Myth 18 - MythChief by Asprin, Robert (good non fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

“So. er, Marmel, what kind of question can I answer for you?” I asked, glancing at his solid-​tin business card.

“My old dad died last month,” he said. Figuring he didn't look woebegone enough, he whipped a blue-​and-​yellow-​spotted handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his eyes, which teared on cue. Even I could smell the onion he had hidden in the folds of cloth. I coughed, and he put the vegetable back in his pocket. “I've got a sister, see? Her name's Marmilda. Our old mother's gone, too. We're orphans.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I said. “How can I help?”

“Glad you want to,” Marmel said, grinning affably, his fake tears forgotten. He stuffed the cloth back into his pocket. “It's like this: Dad left us both a share in the family business. That's okay. We make wolidgins. Best in all of Imper. Marmilda runs the operation. I'm the head of sales. That's fine.”

I nodded, making a mental note to look up “wolidgins ” “Then what's the problem?”

“Weil, outside of the business and the homeit's not exactly a mansion, but it's big enough for us and our fami-​lies, see?there isn't much else. Except for the Hoho Jug.”

“The what?”

“That's what the old man always called it. His prized possession. It's worth a bundle. Powerful magik. It's a big pitcher, real fancy looking. You can pour wine out of it forever. It never runs dry.”

“Why's it called the Hoho Jug?” “When you holler down if the echo sounds kind of like 'ho- ho.'”

I shrugged. Imps weren't known for having a lot of imag-​ination. “Why do you need my help with the Hoho Jug?”

“Well, I figure, that since I'm the outside rep for our business, it ought to go to me. Also, I'm the only son. Marmilda, she's the eldest, and she thinks, that since she's running the place, she wants to keep the employees happy, it ought to go to her.”

“Who did your father want to have it? What's his will say''”

“No will,” Marmel said, with a shrug. “We've looked everywhere. And that's what I don't get, because he was always meticulous about paperwork. But, look, we were both there at Dad's deathbed, and I swear he looked right at me and said I ought to have it.”

“Were those his exact words?” I asked, reaching for a pencil. This was starting to sound promising.

“Nope. Sounded more like 'uh wah uh uh uv ah.' But that's what it sounded like to me. So, I asked again. I said, 'Dad, who gets the Hoho Jug?' And he pointed.” “At you?” I asked.

“Well.” Marmel didn't sound too certain. "Marmilda was sitting next to me. She says he pointed at her.

I'm pretty certain he pointed at me. Look, Mr. Skeeve, I need your help. When Dad died, the Hoho Jug disappeared. Dad told us plenty of times that it will only reappear when the right-​ful heir calls it back. Marmilda said if she gets it, she's going to sell it to raise capital. I don't want it out of the family. It's my inheritance. What do you say?"

“Sounds interesting,” I said. I nodded. Figuring out which was the real heirthat sounded like something I could do. It wasn't a guard job, or item retrieval or any of the other things my friends did so well, so it didn't tread on M.Y.T.H., Inc.'s toes. If there was no clear mandate in the father's words, then maybe I could negotiate an amiable settlement between the siblings. The solution wasn't depen-​dent upon my mediocre magikal skills, and I could do it on my own. “This is worth looking into. You know I can't guarantee that you're going to end up with the Hoho Jug as your exclusive property. But I'll help you find out the truth.”

Marmel shrugged. “I'll take the chance. My spell or yours?”

“Lead the way,” I said. “One minute.” I leaned out the curtain and grinned at Bunny. “We've got a client,” I told her. “Postpone my other appointments. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“Good for you, Skeeve,” she said, beaming. “Break a leg.”

BAMF!

I had never spent much time in Imper. After Deva, which was mostly desert, and of that desert, most of it was the Bazaar, Imper seemed cold and damp. A wind full of raindrops slapped me in the face like a wet fish. I sput-​tered.

“No place like home, huh?” Marmel said, taking a deep breath of rain and pounding his fists contentedly on his chest. “Welcome to Sirecoose. C'mon, follow me.”

Whereas the Bazaar was a warren of tents, wooden buildings, stables, corrals, the occasional sandstone empo-​rium, and an endless maze of curtained stalls, Sirecoose comprised winding, cobblestoned streets lined with three-​and four-​story houses and buildings that leaned over the throroughfares enough that an Imp could easily have leaned out an upper window and handed an object to his neighbor across the street. I spotted plenty of Mom 'n' Pop stores, with the family home clearly over the prem-​ises. Factories I spotted in the distance. Sparks poured out of the chimneys instead of smoke. Imper relied more heavily than most other dimensions on magik for its man-​ufacturing.

Imps were well-​known for poor, even frightening dress sense. I tried not to pay attention as we threaded our way through the noonday crowd. They favored bright colors and wild patterns, the combination of which made me feel faintly dizzy. A rose pink woman wearing a