Myth-Told Tales

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”

“So, what's the problem?”

“He's bein' robbed. It looks like some kind of big magikal beast is to blame, but it's one that the Shutterbug security system ain't picked up in their wing images. We've looked at dozens of frames, yet in the morning, there's big-time damage to the facilities, and a significant portion of the take is missing from the Treasury, as the old guy calls it Here. I brought some of them wit' me.”

Guido laid out a handful of small, square parchments upon which had been limned scenes of a huge room lit only by night-torches. I peered closely at the images, until Skeeve shoved my head out of the way.

“The biggest concern is the deaths and injuries,” Guido continued. “A couple of the night guards, former knights, experienced men, have been killed by this beast, whatever it is. Bite marks on the bodies show somethin' very large and with sharp teeth took a vital piece out of them. Trouble is, this does not fall strictly under the purview of our policy. We are supposed to deal with matters of security, theft and minor nuisances. But he's callin' it minor, and we have to deal with it, or have him badmouth us around town.”

At this, I admit my ears perked up. It sounded as if one of my countrymen, another dragon, had invaded the Bazaar.

If one had indeed infiltrated this King-Mart and was already eating the locals, the possibility might arise that if Guido and Nunzio failed, Skeeve himself might be called in to dispose of it, putting himself into grave danger the likes of which he might not be able to extricate himself from. I knew that if I went with them to reason with my countryman or woman, I might be able to persuade it to leave and find more fruitful pastures elsewhere. Besides, I was not above a spot of altruistic behavior myself. Logic dictated that I must accompany them. Therefore, I must first persuade my pet and his friends of that notion.

I offered my most winning facial expression, all wide eyes and open mouth to approximate the “smile” that Klahds wore to show that they were happy. I wound myself around the legs of Guido and Nunzio, and even, I am ashamed to admit, laid my head in Nunzio's lap so he could scratch my ears.

“Gee,” Skeeve said, puzzled, “he's never done that before.”

“That's because he likes me,” the Mob enforcer said, flattered. “Right, little guy?”

I allowed him to scratch both ears thoroughly, as well as the sides of my jaw and my scruff… very well, I must admit that he was a man who knew his way around a dragon's skull. But I followed Skeeve out of the room when he went to bring up wine for his guests. Now that the formalities had been observed, it was time to let loose. I brought my head up under Skeeve's arm as he was filling a pitcher from one of the many kegs in the cellar.

“I… go with.”

“You really want to?” Skeeve asked, scratching the spot between my ears. I concentrated momentarily upon the pleasant sensation that afforded me. Nunzio was good at caressing, but Skeeve was far better.

“Yes. Curious.”

“Okay,” he said. “As long as you're sure you'll be all right”

“Of course I will be all right,” I tried to say. “I am strong and quick, my senses are keener than your weakling Klahdish organs are, and I am capable of knowing when it is wise to withdraw from a perilous situation. I shall also take care to safeguard the lives of your two pets, since you prize their welfare.”

Alas, all that came out was “Gleep!”

“How can you call dat a pest control problem?” Guido asked, as we all surveyed the stone pillar with the bite mark taken out of it that stood a few yards away from Petherwick's grand, padded throne. A broad bite mark, I observed, sniffing it closely. At least forty centimeters wide, and ten at its deepest point, denoting large and unusually powerful jaws, I concluded.

I took a full survey of my surroundings as the pets holding on to my leash spoke heatedly with King Petherwick of King-Mart. What might in other circumstances have been a warehouse with cashbox desks like most of the other bigger emporia in the Bazaar had been turned into a combination throne room and general store. Situated in the center just behind the checkout desks, where shoppers had to pass him on the way inside, the exiled Klahdish king held court. Attendants of both genders, attired in the brown and teal livery of their lost realm, clustered on both sides of the grand seat. About them on tall standards hung pennants of the king's coat of arms, and tapestries picked out in silk threads depicting valiant battles between fierce and handsomely attired opponents, or fantastic gardens containing plants that could never exist, most of them lacking such necessary parts as sepals, or indeed stems. Such impracticality hinted at a lack of foresight by the makers of the tapestries, which did not surprise me. Klahds were, as a rule, incapable of making plans beyond a certain elementary complexity. All around this small audience chamber, the room was lined with banks of shelves, hanging racks for clothing, and stacks of crates, cartons, and boxes of every size arranged in aisles, through which hundreds of shoppers from a hundred dimensions were pushing wheeled baskets and wearing the bemused looks of the up-to-date hunter-gatherer. No doubt the brush with royalty was one of the attractions of shopping at King-Mart. I fell back to sniffing the area, seeking in vain for a familiar scent that I had expected to find here. No dragon save myself had ever set foot in this space. I was relieved, but left with the puzzle of what had. A jerking of my collar brought me back to the argument going on over my head.

“This mystery beast is pestering my people,” Petherwick said, indignantly. “Therefore, I expect you to handle it” A large, fleshy Klahd with a florid face and triple-layered bags under his eyes, slumped in his throne. As we watched, a couple of Imp females entered, and curtsied to the throne before picking up wicker baskets from the stack at the head of the first aisle. Petherwick acknowledged them with a curt nod of the head. “To death, in two cases already! I do not see how is this stuffed toy of yours is supposed to help,” he added, looking down at me with disdain. I opened my eyes as widely as I could, to simulate gentle innocence. “Hell just make matters worse!”

“He's not a toy,” Nunzio said gently. “He's young, but he's a real dragon.”

Petherwick looked alarmed. “You can't trust a dragon!”

“Gleep ain't like other dragons,” Guido said, his thick black eyebrows drawn down over a brow that just missed being Neanderthal in nature. “He don't wreck things. He's house-trained. And he's smart.” “Your employer assured me that if I agreed to his contract, internal security in my capital would never be a problem. We would be protected from annoyances, as your employer put it”

“This isn't a typical example of a security problem,” Nunzio pointed out, with some justice. “Don Bruce meant problems with other people. You say that this is pest control. That makes it your problem.”

“This is not just pest control! I am sure it is sabotage! Someone is attempting to put me out of business. That makes it a security issue. Some of my best men have died! I have lost large sums in gold at least once a week for the last three weeks! And if I start telling other people that Don Bruce had failed to solve a problem that occurred on his watch, that he showed no flexibility in dealing with problems,” King Petherwick said, a sly light shining in his porcine eyes, “then your other contractees might want to stop doing business with you.”

“That,” Guido sighed lustily, “is why we are here. The Don is willing to give you one ‘gimme’ on the basis that you've been a good customer, always payin' up on the dot when the premiums are due. He has noticed this. And you have to admit that we have cleaned up all the other situations that have come around. But you have pushed this contract to limits that the Don did not anticipate.”

The king planted an indignant hand on his overfed chest.

“Do I not have the right to go into business, to support myself and my dependants, now that that harridan has taken over my ancient bailiwick? May I not open a store?”

“Yeah, but no one ever said you were gonna open fourteen of 'em,” Guido said, in frustration.

“Five more opening next month,” one of the courtiers standing by the throne remarked.

“Lord Dalhailey,” Petherwick said, by way of cursory introduction. “My Minister of Marketing, just newly returned from a buying trip. I believe you two have not met before?” The Klahd dipped his head slightly, noblesse oblige. Guido tipped him a casual salute with two fingers off the brim of his fedora hat.

“Pleased to meetcha. Look, there's gonna be some renegotiatin' come the expiration of this current contract,” he said, turning back to the king. “I just want to warn you what is in the Don's mind.”

“There will be no renegotiation if this is not solved, because I will refuse to renew your service contract if you don't help me,” Petherwick said, majestically. “We have so far successfully explained to shocked shoppers that the dead or dismembered bodies they have come upon unawares as being part of Slay Days, a period of deep discounts symbolized by models of fierce beasts being dispatched by knights and wizards.” He gestured to a pair of displays that flanked his throne room. Cardboard cutouts of reptiles snarled at bay as Klahds in silver mail pierced them with swords or spears.

“I thought you said that these were armored knights that they were finding,” Nunzio said.

Petherwick shrugged. “The dragon doesn't always lose, my friend. But my customers have been most understanding, and we have responded with generosity if they do not overreact. If they find a dead body in the aisle, they are entitled to a twenty percent discount off one item that day.”

“Thirty percent, if the item comes from that aisle,” Lord Dalhailey added. “We call it our ‘Blue Blood Special.’ I added that clause myself. As a service to the consumer, of course. We don't want them thinking that we are bloodthirsty vultures interested only in the bottom line.”

“Even if you are bloodthirsty vultures interested in the bottom line,” Guido said.

Dalhailey looked as indignant as Petherwick had. “Sir, I resent your implication! We have mouths to feed, thousands of them. Almost a third of the population of Shoalmirk followed his majesty into exile.” Here he bowed toward Petherwick, who waved a hand in acknowledgment. “You have no idea how difficult it has been to keep them convinced that this move to Deva is in their best interests.”

“But the chief concern is the depletion of the treasury. This beast is managing not only to attack my people, but to rob us of our legitimate proceeds,” Petherwick said, dragging the enforcers' minds back to what I believe was his main point all along. “We have been holding a one-week special on luxury dry goods that has proved surprisingly profitable. The proceeds from all the stores are brought in and amassed here in our flagship location. I do not wish to lose any of the gold we have earned from those sales. Do you think that two of you and this … this lizard can succeed before we are robbed again?”

“That would be our intention,” Guido said, carefully keeping his tone level.

I felt it incumbent upon me to make a comment at this stage.

“Gleep!”

Everyone turned to look at me. King Petherwick sneered.

“Not too impressive, is he? I thought your employer would send the wizard he's got working for him. Sneeze, I think he said the name is?”

“Skeeve,” Nunzio said, restraining Guido with a palm to the chest. “He's on vacation. This is his dragon.”

“Hardly a substitute.” Petherwick waved an imperious hand. “Well, get on with it. The sooner you find what happened to my gold, the sooner we can talk about the next contract.”

“I knew it,” Guido exploded the moment we were out of earshot of the retail monarch. “I knew this mook would be trouble. When we was signin' up prospects, once I heard he was from Klah and checked him out a lit-tie with Big Julie, I said skip this place. But no, the Don says he's gotta have a hundred percent subscription in the area. This guy calls us in for all kinds of petty stuff that are none of our Business, and I sez this with a capital B, as you can tell.”

“Are you questioning our boss?” Nunzio asked, with a lifted eyebrow that was the sole skepticism he showed his much larger cousin.

“Not officially, no,” Guido sighed. “The Don tells us to do somethin' and we do it. I just don't think this penny-ante loser is worth our time.”

“The Don says he is, so he is. Our allegiance is to our boss, not to King Petherwick. I agree he's not much of a king, though he's turnin' into some kind of hot-shot retailer.”

“Still, there are elements of rank deception involved here. How many times we been called out to one or another of his establishments for what has turned out to be one kind of false alarm or another, just to prove that he has the Don Bruce Protection Plan workin' overtime for him? I have lost what parts of my girlish laughter I still retained in trottin' over to here or one of the other many stores. It has caused us to bring in other associate members of the Mob to look after those other places, and with no additional recompense to absorb that expense. And you heard his marketing guy. Five more to come! The guy is a filch.”

Nunzio shook his head. “But here I am worried about the loss of life. Somethin' that can take that big a bite out of a solid stone pillar is a danger to the public. We gotta take it out”

“I agree, too,” I exclaimed, but as usual, my comment came out “Gleep!”

Guido reached over and roughly touseled my ears. “You said it, fella,” he told me with a grin.

As I continued to sniff around the great hall of merchandise I caught a scent that was unfamiliar to me — unfamiliar and dangerous. It caused a frisson to race down the scales along my back. We dragons are not easily frightened. Nor was I now, not until I had the facts of the matter in sum before me. It appeared, therefore, that my sensation of fearfulness was caused by the scent itself. I judged that it contained a pheromone that, unlike the mating chemicals that caused attraction, provoked a feeling of fear and dread. I found I was curious, but I would proceed with caution. I dropped lower until my belly was virtually sweeping the spotless black-and-white tiles of the floor.

The two Mob enforcers noticed the change in my stance, and followed my lead in applying caution. Both of them drew from inside their coats the miniature crossbows that they carried. Deveel shoppers plying the aisles for soap flakes might have been taken aback had they encountered the two Klahds on the street, but within King-Mart, where marketing was an element of the shopping experience, such behavior was accepted as playacting. That would explain why the presence of bodies had aroused neither fear nor a visit from the Merchants' Association.

Guido had been correct in his assessment of the source of the former king's wealth. The huge hall, seemingly a tent on the outside, was built of wood. I smelled enchantment in its seams; that would serve to keep out intruders. Yet, according to accounts, something had penetrated the interior and had managed to conceal itself while committing several sallies against pelf and personnel alike.

Hair wash, board games, garden implements, hand-bags … there seemed no end to the types of goods that the former Shoalmirkers could produce. A sheaf of rakes with wooden handles leaned drunkenly in a tall crate that was studded with small boxes containing paper envelopes of flower seeds. Sacks of food lay beside shelves of toys; racks of garments ranged back out of sight in the right-hand third of the store. I thought the colors were vulgar, but as I had noted with regard to my pet, there is no accounting for taste.

A middle-aged Klahd with the potbelly of prosperity wearing the king's livery came striding toward us. He wore a determined smile, and maneuvered past the weapons to shake the two males' hands.

“Mr. Guido and Mr. Nunzio!” he said. “Finding everything you want?”

“Not exactly,” Guido said, wryly. “I believe we are lookin' for somethin' in a large-jawed monster with a taste for gold and ambuscade. You got one of those?”

The Klahd's smile became somewhat pained. “You jest, sirs, but it is not a matter for amusement. As Chancellor of the Exchequer, it is my men who are taking the brunt of these nighttime raids.”

“You will excuse, I hope, the effort at levity,” Guido said smoothly. “We take all our visits seriously, Lord Howadzer. Maybe you can tell us what's changed since we was here last in your flagship location?”

Howadzer thought for a minute. “Not much. A few changes in personnel, perhaps. His majesty commanded that we rotate the staff so that everyone has a chance to take part in every job. He likes to see a variety of servants at each of the stores when he holds court. It is meant to make employees more flexible, but we are getting a number of complaints. You cannot make a craftsman into a salesman, nor a seamstress into a security guard, no matter how easy it seems to interchange one peasant for another. After all, we have to pay them now.”

“You hadda pay them before,” Guido pointed out.

“Not as much as we do today,” Howadzer said, obviously aggrieved. “They have been speaking with the neighbors.” The ultimate word was accompanied by a visible shudder. “Brr.”

“Don't like Deveels?” Nunzio asked.

Howadzer frowned at him. “Well, you are from our world, too, aren't you?”

“Yeah, we're all Klahds.”

“Please! I don't like that word! It was imposed upon us by people not like us, who do not live in our world! I am not happy about living in exile, especially in a place like this. I am only willing to put up with it if prosperity follows, but if I may say so in confidence, it is too long in coming for my taste.”

“No, I can see where that would be a problem,” Nunzio said, with a commendable degree of tact.

“There must be better places than this,” Howadzer said.

“You could leave,” Guido suggested.

The chancellor looked at him disdainfully. “And go where? With what? His majesty pays but poor wages compared with going concerns in the Bazaar. Besides,” he sighed, “I remain loyal to my fellow Klahds, if you must call us that. At least we do not have horns and tails, or green skin. Or consort with strange monsters.” He eyed me nervously. I sidled up and deliberately slurped his hand with my tongue.

From his reaction, you would have thought that I had cut off the limb with a dull knife. Howadzer grabbed a stack of embroidered tea towels off a shelf and swabbed himself vigorously until he had taken off not only the offending saliva, but the first layer of skin underneath as well.

I automatically decided that I did not care for this person, and it seemed that Guido and Nunzio shared my distaste. Howadzer realized he had lost his audience's sympathy. He gave them a worried smile.

“Let me show you the scene of the crime,” he said.

We wended our way nearly to the rear of the showroom. As at the front of the store, Petherwick had commanded to be built a facility that must have been very much like the facility that he had left behind in Shoalmirk.

“Behold the Treasury,” Howadzer said, with a flourish of his flabby hand.

It was very impressive. Guido and Nunzio had seen it before, since they had made many visits to King-Mart, so they surveyed it with experienced eyes. I, on the other hand, had a good look.

Like many castle strong-rooms, the King-Mart Treasury had been created in the shape of a round tower, this one two stories high, bringing it within a few feet of the lofty ceiling. Instead of cage bars or heavy stones, the walls were constructed of clear crystalline blocks, giving the customers a slightly distorted view of the interior. We approached from the left side of the small building. Two guards in chainmail coifs over their tabards and holding polearms stood stiffly at the door, and two more flanked glittering heaps of treasure inside the crystal structure.

I walked all the way around it, sniffing. The heady smell was present, though only near the entrance. There was no other way inside.

“We have four men on duty at all times,” Howadzer said. “On the nights when we were attacked, the guards told us that they heard loud noises coming from the aisles nearby. The men who survived said that they never saw the monster coming, and none of them can give us a description.”

“That's convenient,” Guido said.

“What?”

“I mean, that's terrible,” Guido corrected himself. “Petherwick said you had another robbery just last night?”

“King Petherwick to you, if you do not mind,” Howadzer said, haughtily. “Whether or not he retains his kingdom, he is royal to his marrow. Yes, we did. I blame all this magik! Here is your puzzle. A strong-room that has never been breached, yet gold is stolen and men are dead. We seek a monster that goes abroad when no one can see it, yet leaves behind horrendous damage and dead bodies, and steals gold without breaking into the vault.”

“This stinks of inside job,” Guido said, looking the Chancellor square in the eye. “You gotta know that is what springs to the eye on first examination. Gold doesn't walk away by itself. Someone who knows the works here is involved.”

Howadzer snorted. “You would say that. But talk is cheap. Gold is money. Earn yours.”

With that as his exit line, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Shoalmirk in exile, turned on his heel and strode away.

“He is right about the value of money,” Nunzio said.

“But people, no matter of what stripe or shape, will do very strange things for money. In my experience, few creatures without pockets see much use in gold.”

“Excepting dragons, of course,” he added, reaching into his pocket for a strip of jerky for me. I accepted it, and forewent my usual sluip in gratitude for his recognition of my species' affection for the imperishable and noble metal.

Dragons and gold have been inseparable in legend for millenia, but no one has ever asked us why we accumulate hoards of it in our own as well as other dimensions. We do not prize it for its purchasing value, since we do not buy that which we need. No, gold occupies a much simpler stratum in our culture. When dragonlets hatch out from their eggs, our mothers care for us while our fathers seek prey to feed us. During our earliest days, we can only consume soft meat, such as eggs and flesh pre-chewed for us by our doting parents (Yes, in spite of their fearsome reputation, dragons are as devoted to their offspring as any other intelligent being.) Soon, though, our baby teeth grow in. To hone them sharp enough to pierce skin, bone, and armor, we need substances to teethe upon that are resistive yet not hard enough to break juvenile dentition. Our mothers seek out and obtain soft metal for us to chew. Most minerals available are either toxic, like lead, or are prone to rust or corrosion, such as copper and steel. Therefore, the metal of choice is gold. A clutch of active youngsters can go through a large quantity until they are large enough to leave the nest. Even afterward, the sight or smell of the metal brings us back to times when we were happy and protected, so we amass a hoard of treasure to keep that feeling alive. We prize gold because it reminds us of Mother.

I sniffed through the bars of the door, to the discomfiture of the guards both inside and outside the vault I could tell that the day's takings had come from a multitude of dimensions. The pile of gold gleamed invitingly. I am afraid that the avid gleam in my eyes made the Klahds on duty very nervous. Quite a quantity of it smelled of dragon, meaning that at one time it had come from a hoard possessed by one of my kind. Since dragons never give away any of their amassed wealth, I only hoped that it had been obtained by stealth that did not result in harm or death to its possessor. To put it mildly, I would take against that. Still, the strange scent was not that of a dragon. It seemed that it should be familiar to me, but I just could not place it.

“Sirs, sirs!” A squeaky chorus of voices came from above. I looked up to see a small flight of Shutterbugs sail out of the air and land on the colorful display of story-books beside the Treasury.

“There you are,” Guido said, greeting the black and silver insects. These were denizens of Nikkonia. Their especial talent was the ability to capture an image on the sensitive film that lined their wings. A trained magician could transfer these images to larger pieces of parchment. “How come you didn't report in when I got here, Koda?”

Koda, the largest of the Shutterbugs, rubbed at his nose with the tip of his foreleg. “That Klahd is distrustful of us, sirs. He swats at us.”

“Yeah, he's a regular xenophobe,” Guido said. “I already caught that. Anything new to report?”

Koda turned to his number. They each spread out one wing, and small scales sifted down onto the bookshelf. “Nothing of much helpfulness, good sirs. The sight lines are not good, and the light levels are low. On the night of the last attack, we saw nothing at all, though we have taken many images, as you see. We wish to please Don Bruce!”

“You're good employees,” Nunzio said, soothingly, to the agitated Shutterbug. “Just keep on doing the good work you've been doing.” He and Guido picked up the small, translucent cells and held them up to the light “I don't get it. What kind of monster have you ever heard of that can't be seen or smelled or heard, but can crunch up a stone pillar?”

“I dunno,” Guido said. “One thing I learned, once we started workin' with the Boss, and here I am not speakin' of Don Bruce, is that there's way more out there than either of us will ever find out in our lifetimes. This, though, is not one of those things. We need to figure this out, and pronto!”

I turned back for one more scent of gold, but I felt a tug at my leash.

“C'mon, Gleep, boy,” Nunzio said. “We will stake out this place tonight. In the meantime, I know a little place that does wyvern parmigiana like Mama used to make.”

At precisely the evening hour of nine, gargoyle mouths attached to pillars and sconces around the vast shop all emitted the following announcement at once.

“Attention, please, guests of his royal majesty, King Petherwick. Thy visit, alas, draws to a close. Within five minutes the doors will be locked, and for security's sake, thou must be on the other side of it. Pray carry the goods thee wishes to purchase to any of our willing servants at the desks near the front, and they will count up thy expenditure for today. We wish to tender to thee our most sincere thanks that thou have visited King-Mart, and prithee have a nice day.”

Guido put down the ceramic Kobold-shaped nightlight that he had been examining at the head of aisle 2.

“Anything, Gleep?” he asked.

The two enforcers, knowing the keenness of my sense of smell, had instructed me to sniff the inside and outside of the Treasury, and to compare the scents I found there with those of any of the customers. Nunzio's assessment was that the criminal would be unable to resist returning to the scene of the crime.

“Especially with all that nice gold piling up,” he said.

“Too temptin',” Guido agreed. “How about it, little fellah?”

“Gleep,” I said, ruefully.

I had just finished escaping for the eighth time from a family of Deveels who had been shopping for a birthday present for their daughter, a four-year-old future diva who screamed out her displeasure at anything offered to her by her increasingly desperate parents. She had decided upon first entering the store and spotting me that I would be the ideal present, and nothing she had been shown in the interim, a very long forty-five minutes, had dissuaded her. At the moment, she was hanging over her father's shoulder, crying and pointing at me, as he paid for an expensive doll and a lace-trimmed dress. I was forced to assume the Deveels' innocence on two counts. First, that they bore no scent that I could associate with the ravaged Treasury, and second, that the parents, unless they were geniuses at dissimulation and advanced multitasking, could not possibly have been “staking out the joint,” as Guido put it, while they were trying to control their brood. I examined once again the area surrounding the Treasury and the aisles leading up to it. Nothing seemed out of place. I was perplexed.

The little Deveel and her family were at last ushered out and the door locked behind them by exhausted-looking guards. A couple of young women with brass cones on poles snuffed out three out of every four sconces. A team of sweepers in cross-gartered trews and floppy leather shoes swabbed the floor and emptied all of the wastepaper baskets. A matched team of four men in mail and tabards marched in formation around the Chancellor of the Exchequer as he gathered up the day's take from each of the sales desks and shut them into a small strongbox. Within half an hour, an armed team of guards arrived, escorting a wagon with a locked chest upon it, the proceeds from the other thirteen King-Marts spread out across the Bazaar. Howadzer counted up the proceeds and escorted it to the cage at the rear of the store.

We followed. In the gloom, the Treasury stood out like a beacon. The crystal walls had their own sconces, unextinguished, which caused the whole thing to glow brightly. The gold inside glittered in the flickering torchlight.

The lead escort came to the barred door of the Treasury and stamped his left foot twice.

“Who goes there?” asked the first guard.

“Me, Willis the Cobbler.”

“No, you're not a cobbler tonight,” Howadzer said, impatiently. “You are a guard!” He shook his head. “Try again.”

The sentry at the door of the Treasury scratched his head. “Er, all right. Who goes there?”

This time the erstwhile cobbler rose to the occasion.

“Willis the Guard! And some friends. Marit, from the sheep farm, only he's a guard tonight, too. Braddock from the Fishermen's Guild, and Corrie the Woodworker. He's my neighbor, and a dab hand with a chisel, let me tell you.” At an exasperated “ahem!” from Howadzer, he added, “They're guards, too.”

“Well, pass, Willis, Marit, and you other two, and you, my lord,” added the sentry. “He sort of forgot to mention you, but hell get it next time, won't you, Willis?”

“Sure, sure. Sorry, my lord.”

“Not one of 'em was ever in uniform, or I'll eat my hat,” Nunzio whispered to his cousin.

“Your hat is safe,” Guido whispered back. “While you were runnin' a check through the aisles a little while ago, I was readin' the employee roster, such as it is. To tell you the truth, it consists mostly of a list of names, professions, and villages, plus some comments penciled in on the side. Not real systematic, and it don't take into account strengths and weaknesses, not like what we keep in the Mob. These are all what you might call the little people who make everything possible.”

We watched as the newcomers replaced the daytime guards, who stamped their left feet in unison, and marched away. The four night guards took up their posts as Howadzer upended the little chest and spilled coins on top of the pile already there.

“Wouldn't it make more sense to leave the money in the boxes?” Guido asked the chancellor.

“His majesty likes the public to see the amassing of King-Mart profits,” Howadzer said, with a grimace. “I think it is a risk, especially under the circumstances.”

He took his leave.

“Well be right over there,” Guido said. “Just go about your business like we wasn't here.”

We withdrew to a point that Guido had identified as an excellent coign of vantage inside a tent in a display of camping gear several yards distant. We had a good view of the entrance to the lighted tower. The guards were notably nervous, knowing that they would be under constant scrutiny. They fidgeted and glanced at one another, whispering. Guido put up with this for fifteen minutes or so, then he stormed out of the tent, and lowered his face until it was nearly touching theirs.

“Awright, you mugs,” he barked. “Tenn-HUTT! Eyes forward! Backs straight! No talking' in the ranks. I don't want to hear another peep outta you guys unless it's to tell me that the monster's eatin' your leg. You got me?”

“Yes, my lord!” they chorused.

“I ain't your lord,” Guido snarled. “I work for a livin'! Now, pay attention! You're guardin' the king's gold!”

He stomped back to the tent.

The guards became stalwart, silent, and upright. If they slewed their eyes sideways at one another now and again, Guido pretended not to notice.

Up in the rafters, my keen hearing detected the rustle of the Shutterbugs' wings as they flew about taking images.

Hours passed. Dinner was long past, and my stomach emitted rumblings audible in the silence of the aisles. At each emission, Guido and Nunzio removed themselves to the extreme other end of the tent. At the sound, the guards shifted from foot to foot, but they kept their eyes forward, and their right hands on sword hilt or spear haft. If they had been responsible for the theft of gold, they would not repeat their pilfering tonight, not with the eyes of the enforcers upon them. I was more curious to see the beast that had left the scent on the aisle floor and on the pillar of the king's audience chamber.

In the darkest hour, I heard the hiss of feet on the tiles.

I sprang up and shot out of the tent. Guido and Nunzio barely had time to don their hats and follow me. WHAM!

By the time they caught up with me, I was standing on the intruder's chest, glaring into his face. Guido held a torch aloft and looked down into the perpetrator's face.

“Lord Howadzer! Gleep, let him have some air.”

I realized my mistake and hastily vacated the chancellor's ribcage.

“Gleep!” I said, and licked his face by way of apology.

“Pthah!” he said, wiping his visage vigorously. “I was only coming in to see if everything was all right! Is this how you run a security check, by jumping on your employers?”

“When they come upon us unawares in the middle of the night, we do,” Guido said, replacing his miniature crossbow in his inside breast pocket. “Gleep did exactly what I would have expected him to do. You didn't announce yourself, and I would have heard footsteps louder than a tiptoe myself.”

“I still don't like it,” the chancellor said. With a disdainful look at me, he turned on his heel and marched away. His retreating footsteps were twice as loud as the approaching ones. Nunzio and Guido looked thoughtful.

“I do not like that guy,” Nunzio said. “He is just too self-righteous for his own good.”

No further intrusions marked our night of surveillance.

In the morning, the blare of trumpets heralded the arrival of King Petherwick. With heralds and pages trotting ahead of him, his majesty made a visit to the Treasury.

He was accompanied by Lord Dalhailey and a handful of attendants.

“We are most pleased to see that no one was hurt overnight,” he said. “And my gold is safe!”

He patted the pile of coins. With a clang, it shifted and collapsed in on itself. It was hollow! Petherwick let out a wail.

“My gold! The monster must have come up through the floor and stolen it!” He rounded upon the enforcers. “You were supposed to prevent this! I want reimbursement for every coin that went missing! Lord Howadzer will make up a reckoning. Your organization will make me restitution, as per our agreement.”

“That remains to be seen,” Nunzio said. “Naturally, we hope to recover your gold.”

The Chancellor of the Exchequer looked harried, but the Minister of Marketing looked secretly pleased. I remarked upon the expression. Perhaps it was a sign of a rivalry between the two lordlings.

“We were supposed to keep an eye out for a monster that was causing loss of life,” Guido said. “The Shutter-bugs saw nothing. We saw nothing.”

But I smelled something. That elusive scent touched my nostrils, and I went on alert. Determined to track it to its source, I dragged Nunzio behind me on my leash.

Sniff, sniff sniff sniff!

The enforcer's voice behind me was encouraging. “Find anything, boy? Whatcha got there, eh?”

Guido and the chancellor followed in our wake as I raced up the aisle. A memory was stirring. I couldn't really place my claw upon it, but I know I had smelled it before. But in a moment I should see the source, and my mystery would be solved!

Just before the display of cleaning products, the scent terminated without a clue as to whence it had come. I looked around forlornly.

“What's the matter, boy?” Nunzio asked, dropping to a crouch beside me.

“I lost the scent,” I said. My woeful admission came out as “Gleep!”

Howadzer turned up his fleshy nose.

“Hmph! His majesty told you that cuddly-looking dragon would be of no use.”

“So, tell me about the guys who were killed,” Guido said, loitering about on ale break with a few of the Treasury guards.

“Like us, they worked for my lord chancellor,” said a neatly turned out Klahd with a dark mustache. “Each of them went out to respond to noises we heard in the aisles, and didn't come back.”

“Both of them were on nights when we had guys from Marketing with us, wasn't it?” asked a ginger-haired fellow.

“That's right,” the mustachioed male said. “They went out, too, but they weren't hurt, or even killed.”

“Interestin',” Guido said. “Ill have to keep an eye on the marketin' department.”

Two more nights passed, uneventfully except for worrying withdrawals of gold from under our noses. I myself lay upon the threshold of the Treasury to forestall the arrival of the monster. My presence did little to instill confidence in the hearts of the guards, since they seemed to find me more of a threat than the invisible menace that had killed two of their fellows.

Guido's words about the marketing department had aroused my interest. As a result, any time new personnel came on shift, I inspected them and the weapons they bore closely. None of them bore the scent of Klahdish blood. None of these men were involved. The second night, four Klahds whom I did not recognize from previous visits took up their stations. Guido, Nunzio, and I made ourselves comfortable on woven lounge chairs from the outdoor furniture department. Nothing seemed to be happening. I was disappointed that our vigilance was failing to pay dividends in intelligence.

In the early hours toward dawn, voices at a distance from us in the dimly lit store broke the silence. Guido and Nunzio rose as if to check out the disturbance, but I recognized the voices. They were Lord Howadzer and Lord Dalhailey. I made a point of cocking my head, then stretching luxuriously and settling down again upon my rattan couch.

“Guess it's nothing' to worry about,” Nunzio said, sitting down again. “Ugh! We have to speak to King Petherwick about real, live pest control.” He stamped his shiny shoes down on the tiles.

“What's the matter?” Guido asked.

“Bug ran right over my foot!” He continued to step, but his quarry eluded him. “Fast little monster!” CRUNCH! “There.” He pointed triumphantly. “Got it.”

I caught the scent and scooted forward to slurp up the squashed body. ‘Never miss an opportunity to try a new taste sensation’ is my motto. I swallowed the morsel, and stopped, jaws agape. “You okay, little buddy?” Nunzio asked. I turned to lick his face in delight Light had dawned!

I realized I should not have been inspecting only the customers, but the merchandise! One of the rakes smelled of Klahdish blood. It had been washed, but that was not enough to remove the scent for one with such as sensitive a sense of smell as mine.

I hearkened back upon my earliest dragonlet memories. The flavor of the titbit had reminded me of a lesson my mother had taught me and my siblings when I was but fresh out of the egg. She had brought some of these creatures back to our nest to teach us that there was a beast that was feared even by dragons for its insidiousness.

Goldbugs!

Goldbugs are the scourge of dragons, because they eat gold. They do, in fact, consume and digest it They crave even tiny, minuscule morsels of the precious metal, and can winkle it out of even the tightest confines, destroying anything that might keep them from their favorite comestible. I realized in a flash of enlightenment that would explain the “bite mark” that had been taken out of the pillar. If someone who had handled gold, such as the Chancellor of the Exchequer, had touched the wall, it would have left a trace that was irresistible to the little pests. They would have swarmed up to the handprint, invisible to all but them, and chewed the stone until they had every atom of gold safe in their bellies.

They left a mark that played well into the grasp of the thief or thieves, who were able to spread rumors of a monster on the loose, and so distract attention from the series of burglaries that had been committed directly under the nose of the employees and lords of King-Mart! Since the bugs had been intercepted before they had walked very far, that spoke of a mortal agent, one of above-animal intelligence. Since all the robberies took place at night, the culprit could not be a customer. It had to be one of the staff. Guido was quite correct when he stated that he believed this to be an inside job. Somehow an employee, or more than one, had brought it to bear upon King-Mart and commit depredations against same for the purposes of theft. But whom?

I was so excited at my discovery that I went in search of more of the insects. Entirely absent in the light of day, they abounded at this hour. I scented hundreds of them on the floor, scurrying away from me. I could not run them down without accidentally running them over. I swallowed a few by accident.

“What is it, boy?” Nunzio asked. I sucked up the nearest bug and spat it into the hand of the Mob enforcer.

“A bug?” Guido asked.

Nunzio's eyes lit up. I thought that his knowledge as a naturalist would not let him, or me, down. “Not an ordinary bug, cousin,” he said. “It's the key to the whole conspiracy. Good boy, Gleep!”

He rumpled my head.

“Gleep,” I exclaimed in relief.

“Since the two of you understand one another so well,” Guido said, dryly, “perhaps you will let a poor ignorant Klahd in on your secret knowledge.”

“Well, Guido, it is like this.”

What followed was a learned discourse upon the biology and habits of the Goldbug. Nunzio had studied far more about Genus Arthropoda Aureliphagus than I ever dreamed he could absorb. Guido listened carefully, his eyes narrowing more and more as his cousin expounded.

“That explains it all,” he said. “Now all we have to do is work out a means of exposin' the culprit. Now that we know what we're lookin' for, it should be a piece of cake.”

We huddled for the rest of the night to work out our plan.

King Petherwick was extremely displeased that more of the gold had been abstracted from the Treasury, and none of the Klahds could explain it to him.

“I swear, your majesty,” the leader of the knight-shift said fervently, when the king and his entourage inspected the Treasury the next morning, “nothing got past us, yet gold is gone again. We all swear we had nothing to do with it You may search us. You will find no gold secreted about our persons. We will take a test of loyalty to you. The monster must have cast a spell upon us, and robbed us unaware.”

Petherwick turned to my associates. “I take it that no spell was cast upon you. So, where is this monster?”

“We haven't found any evidence of a monster,” Guido said. “At least, not a demon kind of monster, like you're thinking.”

“What do you mean?” the king asked, aghast. “Of course, there must be something. The gold is gone! Men are dead!”

“Well, if a monster exists.” Guido said smoothly, “then it never left the Treasury, because we've been watchin' it every minute. So, if it was here, it must still be here.”

“But, where?”

I could not ask for a better cue. As the guards shifted and looked around nervously for a hidden monster, I crouched and began growling.

“Do you see it, boy?” Nunzio asked. He let go of my leash. The guards gasped and stepped backward.

I gathered my haunches and sprang upward, onto the roof of the Treasury, and clamped my jaws — half-open. I let out an eldritch wail from the depths of my chest, simulating the sound of another monster. My head twisted to the left, as if my prey was struggling, then I fell backward, flailing my claws.

“Gleeeeeep!” I wailed. I landed with a deafening jangle in the heap of money. The gold cushioned my fall. I was up in a moment, at bay, my eyes turned upward toward the an unseen enemy. The guards backed out of the small room in fear. I continued to do battle with my invisible foe.

It was a terrible battle, though the Klahds, and the customers looking astonished over their shoulders, only saw the half of it I tore at the air, batting as my opponent appeared to fasten its teeth in my stubby right wing. I rolled painfully on one side and rabbit-kicked. The grimace on my face showed what efforts I was putting out as my third kick dislodged my foe and sent him sailing across the round room, where he must have landed near the wall. I flung myself onto the spot I had chosen, and turned over and over, gnashing and clawing, and occasionally letting out a yelp to indicate I had been bitten or clawed myself.

I had to congratulate myself on a masterful performance. When at last I “bested” my foe, I stood atop the heap of gold. I took an invisible mouthful and shook it vigorously, let it drop, then turned my back on the “corpse.” With my rear foot, I raked a few clawsful of gold over the body to show my disdain, then trotted obediently to Nunzio to have my leash reattached.

“What a good dragon!” the enforcer said, reaching into his pocket for some dried earthworms. I slurped down my treat.

“Gleep!” I acknowledged with pride.

The rest of the onlookers were silent in awe.

“There you go, your majesty,” Guido said, waving a huge palm. “Gleep took care of your monster for you. It's dead. You won't have to worry about it stealing from you anymore. You're gonna have to move the body, but that should be no big deal.”

“But. but there is no body.” Lord Dalhailey said. Then he realized his mistake. “I mean, I can't see anything. Ill have to get a closer look.” He started toward the pile of gold. I slithered quickly to cut him off and sniffed him closely, from the toes up. I ended up peering into his face. He blanched. Klahds have said time and again that they do not like my breath, which if I may say, is rather sweet for a dragon. I did not like his smell, which reeked of Goldbug. He was the master of the metal-eating insects!

I growled.

Guido and Nunzio caught on in a trice (I told you that they were bright for Klahds), and surrounded him, two crossbows pointing at the daunted lordling's ribcage.

“So, there's no monster, huh? Just exactly how do you know that?”

Cornered, Dalhailey babbled.

“I mean, I don't see one, and though I've never heard of an invisible monster, I'm sure that maybe they exist in some dimension, but what is it doing here?” Terrified, he turned to Petherwick. “Help, my liege!”

“You see,” Nunzio said, “he was using Goldbugs to steal the money right out from underneath your noses. They can't get far on their own, so he must bring them in on nights when there's a lot of gold in the Treasury. He knows when you've had a successful promotion; it's his job.”

“Traitor!” Petherwick spat.

“So that's what you were doing in the store last night!”

Howadzer boomed. “You were spying out the Treasury, planning to steal more of our hard-earned receipts!” He turned to the Treasury guards. “Seize him!”

The guards hesitated. Howadzer's face turned crimson with fury.

“What are you waiting for?”

“They're all in on it,” Guido said. “Those bugs are kind of hard to see in the dark, but this tower is very well lit You couldn't miss a swarm of the size that can eat a pile of gold in a single night I bet that he started turning them to his side a long time ago. It don't pay good to be a guard, and you're risking your life for someone else's coins, right? A few more coins here and there would help make life much more comfortable. Wouldn't it?”

“Kill them,” Dalhailey gritted through his teeth.

The guards turned toward us. Guido and Nunzio swung the points of their crossbows to cover the quintet. I showed my teeth. It was clear that though we were outnumbered, we were not outmatched. The guards' hands dropped from their hilts.

“All right,” Guido said. “Are you gonna surrender, or am I gonna have to call someone for a cleanup on aisle 3?”

The customers of King-Mart applauded.

“Great show,” said a Deveel with a goatee. “That's why I shop here.”

“Turns out,” Guido said, after a satisfying pull at a big mug of ale brought to him by Bunny upon our return from Deva, “that Dalhailey was settin' up to finance his escape from King Petherwick's service. He bought a few of Lord Howadzer's men to get them to go along with his plot.

Usually it was the same guys night after night, until Petherwick got the idea to teach everybody all the jobs. When a newcomer wouldn't go along with the scheme, well, by morning he was in no shape to tell anyone about it About the whole Treasury guard staff was in on it Howadzer never knew. You think he was unhappy before. I think eventually Petherwick's gonna have to pension him off and ask Hemlock if he can go live in his old home town, he's so homesick. But Dalhailey's in big-time trouble.”

“And we were able to work it out all because of your little pal here,” Nunzio said, patting me on the head.

“Gleep!” I exclaimed, thanking him for recognizing my contribution.

“Yeah, he kept circling the old boy and sniffing, until Dalhailey finally confessed how he did it, by bringing in a whole swarm of Goldbugs.”

Skeeve sat forward, his face alight with interest. “Goldbugs! I've never heard of them.”

“I figured maybe not,” Guido said, producing a crystal vial. “So I brought you a few.”

“King Petherwick was right all along that the problem was pest control,” Nunzio said. “He just didn't know that it was his own minister who had infested the store with them. He kept the ones he was using for the night in a box, and let them loose within sniffing-range of the Treasury. Later, he held out a lure to get them back to the box. If we caught him walking around in the dark, well, he was just looking out for the king's interests, or figuring out a new display that would advertise the merchandise. It was the perfect cover.”

Skeeve examined the container. “Matt black, so you can't see them in the dark even if they're moving.”

“Yeah, I don't blame the Shutterbugs for missin' 'em, or us, either. But Gleep spotted 'em. He brought 'em to us, but if Nunzio hadn't known what they were, we might have missed the significance, since Gleep couldn't explain to us.”

“Gleep!” I said. My pet and I exchanged knowing gazes.

Skeeve poured a few of the bugs out onto his palm. “They really eat gold?”

Nunzio grinned. “They sure do. Then, if you wait long enough, they excrete it, too. It's a slow way to make a fortune, but Dalhailey was plenty patient, and he had lots of bugs.”

I snaked out my tongue and scooped a couple of the bugs off Skeeve's palm.

“Hey!” Skeeve said. “Those are my specimens!” CRUNCH!CRUNCH!CRUNCH!

“But we got the confession outta Dalhailey too late. The bugs was already gone from the hiding place. Dalhailey wailed that one of his confederates musta gotten away with 'em. Petherwick filed a claim with Don Bruce to make his losses good. The Don wants shut of this guy so bad that he sent over a messenger with a strong box and a quit claim. We're rid of King-Mart, but the Don is out the money. Well never get it back.”

I felt the sensations of regurgitation beginning that I knew that small number of Goldbugs would trigger, on top of the vast number I had already eaten. I crouched at Guido's feet.

HUCK! HUCK! HUCK!

“No, Gleep!” Bunny commanded. “Not on the rug!” Obedient to her wishes, I moved a few inches to the left. In a moment, I heaved up my prize at Guido's feet.

A steaming mass of molten gold the size of a prize pumpkin shimmered on the floor. I sat back on my haunches with a fragrant sigh.

“Guess we know what happened to the Goldbugs” Skeeve said, with a smile.

“Gleep,” I said.

“I take back anything I ever thought about this dragon of yours, Skeeve,” Guido said, patting me. “He's smart.”

Skeeve and I exchanged a secret wink. I settled down on the carpet with my head on his foot.