Like wildfire, word spread throughout the land—from town to village, from peddler to peasant—that their once-idyllic kingdom was now under the control of a mighty magician who held the queen in thrall.

Though it was customary for the common folk to pay little attention to who it was that ruled them, much less the antics and machinations of palace politics, this time it was different.

It was clear to even a casual observer that the magician dabbled in the Black Arts. He openly associated with and sought counsel from demons, who even now roamed the corridors of the palace. As further evidence of his otherworldly nature and preferences, the magician kept a fierce dragon as a pet... a rarity that even the animal-loving ecologists of the land found disquieting. For those who would scoff at the existence of magik and other supernatural powers, there were frightening rumors of another sort. It was said that the so-called magician was connected to the criminal underground, trading political influence for their assistance in keeping the populace under control.

Even considering all this, the people might have been willing to ignore the power shift, were it not for one thing ... their taxes were being raised. While it was true that, even with the new increases, their taxes were barely half of what they had once been, the populace saw it as a grim foreboding of things to come. Once the magician succeeded in reversing the trend from lowering taxes to increasing them, it was asked, where would it stop?

Clearly, something would have to be done.

People who had never thought of themselves as heroes began to ponder and mutter, both singly and in groups, about ways to bring down the tyrant. Though they varied greatly in both skills and intelligence, the sheer volume of the plotters virtually insured the eventual downfall of the villain currently growing fat off the kingdom ... the man they called Skeeve the Great.

If there is one thing that a background as a Mob rough-off artist does not prepare you for, it is conducting a democratic-type business meetin'.

Business meetin's in the Mob is usually conducted with as few participants as possible, to keep the potential witness count to a minimum, and the agenda consists of out-linin' a situation in as little detail as possible, and endin' with the simple instruction of "Handle it." Havin' to utilize one's people-type skills to obtain opinions and input from the other participants is as unlikely as havin' to conduct a press conference.

Still, this was the specific situational I found myself in, and was determined to do the best I could with what little trainin' I had.

"I assume there is some specific reason for this summoning."

That was Chuniley talkin'. Even though he does a good job of playing dumb muscle when he's hired out as a troll, when he isn't workin', he talks as good as anyone and better than most.

"Ask Guido," Nunzio sez, jerkin' a thumb at me. "It's his show."

Now Nunzio, in addition to bein' my cousin, is also my usual workin' partner of choice. Unfortunately, as sometimes happens even in the best of partnerships, we happen to be in disagreement as to the necessity of this meetin'. As the senior partner, I have pulled rank and the meetin' is happenin'. As junior partner, however, Nunzio is standing on his right to bein' a royal pain in the butt while assistin' me.

"Well," I sez, ignoring Nunzio, "since we're all here, we might as well get started."

"Just a minute, Guido. Aren't we missing someone?"

This is Aahz pipin' up from where he has been leanin' against the wall next to the door. Him, I've been expectin' trouble from.

I favor him with a level stare.

"If youse is referrin' to the Boss, Aahz, I am well aware that he is not present. In fact, that is one of the reasons for this meetin'. You see, certain information has come to the attention of Nunzio and myself, and it is our... my desire to consult with all of youse as to whether it is wisest to pass said information along to the Boss, or if we should simply act on it ourselves."

This is, of course, the crux of the disagreement between Nunzio and myself, as, in the Mob, to hold a meetin' without the participation or even the knowledge of one's boss is to invite the interpretation that one is planning some kind of takeover attempt. In the Mob, such activity is justification for termination of the most permanent kind.

Now, knowin' the Boss the way we do, I do not fear that this is a likely possibility. Particularly as we are tryin' to figure out how to support him, not attemptin' any kind of power play. The truth of it is, we is quite fond of the Boss and have prospered individually since havin' been assigned to him.

Nunzio, on the other hand, maintains that the Boss is at least technically a Mob sub-chieftain, and that callin' this meetin' is therefore treadin' on even thinner ice than some of the capers we have taken part in since joinin' the Boss's crew. At least then, he sez, we could claim that we was actin' under orders from the Boss. This meetin' is definitely my own idea, and as such I will be held personally responsible for any fallout which might occur from it. There are times when bein' an order-takin' goon and therefore low on the chain of accountability has its advantages.

"Let him talk, Aahz. I, for one, want to hear what he has to say."

That is Massha talkin', earnin' her one of my widest smiles for her support, which she returns with a wink.

Aahz starts to say somethin', then just shrugs and gestures for me to start.

"Okay," I sez. "Now you all know that durin' our recent assignment to stop or curtail the expansionist type efforts of Queen Hemlock, Nunzio and me stood duty for a while as Army types. Well, it seems that Hugh Badaxe's scouts have uncovered some news that affects the Boss. Not wantin' to take official action or use official channels, he looked up one of the squad that was servin' under Nunzio and me and sent 'em here to pass the word along to us."

I turn and wave a hand at the figure lounging against the wall behind me.

'This is Spyder. I guess you'd call her an old Army buddy of mine. Spyder, I'd like you to tell the crew what you told Nunzio and me."

Now Spyder was probably the toughest member of our squad after Nunzio and me. She is whipcord lean with the grace of an alley cat and twice the attitude. Due to Army regulations, her short hair is now a uniform light brown instead of the rainbow of colors it was when she enlisted. This has not, however, made her look any the more military or otherwise domesticated. She continues to give the impression of bein' an over-aged gutter punk ready to fight and half-lookin' for it, which is exactly what she is.

She has been studyin' the assemblage as they came in like a store security type durin' the holidays. As I feed her the cue, like, she cranks her cat-eyes around to look at me direct.

"I don't think so," she sez, shakin' her head.

"Spyder," I sez, tryin' to keep my voice level. "This is not the time to get cute. I told you I wanted you to talk to these folks. Now tell them what Hugh Badaxe told you."

"You said you wanted me to talk to some friends of yours, Swatter," she snarls. "And I agreed. Didn't even say 'Boo' about us meeting in a stable. But who are these people? The big hairy guy with the different-sized eyes, and the two with the green scales and pointed ears? You can't tell me they're from around here. And unless I've gone completely around the bend, that is definitely a dragon listening in from that stall. I want to know whom I'm talking to before I open up. I know you and Nunzio, but these people ... ?"