Myth 18 - MythChief Asprin, Robert (urban books to read TXT) 📖

a gigantic, white-​enameled structure that stuck way out into the very pictur-​esque waterfront. It was one of three similar handsome oceanside structures. Each had what looked like an over-​sized 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 in-​stead 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, reason-​ably “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 at-​tached 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, inter-​rupting 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 Impsthey'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 ner-​vously. “Trust me. It'll earn you brownie points. When things start to improve for the Swamp Foxes, they'll em-​brace the prime minister who had their best interests in mind.”

Myth 18 - MythChief

SIXTEEN

“Put it out on the World Wide Web!” SHELOB

“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 to-​ward us with two arms outstretched.

I cringed. “I've never seen a spider that big,” I whis-​pered to my former apprentice. “Hush!” Massha whispered back. “Don't mention spi-​ders. They're Octaroobles. Now, smile!”

The spiokay, Octarooblecame to air-​kiss my for-​mer 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.”

“A pleasure,” I said. She extended a blue-​furred hand. I bowed over it, trying to remember I'd met uglier and more fearsome creatures. This was for a good cause, I reminded myself. I was here for Hermalaya. “I am honored to meet someone Massha holds in such esteem.” I placed my hand on top of my head, fingers up, as Massha had instructed me.

Chief Robelinda Jocasta sent me flying with a backward knock of that same hand. “He's a pretty talker, Massha! No wonder you like him.”

You'd think I would have no trouble getting in to meet people of high rank or lofty offices, but I had been out of touch for long enough that many of my connections had gone cold. In contrast, Massha, who now held my job of Court Magician to Queen Hemlock of Possiltum. had plenty of numbers in her little black book and was gra-​ciously willing to share them with me.

I had had my share of humility lessons since the end of my self-​imposed retirement, and this one was no less