Myth-Taken Identity

NINE

"Get the hell out of my way!" I yelled.

Shoppers of all species dove shrieking for the walls to avoid the wall of flesh of a Pervect, Troll, and Jahk bearing down on them.

For obvious reasons teleportation within The Mall was outlawed, and magikal interference existed to keep it from happening. I cursed Mall policy as we ran and floated toward the far end near Doorway L. With the globe to his ear, Parvattani kept us posted with a running commentary.

"A yellow-polled Klahd, yes. Above average height, yes. He's-a doing what? With what?"

"What?" I bellowed.

Parvattani was clearly embarrassed to reply to my question.

"He's taking off his clothes."

"DA-da-da-da-DA-da! DA-da-da-da-DA-dum," the music blared. "Da-DUM-DUM-da-DAH! Da-dadada-DA-dum!" The crowd never seemed thicker as we pounded into the raked amphitheater area just behind the troop of guards responding to Par's call. Thousands of shoppers hooted, clapped, and laughed at the figure down at the bottom of the wide bowl. It was the phony, all right. A manic grin on his face, he balanced unsteadily on the brink of the third tier of a huge ornamental marble fountain in the center. He hopped up and down on one foot, trying to pull off his left boot. His right was already off, leaving him clad in one magenta sock. The boot came free with an audible pop, to the delight of the audience. "Skeeve" whirled the suede shoe over his head and let it fly, all the time swinging his hips in time to the band behind him.

Massha gasped. "The boss would be red as a beet."

The impostor slipped and fell with a splash into the water. The crowd went wild. He climbed out and bowed, as if he had meant to do that. I felt as though I could shoot steam out of my ears. This guy was dead. He climbed out, grinning, and started to undo the lacings of his tunic.

"Get him!" I roared.

Chumley plowed downward into the crowd with me in his wake. Massha scooped up Eskina and carried her overhead. Blocked by Chumley's furry back, I lost sight of the faker, but by the roar of the audience, he had just untied his belt and thrown it into the front row.

"Do you feel that?" Massha asked.

"Yes," Chumley replied, surprised. "A ... pull."

"What kind of pull?" I demanded. "I don't feel a thing."

"It's magikal," Massha explained.

"That is the draw of power," Eskina insisted.

I looked up, then scowled as I realized, for the millionth time, that I couldn't see the lines of force in this dimension—or any other dimension. What a pain in the butt it was not to have my powers!

"He's drawing power from force lines?" I asked.

"No, from the people around us," Massha explained. "Some of them get their energy from the force lines, and it's flowing down to him."

"We have to stop him," I insisted. "Now!"

"Clear the area," Parvattani ordered, flashing the badge he was carrying. The green-skinned captain barked out orders to surround and disperse the mob.

Easier said than done. The phony had their full attention. Young women, and some young men, hopped up and down to look over the heads of the people in front of them. Little old ladies clambered up on the backs of Deveels and Ginorms to get a better view. As the crowd shifted, I got the occasional glimpse of a skinny arm or a bare foot down below.

"Da-DUM-DUM-da-DAH!Da-dadada-DA-dum!"

A howl of laughter arose from the watchers. Massha zipped upward as a tunic came flying overhead past her. I pushed apart the two Imps blocking my way, and caught sight of the impersonator still a hundred feet away. Now bare-chested, he started to fumble with his trouser fastenings. I stumbled down three more levels.

"Stop that Klahd," I bellowed.

"Catch, big guy!" Massha shouted. We glanced up. Massha dropped Eskina into my arms and started fumbling with the pouch of jewelry at her belt. A big plum-colored gem popped out into her hand.

Suddenly, the room went dark. The band music died away. The audience wailed with disappointment. I set Eskina down in the dark and started moving down toward the center of the arena. I kept my orientation by focusing on the sound of the fountain tinkling, pushing aside all the bodies I encountered, seeking out the right one. I didn't have to see the Skeeve-clone. Klahds had a pretty distinctive smell, and the fake copied it down to the last olf. If only he didn't change form before I got to him.

The next moment I caught a scent. It was him!

"He's down there!" I shouted. "Chumley, Massha!" I sped up, climbing over bodies where I had to. The aroma got stronger. I must have been within ten, maybe twenty feet. I threw out my hands, flailing for the impostor.

"I have him, captain!" a voice shouted. I felt arms go around me.

"Let go, you idiot!" I roared. I threw my weight forward, then spun, grabbing a pair of uniformed shoulders and shoving them away. I kept going toward the laughing sound of the water, but the invisible guard tried to tackle me again, leaping on me from behind. "I said, let go!" Tugging him over my shoulder with one hand, I heaved him up over my head and threw him into the crowd. If there was no mosh pit for him to land in, that was his problem.

I reached the cold marble lip of the fountain just as the lights went on again. Chumley, Massha, and I had all reached it at the same time. Except for the twinkling waters, the tiered marble basins were empty. No, not quite. A heap of clothes, including a blue, sequined G-string, lay draped over the edge.

"Awwww!" the crowd bleated. But without an attraction to keep it there, the audience finally drifted away. I kept my eyes open.

"He's around here somewhere," I yelled, waving the handful of garments, "and he's naked as a jaybird!"

Parvattani arrived at my side, already transmitting this information into the globe held to his ear. The other hand waved wildly in emphasis. "Be on the lookout for a naked Klahd. Above-average height, and-a . .. never-a mind! He's naked! That ought-a to be distinctive enough!"

"What the hell is wrong with your guards, Par?" I demanded. "I would have gotten him if one of your men hadn't jumped on my back! They're supposed to help, but I'd do better with a rubber crutch!"

"Whattayou mean?" the captain asked, his ears twitching defensively. He took a step back, but came right up to me again, his fists clenched.

"I mean," I explained, reining in my temper, "that just as I was about to take down that phony, that bad Xerox copy, that fake, one of your guys wrapped me up and tried to apprehend me! Even in the dark, how could anyone mistake my Pervect physique for a Klahd?"

Par's fury turned to surprise.

"My guards should-a been able to tell you apart in any condition. They are-a highly trained to recognize-a the residents of six hundred-a dimensions!" He lifted the globe. "All security forces-a in area L, report to the open stage. Right-anow!"

Within minutes the tiered steps were full of uniformed Flibberites. A few shot puzzled glances at their captain in mufti, but sucked in their bellies and squared their shoulders as Parvattani marched up and down their ranks.

"All right-a," he barked. "We just hadda situation. All you have to do is arrest one Klahd. He's not armed, he's not even-a dressed! And one-a of you mistakes this-a Pervert—"

"That's Per-vect" I corrected him, peevishly. Par didn't miss a beat.

"—Pervect for the perpetrator-a! Now, whatsamatta with you? Who did it?"

The denials were instant and unanimous. "Not me." "Nope." "Not a chance." "I know what Klahds are." "Me, touch a Pervert?" "Nope."

"Come on," the captain bellowed, his voice ringing in the rafters. "Who is it? No punishment if you come-a clean now."

But no one admitted grabbing me.

"Mr. Aahz, maybe you recognize the fool who interrupted you?"

I eyed them all. None of the guards present fitted the silhouette of the guy I'd flung away. "None of them."

Parvattani goggled. "None of them?"

"No," I insisted. I turned away, disgusted with my own impotence. "None of them. Another shapeshifter had to be waiting in the crowd. In the dark none of your men could have identified him as a fraud."

"This is my fault," Massha moaned, floating down beside me. "Sorry, Aahz. My blackout ring went a little haywire. It was only supposed to plunge Skeeve in darkness, not the whole wing. I think the overload that was in the air affected my gizmos."

"It's okay," I reassured her. "I was tracking the shapeshifter by smell." I sighed. "I need a drink."

It didn't help my mood that the buzz about the stripteasing Klahd was already making the rounds at every bar in -The Mall. I nearly coldcocked an Imp who was giving an animated description of the event to a group of his laughing friends, but it wouldn't have done any good. And it wouldn't have made me feel any better.

"It doesn't make any sense," I complained over my beer. "No one's giving the false Skeeve money or anything valuable. How can that draw energy from an audience."

"They're paying attention," Chumley suggested, after a moment's thought. "Have you never told anyone your time is valuable?"

"Time is money," Eskina interjected. "And money is power, and power is—"

"—What Rattila's trying to get," I finished, slamming a fist into my palm. "Well, we can't let it happen again. We have to head off any more performances like that. Par, can you have your guards patrol all the open spaces? If the impostor starts dancing or singing or reciting Hamlet's soliloquy, cut him off before he can gather an audience."

"Aahz, they tried," Par replied, his hands spread helplessly. "He had begun his act by the time anyone noticed. And then, you saw. Too many people were already there."

"We need to fight magik with magik," Massha insisted. "The flow cut off when the house went dark."

"But how can we do that?" Parvattani asked. "None of us are magicians."

Massha beamed broadly. "Nothing to it, honey. I know just what you folks need. Let's go shopping."

"Your boss can pick up the tab," I added. Par looked dubious as Massha led him out of the bar. I tailed along, grinning. He was about to see a real expert in action.

"Beautiful, beautiful!" Rattila applauded Garn when he got back to the Rat Hole. "What a marvelous improvisation! I enjoyed the astonished expressions on all of those faces, and the eagerness they evinced watching you. Why have we never used mass entertainment before? It was fantastic!"

"I felt stupid," Garn admitted, handing over his Skeeve card. "I mean, all those dudes looking at me? I felt like, I was shaving all my fur off in public."

Rattila clutched the small blue square to his chest. Even without the Master Card in his hand to complete the transaction the delicious energy tickled his nerve endings. "Intoxicating!" he declared. "You may not have been comfortable, but you showed a natural talent for attracting attention."

"I do?" Garn asked, blankly.

"You do." Rattila looked at the rest of the mall-rats. "I am sure each of you conceals a hidden talent like Gam's. From now on you will all do that kind of performance art with the Skeeve card, at least once a day."

"C'mon, Ratty," Strewth whined. "We're mall-rats. We shop. We don't act. We don't sing. We don't dance. I mean, it doesn't come naturally. We haven't got any talent. I mean, what's our motivation?"

The lights in the Rat Hole went out, leaving Rattila's blazing red eyes as the only source of light. Strewth and the others cowered deep into the slimy muck.

"I suggest you look deep inside yourselves for the proper motivation," Rattila intoned. "In fact, I insist. Get me a handle on the visitors! And don't call me Ratty!" "Let's see," the female Jahk beamed, floating ahead of the pack of guards up the hall like the banner before a troop of toy soldiers on parade. "Shall we try Meldrum's Magik-land, or Binnie's Spell Box?"

"Magik shopping," Wassup whispered to Yahrayt. "She must have half the guards on duty with her."

"Awesome," Yahrayt breathed. "It'll be all clear for the others to shop."

"Totally!"

Disguised as an elderly male Imp and a Klahdish child of six holding his hand, the two mall-rats fell into line behind the others.

"Goin' on a lion hunt," Wassup sang happily. A Mall guard glanced back over his shoulder. "Goin' on a lion hunt!"

"Shaddup!" Yahrayt hissed. "Mayno should never have brought that Imp's card to Rattila. He's not right in the head!"

"You don't love me?" Wassup asked, forlornly.

Yahrayt had had enough. He tugged Wassup by the ear into the flap of a nearby tent. "Change cards! Now! Anybody?'

Wassup pulled out his deck and selected one at random. The cloth around them bulged as he expanded suddenly from an undersized Imp to a full-sized Gargoyle.

"Cool," he gritted. "Yer right. I feel smarterer now."

"C'mon," Yahrayt snorted, grabbing his arm and hustling him after the file of guards, now disappearing into the crowd. "Follow that Jahk!"

"Wendell's Emporium?" Massha inquired, thumbing through the index at the back of the atlas as she hovered over the heads of the rapt guards. I was bored already with the enterprise, but it would have shown a lack of faith in my associate to split.

"So," I asked the nearest Flibberite, a skinny youth whose huge tunic was more or less wearing him, not the other way around. "How'd you decide to join The Mall security force?"

"My father was in it, sir!" snapped out the recruit. "And my father's father. And my—"

"Never mind," I interrupted him.

"Yes, let's try here," Massha suggested, levitating down to eye level.

"Hey, lady," a heavy voice grated. "Would youse mind answerin' a few survey questions?"

Massha spared a brief glance for the huge Gargoyle who shouldered through the horde of shoppers toward her bearing a clipboard. "Not right now, thanks."

"Hokay. Den would youse take dis survey, and drop it off anyplace when youse done wit' it?" The heavy fist proffered a sheet of closely printed parchment.

"Sure," Massha agreed absently, rolling up the paper and sticking it into her cleavage.

"How about youse, sir?" the Gargoyle requested, turning to me. "You gotta minute?"

"Hem!" Eskina cleared her throat.

I rolled my eyes. I didn't need the warning. I hadn't been hatched at The Mall door. "Sure, buddy? What do you want to know?"

"You gotta favorite color?" the Gargoyle asked, poised with quill in fist.

"Why do you want to know that?"

"Well... we always ask dat kinda question."

"And what do most people usually say."

"Blue," the Gargoyle answered promptly.

"Well, I ain't gonna buck the average," I insisted, in a friendly tone. "Blue's good. What else do you want to know?"

"What kinda tings you buy when you go shoppin'?"

"Whaddaya got?"

"Man, I knew you were gonna ask me dat!" The Gargoyle sucked the top of the pen thoughtfully. "Dere's clothes, shoes, toys, magik wands, posters, a real good candy store, candles, and incense—" "Hem!" This time the warning came, not from Eskina, but from a little kid with pumpkin-colored hair and a missing front tooth.

"Tanks for yer cooperation," the Gargoyle offered hoarsely. "Hey, Troll, you spend a lotta money on discretionary spending?"

Chumley let his lower lip droop. "Huh?" he asked.

The Gargoyle grunted. "Never mind. Tanks, all of youse." He stumped away, clutching his clipboard, the tot following in his footsteps. I grinned.

"You're gonna have to do better than that, Rattila."

Massha and Par finished their conference and headed for the door of Wendell's. As she passed, I reached up and plucked the survey out of her decolletage.

"Hey," she protested.

"You're not gonna need that," I informed her as I shredded the parchment and let the fragments sift to the floor.

Massha didn't need to have the whole picture painted for her. She grinned at me.

"Thanks, Green and Brainy. I'd better be more careful. If I hadn't been so busy, I might have filled it in."