Myth-Gotten Gains

charm of the dungeon in Mernge. Its rough stone walls had been lined with mirrors and clothes racks where all the other contestants were getting ready for the contest. I had Tananda restore our disguises. I didn't want to scare the locals. Besides, Calypsa was so nervous that her feet did the flamenco all the way down the stairs.

"I don't even speak the language!" Calypsa wailed. "How can I please such an audience? Woe to the House of Calypso, that it should be reduced to a singing contest to save itself!"

"Since when did you ever have stage fright?" I asked her.

"Fear not, child," Ersatz said, soothingly. "Be valiant and do your best. All will come out well."

"Can you give her a potion to calm her down?" I asked Asti.

"Oh, no artificial stimulants permitted!" Kelsa shrilled. "She would be disqualified."

"Maybe that would be best," Tananda said. "She's too nervous to compete."

"You stay here," I said to Tananda. "I'll scope out the competition."

Buirnie was right' most of them weren't good. That was our best hope, that whatever peep Calypsa could let out in front of the audience would sound better than the rest of them.

"Aaaahhh hohhhh! Ah hah hah hah! Ah hee hee hee hee hee!"

I narrowed my eyes. That sounded suspiciously like opera, and pretty professional, too. I shoved through the crowd of wannabes looking for the source of the sound.

At the very back of the big dressing room, a huge female Elban was warming up. Her voice was so loud it rang off the rafters and the stone walls. Most of the contestants near her had edged as far away as the crowd permitted. I grabbed a powder puff off the nearest dressing table, tore it in half, and shoved it into my ears. If the Elbans near me noticed a discrepancy between the apparent size of my ears and the amount of fluffy wool I could stuff into them, they were in too much

misery to say so. Not that I would have cared; it was a matter of survival.

The female, a bright pink like I was supposed to be, tipped me a wink, laid a delicate hand across her ample chest, and burst into song. My heart sank. Calypsa was right. We didn't have a chance. I went back to my companions to wait out the inevitable and work on a Plan B.

Chapter 10

THE EXCITEMENT IN the wings of the immense theater was palpable, but I knew we were fighting a hopeless cause. Tananda and I had helped Calypsa go over every song she knew to pick out one that would please the audience and the Flute, who had avoided all contact with us from the moment we'd been ushered out of his dressing room. It didn't help that the opera singer had been as good as she had sounded warming up, but even the bad singers were better than our candidate. The producer, a stout male with a pale coat, kept shushing us. I felt like tearing his head off, but that wouldn't have made Calypsa's singing any better. I don't think anything could have.

"I don't know why we didn't just pick him up and bamf out when we had the chance," I grumbled, not for the first time.

"It is fair for him to set such a contest," Ersatz said. "Why, I mind me of a time when I was rammed into a stone by a wizard, to seek him who should be king of the land."

"Don't tell me—a twelve-year-old boy drew you."

"Nay, of course not," Ersatz said. "It was a great lug of a man with all the brains of a slime-mold, but he had the muscle to overcome the objections of his peers. In the end he was no worse a king than anyone else might have been."

"Shhh!"

At that moment, Buirnie was out on stage with the ever-present spotlight, Klik, shining down on him, showing him off in the best possible light. Petite Elbans with aprons came out and polished him in between acts, dusting off minute motes. The Fife was fussier than any ten divas I had ever met. He certainly looked good in comparison with his hapless contestants. And sounded better. I had cotton stuffed in my ears to protect them, though it didn't block out all the noise.

At intermission, I went out to get a drink—Crom knew I deserved one—and started sidling up to people in the bar and

in the lobby. Since it was audience's choice who won, a little persuasion, threat or bribery might help our candidate to the finish line.

"Vote for Calypsa," I told a big Elban with a white mustache in the middle of his light pink face. "She's the best."

"Someone's got to be," the male said, with a grimace that told me he was enjoying the contest about as much as I was.

"Vote for Calypsa," I suggested to a tableful of matronly looking females seated at a table in the back of the bar. "She's an orphan, and she could really use the break."

"Awwww." The women put their heads together. I went after a cluster of young Elbans giggling in front of a poster of Buirnie.

"Vote for Calypsa. She's a personal friend of his, ya know."

"Really?" one of the females asked, her eyes wide. I tapped the side of my nose with my forefinger, and the kids went into a huddle. I cornered a couple of big males by the men's room.