Myth-Told Tales

Tananda allowed us to look as sour as possible when Charilor came by the next afternoon to collect their fee. "There, I told you," the Pervect said, watching Little Sister count coins grudgingly into a sack. "Five gold coins wasn't so hard to raise!"

"It would have been a lot easier if you hadn't put a gloom spell on the place for two days," Guido said resentfully.

"That was Vergetta's idea," the chunky Pervect said, with a twist of her lips, as she glanced back toward the elder female waiting by the entrance to the tent. Did I sense disapproval of her senior's methods? "But you still managed to raise the dough. We should've asked for more."

"We couldn't have raised more," Tananda said, eyes wide, managing to sound a little desperate. "This is all we made this week. I mean, everything! We've even had to put off some of our expenses, and our creditors are not happy. You're not going to raise your... fee ... are you?"

Charilor swept the leather purse into her belt pouch and stood up. "No. You have our word: our demands will never go up."

Vergetta shook a finger at us from the doorway. "You'd still better have the same waiting for us next week."

"We will have your payment here waiting for you," Tananda promised. The Pervects stalked out. Warily, shyly, our regular customers started slinking in.

Guido chafed visibly over the course of the next week. He objected to the delay during which Don Bruce would lose yet another round of "insurance" payments. I also knew he was worried lest anyone from the Mob would come in and see him performing beauty rituals instead of his usual, somewhat more insalubrious tasks. Yet, when he wasn't thinking about public humiliation, he handled his duties with aplomb. Now comfortable with the balms and unguents, he massaged, polished, and clipped with a flourish. He'd completely lost his fear of the body paints, and where he'd created cranial graffiti before, he was now performing abstract art, each piece unique for the lady who bore it, smiling, out of our salon. The customers adored him. He was gathering quite a little coterie. Some of his regulars had begun to bring him small gifts, treats, and gratuities. Those attentions embarrassed him as much as would the appearance at the door of one of his Mob fellows.

I myself found it difficult to keep from humming a little tune as I awaited the arrival of our extortionists. Action, that was what was called for. Tananda's plan had risks, to be sure, but in her estimation it had at least a forty percent chance of success. Those were not odds I would normally have celebrated, but since no one else had succeeded in resisting or exposing these blackmailing females, it was worth a try.

At the lunch hour on the appointed day, we supped alone in the tent. We had deliberately made few bookings to coincide with the time we expected Vergetta and Charilor to appear. Our midday repast was simple, consisting of food that we had prepared ourselves from ingredients we had not allowed out of our sight since we had brought them from another dimension early that morning. The chances that the Perverts had observed and followed us to our sources of supply were nil: while on a provisioning run we never returned to a dimension twice, and we took all precautions upon our return. That suggestion had been made by Guido, who had, during his military career, accrued lengthy experience in existing in hostile territory. For all the years that we had lived in the Bazaar, I had never before had cause to feel it hostile, but for survival's sake, and the sake of our mission, I must think so now.

Darkness interrupted the blaze of sunshine from the doorway. I glanced up from my now empty trencher. It was the Pervects. Guido, beside me, clenched his fists on his knees underneath our humble tabletop.

"Good afternoon, darlings," Vergetta said, sailing into the salon as though she owned it But she did not. Yet.

"Hello," Tananda said cautiously.

"So, are you ready for us?" The elderly Pervect sat down on the bench and nudged Tananda until she moved over to make room.

"I suppose so" Tananda said. She produced the box that contained our receipts for the week. Vergetta rubbed her hands together vigorously, then dumped the load of coins out onto the table. Her fingers began to sort through the coins as though they were indeed greatly practiced at the skill. With a stern expression Charilor loomed over my shoulder, if such a term could be used to describe the actions of a being considerably shorter than the one being loomed over.

"Hold on here," Vergetta said, piling the last coin in a neat stack. She peered at Tananda, her yellow eyes narrowed to horizontal slits. "There's only four and three-quarters gold coins' worth here."

"That's all we've got," Tananda said. "It's been a slow week."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, that's all there is. Take it or leave it."

Charilor leaned across the table and took my little sister by the throat of her smock. "Just who do you think you're talking to, babycakes?"