titans as being above and beyond. He had a reputation for unscrupulous and violent behavior that stretched all the way to the Bazaar. Luckily, he seldom went there, so I had never crossed paths with him before. "How does he know about the Hoho Jug?"

"He and Dad met a few times at estate sales and curio shops," Marmel said. "He always outbid Dad in auctions. He's been after the Hoho Jug for years! Dad always refused to consider selling. Now I know why Marmilda's been trying so hard to get ahold of it! He might hurt her if she doesn't let him have it! He can't do that to my sister! I'll... I'll... I don't know what I'll do. Help me, Skeeve. Help Marmilda."

I frowned. "Do you want Narwickius to take the Hoho Jug?"

"No ..." Marmel said, thoughtfully. "I mean, not if I can help it. But what can I do? He's huge, and he's got big tough guys working for him. People who turn him down end up walking with crutches, if they can still walk at all. He's got a wizard or two on the payroll, too."

More than ever I wished that I could go back to the M.Y.T.H., Inc. office and ask for help. But, no, I was on my own. I not only had to think of a solution that would keep the Hoho Jug in the family, but also deal with the problem at hand.

"We'll see if I can help you to solve both problems," I said. "First thing, we have to find the Jug. Your father hid it before he died. I am guessing that since neither of you have found ii, it is in that room. Let's do a thorough search tonight."

"We can't," Marmel said. "Marmilda will hear us." "I can take care of that," I said. "No problem."