Myth Alliances

"Maybe he's on to something," a narrow-faced woman mused, tilting her head. "I never considered it more than a toy... but you never know what extra spells might be tucked in there. I've heard all kinds of things happen to people. You read about it in the news all the time."

"Hah," a young male sneered. "He's just jealous that he doesn't have his own goggles. Can't afford to buy one for yourself, Klahd?"

"I bet he works for a rival toymaker," an elderly female shrilled. "He doesn't like theirs, but we should buy yours, isn't that right, stinky?"

"No, it's not like that at all!"

The first policeman held up his hands. "All right, all right, calm down. We'll get to the bottom of this. We'll have the goggles inspected to make sure they don't cause any harm to any of you. In the meantime, give your names to Officer Koblinz, and we'll notify you when we've finished our investigation. Move along! Move along! Clear the road!"

The Scammies, grumbling, obeyed the first policeman's commands. Officer Two, Koblinz, took a pad of paper out of his pocket. Names magikally limned themselves down the index. He nodded and put it away.

"You can better believe we're going to get to the bottom of this," he promised.

"That's a relief," I breathed. Very quickly traffic returned to normal, and the complainants departed. "Well, thanks a lot." I spotted an alley where I could retrieve the D-hopper out of my boot in private, and started towards it.

"And where do you think you're going?" Officer One asked, grabbing me by the back of my collar. I struggled to pry myself loose, even using a flick of power, but he had a good grip on me.

"I've got to get back to my work," I told him. "I told you, those Pervects have a grip on another helpless dimension."

"You're not going anywhere!"

"What? Why?"

Officer One looked at me as though I was an idiot. "You're still under arrest for destroying personal property."

"But, gee, I said I'd pay for them," I protested.

"Nothing doing," he said, hauling me by my collar down the sidewalk to a waiting rat-horse cart. "Restitution will be part of the sentence. You're still being held for assault on sixty or eighty persons, destruction of property, causing a nuisance on the public highway with that sick rorse of yours, creating an affray ..."

"A what?" I asked.

The officer sighed, as if he had never met such a stupid being in his life. "Causing a riot, if you prefer it like that. The judge is really going to throw the book at you."

"What's the usual penalty for causing an affray?" I asked.

"Oh, thirty or forty days. But with all the other charges added on you're likely going to spend the rest of your life in here."

"Perhaps I could talk to the judge," I offered, stumbling as I climbed into the cart. "Arrange a payment schedule, and apologize to the Scammies I have offended?"

"I doubt it," Officer One said, gesturing his companion to whip up his animal. "Senior Domari was the first person you assaulted."

FOURTEEN

"Maybe I should have kept my nose out of it."

-C. DE BERGERAC

I paced from one side of my small cell to the other. It looked just like your average cell, but it smelled good for a change, like roses and new mown grass. Except for the fact that there were bars on the hand-sized window, iron bands wider than my torso on the door, and, oh, yes, walls of big rough stone in between them, I could have been walking in a delightful garden.

Officers One and Three, whom I now knew were called Gelli and Barnold, had left me the D-hopper and all of my other magikal paraphernalia, including the sample pair of glasses we had picked up in the Pervects' headquarters.

"The whole place is magik-proofed," Officer Gelli informed me, at my puzzled expression when he handed me back the D-hopper. "You can use that as a backscratcher, or whatever you like, but you're staying here until your arraignment."

"Do I get a lawyer?" I said.

"Sure. Who can we call to get one for you?" But there was no answer to that. My companions had escaped. I was thankful for that: there was no point in all five of us being locked up. Thanks to the disguise there was no way they could be identified as fellow perpetrators if they returned. When they returned. I knew my friends. They would not leave me here to rot.

The cell door had a huge, primitive key lock, the kind I had practiced opening hundreds of times back when I thought I wanted to be a thief. My fingers were small enough to reach the tumblers, but not strong enough to turn them through the keyhole. If I could only have summoned up a thread of power I could have shrunk the shaft of the D-hopper to use as a lock pick, but nothing doing.