Class Dis-Mythed m-16

  Class Dis-Mythed

  ( Myth - 16 )

  Robert Asprin

  Jody Lynn Nye

  After years as a court magician and inter-dimensional hero, Skeeve needed a rest. So he took some time off to study magic and relax. When a few months later several members of the M.Y.T.H. Inc. Team each ask him to train some talented, young magicians in "practical magic" he has to agree. But after the assassins attack and a manticore tries to eat them, the Khlad mage soon discovers that there is more going on than learning. His students are preparing for a magical, very deadly game and you won't believe where.

  Worse yet, the game may be fixed, and the only way to save his students lives is for Skeeve to risk his own.

  Robert Asprin, Jody Lynn Nye

  Class Dis-Mythed

  Chapter One

  "It's nice to be wanted."

  J.JAMES

  A high female voice ventured timidly, "Are you… Aahz?"

  I looked up from a half-empty mug, and nearly spat out my mouthful of beer. Gazing down at me in the close confines of the Haggard Sheep Inn in the Bazaar on Deva were three Pervish females wearing trim, two-piece business suits and clutching briefcases tightly to their chests. My first impulse was to sidle away rapidly, keeping my back against the nearest wall. Next to dragons and Trolls, Pervect women are some of the most dangerous creatures in all the dimensions. I ought to know: I was a Pervect male. Our green, scaly skin covered impressively dense and strong muscles, and inside the skull between our batwing-shaped ears lay devious brains capable of following complex lines of analysis, always geared to our own advantage.

  The females stared at me, yellow eyes watchful. I had long ago scoped out the exits in every public building within five miles' radius of our headquarters. The back door was fifteen steps behind me behind a curtain. Could I make it before they drew weapons or cast spells?

  Guido, a Klahd and former associate with whom I was having a friendly drink, froze, then his hand inched toward the front of his suit coat where he concealed a miniature crossbow. His pinkish-tan skin paled to a buff color. He obviously shared my discomfort, but he wasn't going to let a business partner face a formidable foe alone.

  "Who wants to know?" I growled at the three.

  But the Pervish females weren't wearing expressions I associated with assassins or bill collectors. In fact, I realized that their suits were in fashionable pastels with short skirts and their satchels were color-coordinated to go with the outfits. At first I thought they must be lawyers. Then I realized how young they were. They weren't professionals. They were school girls.

  As if to confirm my analysis, one of them giggled.

  "You must be Aahz. You look just like your picture."

  The others tittered. I eyed them.

  "Where did you see my picture?" I asked.

  "Your mother showed it to us," the tallest one replied.

  "My mother?"

  "Your mother?" Guido asked curiously, leaning closer. I waved him back.

  "What do you want?" I demanded.

  "Well, Aahz…mandius?" the tall one began in a tentative manner.

  "Just Aahz," I interrupted tersely. I was aware that all the patrons within five tables, mostly red-skinned Deveels, the natives of this dimension, had stopped drinking and had leaned as close as they could, the better to hear our exchange.

  "Aahz, then. We need—This is kind of embarrassing—"

  "Then sit down and lower your voices," I advised, beginning to lose patience. I glared at the eavesdroppers, who suddenly remembered they had better things to do.

  I gestured at the bench on the other side of the table. With uneasy and distasteful glances, as if they had just picked up on their surroundings, the three females slid onto it.

  "Yeah?" I urged them.

  They dithered.

  "You ask him, Jinetta," said the smallest.

  "No, it was Pologne's idea," the tallest said.

  "It was not!" the middle one exclaimed.

  My species is not easily embarrassed, so whatever was eating these three had to be pretty bad. From birth we Pervects are raised to know we're a superior race throughout the dimensions. Few types are capable of supporting both magik and technology, and Perv has both. We're stronger, faster and smarter than most other dimension travelers, or demons for short, so if that self-knowledge makes us a little arrogant, so be it. Of all the beings in the Bazaar, these three Pervects had come to consult one of their own.

  I was becoming bored with the byplay. Cleared my throat meaningfully. The three stopped their bickering and turned to face me.

  "Well, Aahz," the tall one began in a perky voice, interlacing her fingers on the table. "I just want you to know from the start that we're not beginners. We're all graduates of MIP."

  I raised an eyebrow. The Magikal Institute of Perv was one of our finest seats of higher learning.

  "Nice credentials, but so what?"

  "Well—" the spokespervect glanced at her companions, "during our education, we took a lot of lab courses and had a couple of remote study opportunities, but really, none of our classes had much of a grounding in the real world."

  "Stands to reason," I mused. "Professional academics, the kind who spend their whole lives in universities, don't have a lot of grounding in the real world. And they figure you're going to get plenty of practical experience once you get out. What's this got to do with me?"

  "We need practical education," the most petite of the Pervects said. "Right away."

  "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.

  They were still moaning. I didn't care. Skeeve's privacy wasn't going to be interrupted for a trio of coddled fashion plates.

  "What are we going to do?" the tallest one wailed. "We won't be prepared! After my parents put me through MIP at a cost of 5,000 gold pieces a semester, I can't find a lousy tutor when it's a life-and-death matter? My parents would have paid anything to get the Great Skeeve!"

  I pointedly hadn't been paying close attention to their conversation, but my keen hearing had picked up the words "thousand gold pieces." They had me from there on.

  "You like Djinni food?" Guido asked me.

  I held up a finger to put his question on hold.

  "HOW much did MIP cost?" I asked the tall Pervect.

  "Five thousand" the Pervect repeated, turning toward me. Her eyes were bright gold with unshed tears. "A semester. Plus books and equipment. Plus housing and activity tickets and my allowance—more than fifteen thousand a year!"

  I couldn't see it, but I knew the little green-for-greed light had just gone off over my head.

  "Sit down, ladies," I purred. "You know, maybe the Great Skeeve could make a little time to help you. If the price was right."

  "Y'know, Aahz, the Boss said he don't want—"

  "Give the ladies a chance, Guido," I interrupted smoothly, cutting off his protest. I didn't want to blow what suddenly had turned into a potential earner. My inner cash register was playing "We're In The Money" with a brass band and a full chorus. These were trust-fund babies or better. They perched on the bench, looking hopeful.

  "Well, you know," I began, "the Great Skeeve don't work cheap. He is the best, and he expects fees according to his skills. And status."

  The great-niece nodded. "Auntie Vergetta said we could expect that. How much would he want?"

  "Well, the fees have to support our company's efforts," I said innocently, forestalling a squawk from Guido. "To carry on his efforts for the greater good. How about, say, five hundred a week?"

  The three smiled with relief.

  "Total?" the tallest one asked.

  "Each."

  "No way!" the middle one protested.

  "Take it or leave!" I roared. "The Great Skeeve doesn't deal with pikers!"

  "No, no!" the smallest one said. "How about three hundred each?"

  I grinned. Now the dealing was going the way I liked it.

  Chapter Two

  "How would teaching get anyone in trouble?"

  SOCRATES

  "Skeeve, stop it!" Bunny ordered me, exasperation plain on her pretty face. "They're too pink!"

  "Are you sure?" I asked. I stopped adding color and stood back to get a better look at my illusion spell.

  "Yes, I'm sure! They're Klahds, not Imps!"

  I peered at the image. It issued from Bunny's Perfectly Darling Assistant, or PDA, Bytina, a palm-sized clam-shell of brushed red metal, and had been blown up by me with a touch of magik to cover the surrounding walls, covering the peeling paint and worn woodwork of the old inn. Striking poses in a copse of fake hazel trees were several beings wearing elegant clothing that seemed out of both time and place. From what I could tell by the old-fashioned phrases they were spouting, the male wearing the cross-gartered hose was pledging eternal devotion to the young female with long braids and a dress so tightly bodiced that every breath drew my—attention. An older male in a long houppelande and a twisty turban, the female's father, was against the union. They were Klahds, members of my own race. Honesty forced me to admit they were more fuchsia than the usual Klahdish varegations of pale beige through dark brown. Reluctantly, I mentally unreeled some of the rainbow I'd fed into the picture. Bunny tapped her foot impatiently.

  "How about now?" I inquired.

  "Not yet."

  "How about now?"

  "No."

  "How about now?"

  "No."

  "Now?"

  "No."

  "Now?"

  "No! Yes," Bunny amended suddenly. Her shoulders relaxed. "Good. Now, make their heads smaller."

  "Bunny, they look fine!" I argued. "You can see their expressions better this way."

  She redoubled the exasperation and aimed it straight at me. I turned back to my handiwork and studied it. I had to admit she was right again. The people did have the aspect of lollipops on sticks. At the time I had thought it was advantageous, since the last time I'd been to a play the actors were so far away from me I could never tell who was emoting about what. Once I reduced the proportions to normal it seemed as though a crowd was standing in the room of the old inn with us. I liked the effect. I noticed that the backdrop they were standing in front of looked more unrealistic than ever.

  "I could improve the scenery," I offered, raising my hands with my thumbs together to make a square. "Make it seem like a real forest."

  "No, thanks," Bunny shot back.

  "Oh, come on," I wheedled. "It'd be a lot better that way."

  "No!" Bunny said. "What IS it about men, that they can't stop fiddling with controls for a single moment? I went for a ride with my uncle on that flying carpet he bought in the Bazaar, and he practically rebraided the fringe on one short little ride!"

  I retired to the corner, chagrined.

  "Well, if you don't need my help any more—" I beg
an.

  Bunny smiled sweetly at me. "I didn't need it to start with. But thank you for enlarging the picture. It does make it easier to watch."

  She sashayed back to the cushy armchair in the center of the room, now surrounded by the play, already into its second act. She wasn't so hard to watch herself, being a very curvaceous woman the circumference of whose bosom was approximately two thirds of her height and with red hair that was clipped short to draw attention to the silky skin of her cheeks and neck. Don't misunderstand me—I wasn't interested in Bunny romantically. I had once underestimated her because of her looks. She had used them as camouflage to conceal a surprising intelligence, something that we in M.Y.T.H., Inc. came to appreciate more than her family and former associates in the Mob had. She was one of my best friends, someone whose judgment I trusted absolutely. It didn't hurt that she was fun to look at.

  I'd been living back in the old inn for a few months, since leaving the other members of M.Y.T.H., Inc. behind in the headquarters we shared in the Bazaar on Deva. Bunny, our company accountant, had agreed to come along with me to act as my assistant and companion in my self-imposed exile on Klah. I had quit the company to study magik—really study, instead of faking it and learning a technique only when I needed it, sometimes almost too late to save our necks. Since the murder of my first master Garkin by an Imp assassin, my education had been taken over by Aahz. That period of my life consisted of one adventure after another, punctuated by emergencies, alarums, excursions, danger, lectures, financial crises, near forced marriages, and complicated political situations.

  I had really enjoyed it. Then I had begun to think about my situation. I had been promoted far above my skill level. The time had not yet come when someone called me on it, but I kept waiting for that knock on the door, the one that would herald the coming of a dark, hooded cosmic being who would point a sepulcheral finger at me and proclaim, "You're a phony!" Then Ogres with moving carts would strip everything out of the offices, and I'd be evicted onto the street with my simple belongings wrapped in a handkerchief, while everyone I had ever met laughed at my humble retreat.