He waved a hand. The once handsome lakeshore was lined with rental domiciles of every size, everything from the Gigantico Hotel chain out of Imper down to Pappy Johnstone's Pink Roof Inn. I guessed the latter must be a local establishment. The effigy in the parking lot of a Swamp Fox in a straw hat waving its hand was the mascot. Every one of the places had two things in common: their walls were full of little holes as if they had been attacked by a horde of insane carpenters with half-inch drill bits, and every establishment was empty. Not one tourist. The bare trees waved forlornly over swimming pools and lawn chairs, all vacant. Vines grew up and sometimes into abandoned buildings and stands all up and down the street.
"Come on," I said. "Let's see what else we can find."
Matfany cleared his throat. "I am afraid, sir, that you are bound to be disappointed."
A few hours later, I had to conclude that Matfany wasn't lying. Apart from food preparation and hand workshops that turned out souvenirs, there was almost no infrastructure in the main city of Foxe-Swampburg. My feet were killing me, and I saw the presidency of M.Y.T.H., Inc. fluttering away like an escaping bird.
"Okay," I said. "What about manufacturing?"
"Don't do much of that," Matfany said. "I've tried to introduce the concept of factories—honest truth is we don't have a lot of dry. level land to spare for big facilities. We buy off-dimension most times. Tourist money is usually rolling in. Our credit was pretty good on Deva and Flibber and a bunch of other places."
"Natural resources?" I was grasping at straws.
"Not enough to export, sir. Half the time the lamps run on fish oil, and the other half on magik."
"What about location?"
I already knew the answer to that one; it had taken us four jumps to get here. That meant Foxe-Swampburg was useless as a strategic location for refueling, armaments, manufacturing, or just about anything except tourism. Which had dried up.
A pony-drawn cart trotted toward us, the driver seeming to drowse over his reins. The driver looked up hope-fully at the sight of three obvious strangers and steered toward us. Then he noticed Matfany. His eyes went wide with fear and alarm. He turned his wagon all the way around and whipped up the pony. It trotted away, with the driver looking back over his shoulder.
"You have more than money problems, pal," I said. "You have a PR problem. Your own people are scared of you."
"I know it," Matfany said, with a sigh. "I thought that they would be downright grateful that they were in the hands of someone who would save them from ruin, but they're not. I just don't understand it. I've done everything for those people."
"Why do you think it is?"
"Well, I had to reintroduce some pretty fierce punishments," he said. "We had a lot of theft and assault and all when things started to get tight around here. I didn't want anyone to get the idea that they could just push me around. But only for those felons who deserve it. I don't go around handing out sentences on innocent people. But I don't hold back where it's merited."
"Punishments like what?" I asked.
Matfany sounded hesitant. "Well, imprisonment. Whippings. Death."
I eyed him. "Sounds like a house party on Perv."
"Beg your pardon, sir?"
"I get the picture. Got any ideas?" I asked Tananda and Guido.
"This is all your show."' Tananda reminded me, not without sympathy "What can you work with?"
I kicked a stone. It went bounding across the deserted road and knocked into the pillar of a gigantic, white-enameled structure that stuck way out into the very picturesque waterfront. It was one of three similar handsome oceanside structures. Each had what looked like an oversized gazebo at the end, and along the way there were steps leading down to small jetties at water level and several food booths, all shuttered as if it was the middle of winter instead of a sweltering summer.
"Nice pier," I said.
"Yeah," Matfany said.
"What do you call it?" I asked.
"Oh, well, we call it The Pier." He pointed right, then left. "That one's The Other Pier, and that one's That There Pier."
I raised one scaly eyebrow. "Isn't that a little confusing? Why don't you call i! Smith's Pier, or something a little more tourist friendly?"
"Oh. well, Smith didn't build it," Matfany said, reasonably "Why would we name it after him when it's not his?"
"There are a lot of places that people didn't build but are still named after them," I said, when the idea struck me like a ton of Imper garlic sausage. "In fact, some of them are willing to put good money into having their name attached to just the right thing. It gives prestige to the donor. Some of them even consider it an honor."
"Yeah, but these are not colleges or libraries," Guido pointed out.
"We got a few of those, too," Matfany pointed out.
"There, you see," I said, warming to my topic. "We could sell naming rights to parts of Foxe-Swampburg. Get the right people involved, and there could be a bundle of money in it." I started to see gold coins piling up before my eyes. I saw a stack of signed contracts. I saw envy on
Skeeve's face as I put my feet up on the president's desk. My desk.
"Like who?" Tananda asked, quite reasonably, interrupting my thoughts. I frowned as the bubble popped, but I dragged myself back to the present.
"Well, Deveels, for one. Deveel enterprises like to have their names on things. Once this place gears up again for the tourist season it's a natural match. How much of your souvenirs come from the Bazaar?" I asked Matfany.
"Most of it, except the handmade stuff," he said. "Barco Willie, he makes these trivets out of shells... ?"
I brushed Barco Willie aside. "And Imps—they'll do anything to make up for being born Imps. Here they can invest in something tasteful, like a forest or a library."
"Well, I dunno ..." Matfany said.
"It'll work," I said. "I can't think of any way it could go wrong. What do you say? Do you have to consult anyone before you can rename the local points of interest?"
"Well, there's the Old Folks, but they don't have a say, exactly. It's just common courtesy ..."
"Good, then it's up to you." I gave Matfany my biggest grin and had the satisfaction of watching him back up nervously. "Trust me. It'll earn you brownie points. When things start to improve for the Swamp Foxes, they'll embrace the prime minister who had their best interests in mind."
SIXTEEN
"Put it out on the World Wide Web!"
"Bobbie Jo! Great to see you, kid!" Massha grabbed my arm and dragged me through the enormous double doors. The woman with pale blue fur sitting on the modest but obviously expensive divan looked as if she had a wide fur skirt spread around her feet. "It's been too long."
"Massha, honey!" The woman rose up high, then her body settled in among three sets of arched legs as if it were in a hammock. That big skirt was a set of long legs like those of a spider. I have never been big on spiders. She made toward us with two arms outstretched.
I cringed. "I've never seen a spider that big," I whispered to my former apprentice.
"Hush!" Massha whispered back. "Don't mention spiders. They're Octaroobles. Now, smile!"
The spi—okay, Octarooble—came to air-kiss my former apprentice on each cheek. I felt a little awkward as Massha shoved me forward like a six-year-old ordered to play violin for the guests. The woman, with owl-like eyes and a crest of stiff hairs on the top of her head, regarded me with curiosity. I smiled weakly. Her jaws moved side-ways instead of up and down, reminding me far too much of a spider's palps.
"Bobbie Jo, this is Skeeve the Magnificent. Skeeve, this is Robelinda Jocasta, Chief of the Clans of Octaroo."