"I am so sorry! I don't usually step on people I don't know!"
"No problem," I assured her. "Go back to your shopping."
"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, as if the opportunity had just occurred to her. "I was looking for a new wand for my husband's birthday!"
"Pay cash," I warned her, as she minced away.
All but one of the former zombies departed. Of course, the Skeeve was long gone. I found Massha sitting on the stairs of the dais wrapping herself around a mocha lattecino with double whipped cream. Chumley was lying on the floor with an ice pack clutched to one big eye.
"What happened back there?" Massha asked.
"We were ambushed," I stated grimly. "Chloridia poofed out, so we don't even have the phony under wraps."
"Where'd she go?
"I don't know," I replied. "But we're still at a net profit, magicianwise."
I dragged the last zombie survivor, a half-conscious Walroid, away from his extra large cappucino. He goggled at me, his wiry mustache puffing out indignantly.
"We found Cire."
"They almost got me," Strewth panted, tearing back toward the Rat Hole.
In the cover of the riot he had switched identities, assuming that of a bicycle messenger he had once encountered in a bar. He jingled his handlebar bell. Shoppers jumped out of the way of his front wheel, diving into fountains or behind bards if they had to. He pedaled grimly.
"But they didn't get you," Rattila's voice echoed in his mind. "Hurry back! I need the power you gathered."
Strewth slithered into the hidden entrance and divested himself of the bicycle messenger's form. He scrabbled on all fours into Rattila's presence and lay panting at the huge rat's feet.
"They got all the raiders," Strewth gasped. "They're no longer out of it. They're back to normal."
He expected Rattila to be furious. Instead, the Big Cheese looked jubilant.
"Why aren't you mad?" he asked.
"They're rejuvenated," the Ratislavan gloated, his red eyes gleaming. "Don't you see the benefit? We can milk them all over again. The magicians! The technicians! The artists! The inventors! Everyone! Their special talents will be mine. And when we've drained them again, we can restore them, and start the process all over. I shall have more power than any magician has ever dreamed of!"
"Oh, I dunno," Wassup put in, speculatively. "I bet when you get right down to it they all want the same thing. Yeowww!"
Rattila blew out his smoking finger as the brown mall-rat hopped around trying to put out his burning foot.
"There is nothing I hate more," he hissed, "than a minion who doesn't understand hyperbole."
SIXTEEN
"Outnumbered," Chumley grunted, staggering back to our suite. He unlocked the door and stood aside.
"Only physically," I grumbled, throwing myself into an armchair. I was more dismayed than I was letting the others see. "If I didn't want to kill them, I'd have to admire their tactics."
"Yeah," Massha added glumly. "The way that one Skeeve-impersonator ran into the crowd and two of our Most Wanted split off from there. The hesitation blew my catch. I didn't know which was the fake Skeeve. I couldn't decide which one to go after."
"We want all of them," Eskina argued. "We must capture all of Rattila's workforce, so he cannot gather any more power. Who knows when he will accomplish his goal?"
"We'll have to wait until we see the Skeeve again, then make sure he cannot escape us," Chumley suggested. "But how to ensure his appearance? And how can we cut off all routes of egress?"
"I don't know," I growled. "I've got to think." "So, man," Cire asked, throwing himself into a chair near me and letting his flipperlike hands hang over the arms, "why did you hit me?"
"A better question might be," I snarled, raising my eyes to his, "why did I stop?"
"Hey, you're not still mad about that scam back on Pokino, are you?" Cire inquired, trying on an expression of injured innocence.
"I liked you better as a zombie," I grumbled.
Cire looked embarrassed. "Thanks, pal. I really appreciate it. You know what it's like, wandering around with someone's voice in your head telling you what to do?"
"No."
"We're going about this all wrong," Massha exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "He's got us running around all over this place. It's too big! We can't cover it all. We knew that from the beginning."
"We put the ball into his court," I realized, in annoyance, tossing the atlas onto the table. "It didn't work out the way it should have. Instead of cornering him and making him give up the impersonation, we've liberated him."
"You made him come up with some new innovations anyhow," Massha pointed out.
I grimaced. She was trying to be kind, but it stung.
"That is not what I have in mind. I hope word never gets back to the kid about being seen diving naked into a fountain full of guacamole, or cavorting drunkenly with a host of ugly females."
"Or singing," Eskina added. "He is very bad at singing."
"He won't hear it from me," Massha promised.
"Or me," Chumley agreed.
"What happened to Madama Chloridia?" Parvattani asked. "She leave-a so quickly."
"Probably had another appointment," I replied. I was a little torqued that she had taken off in the middle of things like that. "She's a busy woman. Probably had to conduct an interview. I hope she'll check in with us again soon." "In the meantime you have me," Cire interjected brightly. "That's more than a fair trade."
"Yeah," I stated curtly.
"Oh, come on, Aahz," Cire wheedled. "You're not still sore about the time I landed you in the Hoppenmar jelly mines, are you?"
I eyed him. "Let's just say you're off my holiday list for the foreseeable, okay?"
Cire opened large green eyes in play wistfulness. "Make it up to you any way I can. C'mon, we used to be partners!"
"No!" I shouldn't have shouted, but that word set off associations in my mind.
"Pals, anyway," Cire continued, not at all put out by my protest.
Truth be told, I wasn't displeased to have him on our team. He was a pretty good magician. Not in the class I had been when I had my powers, or even in Chloridia's, but adaptable and teachable.
"We cut off all the stores too soon," I began, thinking hard. "We ought to have left one outlet where he could make purchases unmolested. Something small, but irresistible. The merchandise would have to be unique and attractive, and just costly enough that the value feeds into Eskina's formula for power reward. A shop that he can't resist coming into, where he wouldn't see the trap until it sprang closed on him."
"But which of these stores fits your specifications?" Chumley asked, pointing at the atlas.
"None of them," I replied, a long, slow grin pulling the corners of my mouth outward toward my ears as my idea coalesced into shape.
Massha's eyebrows went up. "But if it doesn't exist, then how can he shop in it?"
"When we open it, he'll shop there. If we build it, he'll come. I guarantee it."
"We open a shop?" Massha echoed. "Aahz, you're insane." "No, it's the only logical step," Chumley contradicted her. "He's right: we narrowed our options too quickly, what. It is in our interest to create a shop to our own design, using our specialized knowledge and what information we have so far been able to glean about Rattila's power-collection tactics."
Eskina shook her head, admiringly. "I cannot get used to you talking like a professor."