Myth-Gotten Gains

A round porthole appeared in the center of the door. "Who seeks admittance?" asked a hoarse voice.

"A fellow seeker," I replied.

"By what right do you seek admittance here?" the voice continued.

"By common interests and brotherhood," I said. "Look, can we skip the rest of the litany? I don't have twenty minutes to waste tonight."

The voice got haughty. "We have standards to maintain! To continue' what brought you to this place?"

It was question three of fifty-one. I sighed. "The search for wisdom."

".. .And what is the name of the seeker who seeks admittance, under the bylaws and statutes of this august institution?" the voice finally asked, almost an hour later. The others had waited behind me, out of earshot, since the whole password thing was supposed to be a secret. I could hear Asti and Buirnie giggling. I had felt that humiliated in my life, but not recently. I gritted out the last answer.

"Aahz. Aahzmandius. Now, open the damned door already!"

"Aahzmandius...let me check the records. Yes, membership dues paid up to date. Come in, seeker, and be welcome!"

The eye slot slammed shut. I stood back. Most of the wall opened up to reveal double doors of solid gold inlaid with impressive jade sigils. Most of them were jokes that only other magicians would get, like the one on my left as I strode in that said, "Eat at Joe's," in a remote, ancient dialect of Imp. Another was a complex recipe for seaweed stew.

As I entered, two scantily-clad females in pink and blue sequins flanking the doorway threw up their gloved hands and posed.

"Ta-daaaaa!" they chorused.

Tananda pussyfooted her way inside, as one who always felt at ease no matter where she was, but Calypsa was open-beaked, gawking at everything like the most backwoods country rube.

I had to admit that the place had its impressive elements. Illusions of trapeze artists swung around the chandeliered ceiling in between the triple images of fire-breathing dragons. I realized I was wrong—the one in the middle really was a dragon, part of the club's security system, since even advanced magicians generally needed a specialized control device to keep

from getting eaten by a dragon that they had not personally impressed. This one, a brick-colored monstrosity with five heads, clung to a protruberance like an upside-down Christmas tree. It lowered one head to sniff at us as we came in. I signed to the others to hold still for the pat-down as the monster nose ran us up one side and down the other. Fortunately, I had encountered this one before. Dragons never forgot a scent, of people to whom they were indifferent, and people they hated. They rarely, if ever, liked a nondragon. Gleep, Skeeve's smelly pest—I mean, pet—was a notable exception. Tananda winked at it as it drew away, which startled it into letting out a puff of sulfur-scented smoke.

I felt right at home. Magicians from a hundred dimensions hung out there alone or in small groups, absorbing alcohol and other intoxicants. Just to my right, one stout Kobold was demonstrating to a goggle-eyed Vulpine how to breathe out a stream of fire. Beyond them, a big group of Imp magicians in gaudy outfits only Imps would think were stylish were engaged in a loud discussion about cabinets. Same old, same old.

"Bar's over there," said the haughty voice, only minimally warmer. It turned out to be coming from a sawed-off little squirt of a guy with a long, thin nose and large, limpid eyes. "We had to move it from the original location while the new library was being installed. Half the books kept absorbing the alcohol. Although you can still have a drink in there. Some of the members need it while they're reading."

"Thanks," I said. "Say, can you tell me if one of my buddies came in in the last couple of hours? He's a Pikinise. He's got a book he said I could borrow."

"Oh, him! Yes, he's in the library." Squirt pointed us toward the huge oil painting of a room full of leather-bound books on carved wooden shelves. It was a magikal illusion that covered the doorway. Another couple of stage assistants stood by to acclaim anyone who came or went through it. "Guy sure can drink. Not much for talking."

"Thanks." I started in the direction he indicated.

"Come on," I said to Tananda and Calypsa. "The library's filled with tall shelves. We can surround him and sneak up on him."

"I fear not, good Aahz," Ersatz whispered to me from inside his illusory disguise as a set of twirling batons. "I can sense Payge, therefore he can sense us. He may alert Froome. We must hurry."

"Right." I sauntered faster. "Move it."

Five feet from the oil painting, we bounced off an invisible barrier. I shoved at it, but it seemed to stretch out in every direction. I stormed back to the concierge's desk.

"What's the idea?" I demanded.