Class Dis-Mythed

"We're looking for a course of intensive study," the tallest picked up the talking-stick again. "About six weeks. We consulted many, many people as to who the best possible tutor in any dimension would be to give us instruction, someone who would understand the really important issues of survival in the real world of magik. Only one name kept coming up again and again, including here in the Bazaar on Deva..."

I preened. I didn't realize that my name was still one to conjure with, so to speak. I eased back in my seat and rolled my mug around between my fingers.

"So you three sweet young things want me to teach you the ins and outs of practical magik?" I purred.

"No!" the three chorused. "We need you to help us find the Great Skeeve!"

"What?" I roared, slamming down my stein.

"Well, you're his partner, aren't you?" the tallest one asked in surprise, flicking the beer stains off her frilly blouse with little offhand magikal repulsion. "That's what the Merchants Association told us. They said that you'd be able to tell us where to find him. They said he's off-dimension, leaving no forwarding address, but as his closest associate, you're sure to know where he went."

"WHAT AM I, CHOPPED LIVER?" I bellowed.

The three regarded me blankly.

"I'm sure you're a magician of some skill," the medium-sized one said in placating tones that made my blood pressure blast through the roof.

'Get out of here!" I roared.

"But my Great Aunt Vergetta said that the Great Skeeve is the one we want," the tall one pleaded. "She said he was the best she ever met, the most effective magician in all the dimensions. Her club agreed with her. Lots of people said they've heard the same."

The others nodded earnestly.

I made myself calm down. I knew all about Skeeve's run-in with Vergetta and her Pervect Ten, a cabal of Pervish females with interlocking talents. I wasn't surprised Skeeve's reputation had gone so far. I had gone through a lot of blood, sweat, tears and expense to help spread that reputation around the dimensions. I also knew the true extent of his talents behind that reputation. Most of what Skeeve knew he had learned from me or the late magician Garkin, or picked up on the fly during one of our missions. He'd gotten by on native smarts, dumb luck, his own magikal ability and a little help from his friends. I wondered privately whether as a Klahd he could live long enough to really master the Arts Magikal. I wasn't going to subject him to humiliation from these three. Advanced degrees from MIP meant these three had gone

through six years of the toughest professors and the best training in any dimension. Once they found out they were that far ahead of him, they'd tear him apart.

"Forget it." I hoisted my mug and drained it.

"Please!" the shortest one begged.

I slammed the empty stein on the table and planted my palms firmly on either side of it. "Can't you take 'no' for an answer? Get out of here before I rip your heads off!"

The Pervects weren't put off.

The medium-sized one leaned forward imploringly. "Please, just tell us where we can find him?"

"He's on sabbatical, and I'm not going to let you interrupt him on some whim. Go enroll in summer school."

"This is important!" the smallest one said.

"So are his studies," I snarled. "Forget it, I said."

"But we're willing to pay him," the tallest one said.

"He doesn't need it." I crossed my arms. I had recently gone to a lot of trouble to make sure Skeeve wasn't going to be disturbed for as long as he wanted to stay out of touch, and there was nothing these three fashion plates could say to change my mind.

"We really need his help," the tallest one pleaded. "We have GOT to learn how to survive—"

"Shh!" the other two shushed her.

"If you'd just let us talk to him," the smallest one said, fluttering her green-scaled eyelids. "Then he'd understand why we need his help."

"Sorry you wasted your time, ladies," I said. I turned my shoulder on them. The interview was over. I signalled for a refill. The bartender's potboy hustled over with a gallon jug, and slopped a quantity into our glasses. I took a casual swig.

"So, Guido, you try out that new Djinni restaurant yet?"

The Mob enforcer kept a weather eye on our visitors, but he gritted out a reply. "Too spicy for me. I like to keep the enamel on my teeth."

The Pervects drifted off the bench, but they didn't go far. They stood there in the middle of the grimy old pub like a fresh lick of paint on a garbage wagon, a neon sign to pickpockets and muggers that here were three easy victims. Anyone with half an eye could tell they needed some practical advice, but that wasn't my problem. Not really. But I did give a glare to the unsavory elements hanging around in the room to make sure they knew these females weren't to be picked on, even if they were as clueless as newborn kittens. With my luck they'd get creamed in the next bar fight, and I'd have to deal with locals who thought MAYBE Pervects weren't so tough after all.