Class Dis-Mythed

I didn't have to worry. The Manticore cared for nothing but getting his jug back. His tail slashing, he stalked around the gum-gorse tree, measuring his chances of leaping up at Pologne. As I had assumed, the branches were too thick. The beast started to climb up the trunk.

"Yeowch! Yeowch! Yeeee—uhhh?"

Within two steps, the accretion of viscous sap was enough to cement the Manticore's limbs to the trunk. With total bemusement on his Klahdlike face, the Manticore tried to pull a forepaw loose. It wouldn't come. Neither would the other. He yanked at one back leg then the other. No luck. With a

fearsome snarl, he swung his tail around for a killing stab. The stinger plunged deep into the bark—and held fast. The growl died away to a puzzled whine.

"It worked!" Melvine exclaimed. "Wow. You got that right, Teach."

"Thanks," I said drily.

The Pervect continued to float around the treetop, spewing her version of invective. "You're ugly! And Mother doesn't love you! And I don't like it when you blink my cosmetics out just when I'm about to put them on—"

"Pologne!" I called. "You can stop now!"

"Oh," she said, clearly disappointed. "I was just hitting my stride. Are you sure I should not abuse it a while longer?"

"No," I said. "Come down. I want to talk to it."

Chapter Twelve

"I think we've forgotten something." ALAMO COMMEMORATION COMMITTEE

The Manticore heaved wildly, trying to pull each limb loose. He was not going anywhere. The sticky gum had merged with his fur, creating a thick felt that could have been used for roofing. He couldn't launch lightning bolts at us now, even if he wanted. The scorpionlike tail had been wound halfway around the bole of the tree. Truthfully, the Manticore looked pretty pathetic. Dribbles of blood oozed out of the long fur from where the thorns had pierced the skin. His eyes rolled with fear as we converged upon him. Gleep flattened himself on his belly, and snarled. The Manticore cringed back even farther.

"Now, we kill it?" Melvine asked, advancing on the creature with a bloodthirsty gleam in his eyes.

"Nope," I said, stiffarming the Cupy several feet from our captive. "We just talk to him."

"What? What fun is that?"

I turned to the Pervects. "Can any of you speak Manticore?"

"Well," Freezia said, raising a forefinger. "I did a course in comparative languages. But he hasn't said anything yet for me to compare it to!"

"Let's see if we can get him to say something."

I had not spent several years in the Bazaar at Deva for nothing. Most of the Deveel vendors there knew several languages, the better to cheat—I mean, deal—with buyers from numerous dimensions, and none of them would ever let a sale slip by for ANY reason. The usual means of communicating with newcomers was a spell or an amulet of translation. I felt the force line. It was plumping up nicely. I scoured my memory

for the spell that I had learned from a friendly merchant named Bellma—for a price, of course. Nothing was free in the Bazaar, but it was often worth the cost.

The magikal force had resurged sufficiently for me to include all of my apprentices within the range of the spell. It didn't have a physical manifestation, but I felt as though we were now linked by tubes that led from our mouths to everyone else's ears.

"Who are you?" I asked the Manticore.

The beast jerked back—as far as he could, covered with glue—and gazed at me. "You speak my language!" "Uh, sort of. I'm Skeeve. These are my students."

"I am Evad, ensign of the Royal Manticorean Navy. You must be a powerful general to have captured me," the Manticore said. "I bow to you." He couldn't do that much, either, but I appreciated the effort.

"Actually, I'm a magician," I said. "What were you doing tearing up that town? You wrecked most of the place."

The Manticore showed his fangs. "They were not intelligent. I asked them where I was, and no one could tell me! I tried to insist that they send for a translator, and they kept hitting me with things. That was rude! I got impatient."

I raised an eyebrow. "So you got drunk and smashed the place up? What's your commanding officer going to think of that?"

For the first time the creature actually looked ashamed of himself. His big, shaggy head drooped. "Not much. I have only five days left on my leave, and I'm wasting it in this stupid backwater! No offense."

"None taken," I replied with a smile. "It's nothing I haven't thought myself from time to time. This dimension is called Klah, though not by the people who live here. They've got pretty particular ideas about keeping your hands off other people's houses, by the way. You'll have to make up for the damage you did."

The Manticore moaned. "My head hurts!"

I turned to Tolk. "Can you do something for him?"

"Sure-sure-sure!" the Canidian said. "Happy to try. Never had a Manticorean for a patient before, eh? Hold still."