"Whoa! Wait a minute. Did you say Pookie shot you?"

Now I am annoyed with myself. After havin' successfully dodged the question earlier, I have proceeded to re-introduce the subject all by myself.

I decide to settle this once and for all by takin' it on head on ... with a bluff.

"Really, boss," I sez, hurt-like, drawin' myself up to my full height. "I thought we agreed that we wasn't gonna talk about this. Not for a while, anyway."

With that I make my exit, with as much dignity as I can muster.

"No trouble at all, old boy. Glad to help. Could use a change of scenery, really."

This is Chumley talkin'. I came to see him as soon as I rolled out in the morning to ask him about bein' backup muscle for Pookie and Spyder. As a Troll, he is probably the strongest, toughest member of our team, next to Nun-zio and me, even if he does talk funny when he isn't workin'.

"The Boss was sayin' that Pookie could take care of your appearance with her disguise spell," I sez.

"Actually, that won't be a problem," he sez. "Little sister left me a gizmo that should handle things. Where did I put that?"

He rummages around in a drawer and comes up with a device I recognize. I had seen his sister, Tananda, use it when we worked together briefly on our last assignment.

It looks like one of those mirror-compact rigs that the dolls use, except this one has a couple dials that, if you knew how to manipulate them, could change your appearance just like a disguise spell. That much I know. How to use the thing I haven't a clue.

"So, you're all set?" I sez. "When do you figure you can get started?"

"Oh, there are a couple things I've got to finish up first, then I'll be ready," he sez. "It would also probably be discreet to wait until I heard officially from Skeeve before embarking. Don't you think?"

This takes me a bit aback.

He's right, of course. Usually team assignments are handed out by the Boss. The trouble is that havin' rigged things to investigate the so-called rebellion without clearin' it with the Boss, plus pretty much captainin' the team while we were in the field, has gotten me in the habit of independent action. Of course, as I mentioned earlier, in the Mob such habits of independence are not necessarily conducive to one's continued health.

"Of course," I sez, not lettin' on that I overlooked that loop. "I guess I'm just kinda anxious to get things rollin' so's Pookie won't have to operate too long alone."

"From what I've seen of Pookie," Chumley sez, "she seems quite capable of taking care of herself... and several others, besides."

I am glad Chumley has not asked for details about my wounded arm. Even though she asked me to do it, I am not really comfortable attributin' Spyder's error to Pookie.

"Well, I'm off to see Massha," I sez.

"Tell her 'Hi' for me," he sez. "I may not get a chance to stop and see her before I go. Besides, frankly, I find all her preparations for the wedding to be a little unnerving."

"You know," I sez, shakin' my head, "I still can't believe that neither the Boss nor Aahz said anything to me about Masshagettin' married. I saw both of 'em when I got in last night, and neither of them even mentioned it."

"They both seem to have a lot on their minds these days," Chumley sez. "Besides, Massha seems to be taking care of the arrangements herself, so they haven't really been that involved ... so far."

As I make my way to Massha's room, however, it occurs to me that this is yet another example of how the way the Boss does things differs so radical-like from other Mob operations. In the regular Mob, a marriage is a major event. Comin' in second only to the attention they give funerals.

"You just sit right there, Guido, honey. Massha has just the thing to fix up that arm of yours ... if I can just lay my hands on it."

"Will it hurt?" I sez, a little nervous. I have never tried magical healin' before, and am uncertain as to what it involves.

"A little more than amputation, but you'll still have your arm," she sez, distracted.

"Are you kiddin' me?" I sez, lookin' toward the door.

"Of course I'm kidding you," she sez, laughin'. "Don't be such a baby. Honestly. Men. Always so ready to get into a fight, and such little boys when it comes to healing up afterward. Really, you won't feel a thing. Ah! Here we are!"

She comes up with a tube of something from which she then proceeds to squeeze a glob of creamy goo over my wound. It glows and sparkles for a moment, then seems to soak right into the skin, leavin' no trace behind. I'll have to admit, she is correct. Not only does it not hurt, it feels sort of cool and soothing.

"There we are," she sez. "The muscle will probably be a bit sore for a while, so you might want to leave the sling on. It should be good as new by tomorrow."

"Thanks, Massha," I sez, flexing my arm cautiously.

Frankly, I am amazed. Not by the healin', though I'll admit it was pretty impressive, but by the fact she could find it at all.

Chumley told me that Massha has changed quarters, but he always did have a gift for understatement. Her new room is roughly the size of a small warehouse, makin' it roughly three times the size of either of the rooms Nunzio and I have. Even with the extra acreage, however, it is crammed to the walls.

There are bolts of cloth and drawin's piled everywhere. Shoes and fabric samples and jewelry are scattered about in seemingly careless abandon, and there is not one but four full-sized sewin' dummies lined up in the center of the room. Realizin' that Massha is of the extra-extra-extra-extra-enormous size, this gives the feelin' that I am suddenly facin' the front line of a heavy contact-sport team after I have shrunk considerably.

The fact that she could find a small tube of goo in the middle of this chaos is nothin' short of miraculous.

I also find myself revisin' my earlier thoughts about this wedding not bein' a big deal. Judgin' from what Massha has goin', this event promises to make the biggest shindig the Mob has thrown look like a Tupperware party.

"By the way, Massha," I sez, "I guess congratulations or best wishes or whatever are in order. The General is a lucky man."

I mean this sincerely. After gettin' over the initial shock and thinkin' it over carefully, I have concluded that Massha is a real catch ... ignorin' the possible parallels to big-game trophies. While it is true that she is large to the point of bein' intimidatin', especially takin' into account her taste in clothes and jewelry which run to extreme of loud and flashy, the fact remains that the biggest thing about her is her heart. Underneath her brash and pushy exterior, Massha is perhaps the kindest, gentlest soul it has ever been my privilege to meet. General Badaxe could do a lot worse in pickin' a life partner.

"Thanks, Guido," she sez, startin' to tear up a little. "I still have trouble believing that it's really happening. I never thought... I mean, with the way I look ..."

She breaks off and blows her nose loudly, a sight which I will spare you the description of, bein' both a merciful and weak-stomached individual.

"So, how are the wedding plans coming?" I sez, tryin' to lighten the mood. "How are the pompous and circumstantials goin'?"

"It's utter madness," she sez, regainin' her composure. "Still, things are staggering along. The Queen has been a big help."

"The Queen? You mean Queen Hemlock?"

Things are suddenly adding up a bit. Massha is not only one of the M.Y.T.H. Inc. crew, she is also the Boss's apprentice... and Queen Hemlock has designs on the Boss. Of course she'll spare no expense in helpin' set up this wedding.