"Bobbie Jo! Great to see you, kid!" Massha grabbed my arm and dragged me through the enormous double doors. The woman with pale blue fur sitting on the modest but obviously expensive divan looked as if she had a wide fur skirt spread around her feet. "It's been too long."

"Massha, honey!" The woman rose up high, then her body settled in among three sets of arched legs as if it were in a hammock. That big skirt was a set of long legs like those of a spider. I have never been big on spiders. She made toward us with two arms outstretched.

I cringed. "I've never seen a spider that big," I whispered to my former apprentice.

"Hush!" Massha whispered back. "Don't mention spiders. They're Octaroobles. Now, smile!"

The spi—okay, Octarooble—came to air-kiss my former apprentice on each cheek. I felt a little awkward as Massha shoved me forward like a six-year-old ordered to play violin for the guests. The woman, with owl-like eyes and a crest of stiff hairs on the top of her head, regarded me with curiosity. I smiled weakly. Her jaws moved side-ways instead of up and down, reminding me far too much of a spider's palps.

"Bobbie Jo, this is Skeeve the Magnificent. Skeeve, this is Robelinda Jocasta, Chief of the Clans of Octaroo."

"A pleasure," I said. She extended a blue-furred hand. I bowed over it, trying to remember I'd met uglier and more fearsome creatures. This was for a good cause, I reminded myself. I was here for Hermalaya. "I am honored to meet someone Massha holds in such esteem." I placed my hand on top of my head, fingers up, as Massha had instructed me.

Chief Robelinda Jocasta sent me flying with a backward knock of that same hand. "He's a pretty talker, Massha! No wonder you like him."

You'd think I would have no trouble getting in to meet people of high rank or lofty offices, but I had been out of touch for long enough that many of my connections had gone cold. In contrast, Massha, who now held my job of Court Magician to Queen Hemlock of Possiltum. had plenty of numbers in her little black book and was graciously willing to share them with me.

I had had my share of humility lessons since the end of my self-imposed retirement, and this one was no less grating on what was left of my ego. Massha, specialist in gadget-magik, gaudy dresser, woman of size—make that extreme size—brassy, bold, and awkward, had grown into a difficult job with aplomb and grace. She had expanded her duties to fit her presence, whereas I had spent a lot of time ducking to keep from having to do too much work and putting myself in harm's way. Massha reveled in every detail. She and the queen had become good friends. Massha was brash and prickly, but Hemlock, not exactly a shrinking violet herself, liked her style. She had sent Massha out on a lot of missions of goodwill on behalf of the kingdom, so when I asked about prospects for me to approach about

Hermalaya, Massha had a long list. Possiltum was not one of them. When I asked Hemlock, out of courtesy, she snorted. "Are you crazy?" she had asked me. "I've got my own problems." She had always been notoriously unsympathetic. However, she had allowed me to take Massha with me, or rather her to take me, to meet her friends and drum up support.

"Thanks for taking the time to meet with us," I said.

"No problem, kid! And call me Bobbie Jo. After all the stuff Massha's told me about you, I couldn't wait to meet you. What can I do for you?"

"I'm here on behalf of Princess Hermalaya of Foxe-Swampburg," I said.

"Fine old family. I knew her dad, Tinian. We met at a monarchs' conference in Vaygus," Bobbie Jo said, returning to sit on the divan. The legs settled around her again, making her look only about ten percent as scary. "Could that man cut a rug? Wow! And his lady, Indicia, was a sweetie, too. She and I used to exchange recipes. I was devastated when they died." She patted the seat beside her and beckoned to me. Nervously, I sat down. "So, what's been going on with her?"

If there had ever been a cue, that was it. I unfurled the Princess's Diary and let the spell play out.

Chief Robelinda sat up as the image of the Swamp Vixen appeared. She listened carefully to the soft voice as Hermalaya read from her diary. When she got to the part about the aftermath of the pinchbug invasion, I saw tears in Bobbie Jo's big, round eyes. By the section in which Matfany threw her out and placed a death sentence on her, the Chief of the Clans of Octaroo was openly sobbing into a silk handkerchief. The image faded, and I rolled the scroll up again.

"Ay!" she exclaimed, blowing her nose on the now sodden silk. "That poor thing! But what can I do for her? I'm not going to invade a neighbor dimension. I could provoke a lot of our hereditary enemies into a preemptive strike. This whole dimension is a powder keg. I can't put Octaroo into an untenable position even for the sake of an old friend's daughter."

"To be honest, I'm looking for several kinds of help. Hermalaya needs to find some leverage to get Matfany out. If we can destabilize him, maybe we can get the people to depose him. Do they owe you any money?"

Bobbie Jo waved over a page, a young Octarooble about ten years old. He came running on eight pale gray legs and beamed up at her with his sideways mouth. "Go get Hirame, baby." The little one sprinted out of the room like a whole track team.

In a little while, a thin, wizened male with pinched cheeks and a pinched expression entered and bowed deeply over the armload of ledgers held in two of his furry arms. I took a moment to wonder why all government bureaucrats looked alike, no matter what their species. And sounded alike.

"The principality known as Foxe-Swampburg," Hirame intoned, peering at me as if I was an unruly student, "has indeed a long-running item upon our rolls of accounts receivable. An outstanding invoice of fifty gold coins. Running for over three years now. They had been keeping up the interest, but not in some... time. Are you here to make payment?"

"No, I'm not," I said, cheerfully. "In fact, we're hoping that you'll call in the debt."

"And may I ask why?"

"Oh, we're hoping to overthrow the government." "I... see," Hirame said, but his wrinkled brow said he didn't, really.

"Why, that's brilliant," Bobbie Jo said, grinning at me. "And reinstate the credit if you manage to get Tinian's daughter back in?"

"Uh, well, if we do get her back on the throne," I said, "we were hoping you might just forgive the debt entirely. The kingdom's in no shape to pay it or the interest. AND"— I took a deep breath; this was the sticky part—"perhaps you could see your way clear to a loan or a grant of capital, to tide them over until Foxe-Swampburg recovers? She needs to rebuild the treasury, and there's no real prospect of income until we get the tourists coming back. It might be an uphill battle, after the pinchbugs."

"A further loan?" Hirame asked, his round eyes regarding me coldly.

"Something for nothing?" Bobbie Jo asked, her crest rising. "That's just not like Tinian or anyone in his family." The knees started to go up again.

Hastily, I waved away the suggestion. "No, of course we're not asking for an outright gift. Have you ever heard of the Reynardan Cake ceremony?" I launched into my sales pitch. I could tell that Bobbie Jo was more than interested. Even the disapproving Hirame was agog though he tried not to show he was listening.

"Of course, you may honor anyone else you like by admitting them to the Cake ceremony," I said, with a nod toward Hirame. The disapproving stare became just a little less glassy. There's nothing that can pry open a wallet, I mused, like the chance to experience something exclusive and mysterious. "The princess would consider it a pleasure to share an intimate part of her culture out of gratitude to those who helped her regain her patrimony."