"I figure that's just their little way of welcoming us to town," the Geek said, hopefully. "I could tone it down a little. Have the Salamanders only operate at night?"

"What about the size of the displays? You could feed a starving country on what you're spending to cover that kind of real estate!"

"I must tell you, Mister Geek, that I am disappointed in your lack of restraint," Matfany said, in a quiet voice that impressed the heck out of the Deveel. "Some of your partners have actually put up signs that are larger than the feature itself that they have named. Is that sponsorship as you know it?"

The Geek rose to the occasion. "Uh, well, I could go down a half."

"You can go down to nothing," I countered.

"Forget it, Aahz! This isn't the deal we agreed to."

"If you read the contract, that is exactly the deal you agreed to."

"Then I want out! I want a refund!"

I felt as if my heart was being torn right out of my body. "You want... a what? No way!"

"That sounds like a reasonable response," Matfany said.

"You can take all that nonsense off our mountain. I will find a means of returning your funds to you at once."

"What?" the Geek asked, off guard. "What about my investment? What about the money I put into that display? What about all the subsidiary rights I sold on the logo? What about the advertising I paid for to get people to come and visit Geek's Peak?"

The prime minister shrugged. "I suppose that we are both going to suffer a loss. That's business. We've been broke before. As you so tactfully point out. We will give him back his money, Mister Aahz."

I was still hyperventilating. "Give ... it... back?" I saw the president's desk gallop away from me on little wooden legs. "I can't do that!"

"Then what's your offer?" the Geek asked.

Matfany peered over his glasses at him. "I want you to lessen your ... logos to something not so intrusive, is what I want."

"Intrusive's the name of the game, pal. Where did subtlety get you? In the hole, that's where. This is the way out."

"I'd rather be in the hole than desecrate our landscape, sir," Matfany said. "I thought you understood the nature of our agreement."

"You wetlanders are all alike," the Geek yelled. "You don't know what civilization's really like."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," I bellowed. I pulled Matfany aside. "What's the harm in letting him have a few little fireworks? When the crisis is over, you can nationalize all the geographical features again. In the meanwhile, it's a way of drawing people back here and getting some serious cash flow going. After all, you are going to have to figure out a way to pay M.Y.T.H., Inc.'s fee, aren't you?"

Matfany's proud shoulders slumped a little.

"Necessity makes traders of us all, Mister Aahz. Very well, then."

After two hours of solid and loud negotiation, Matfany agreed that the Geek and his partners could have a display on each of the items they sponsored, but such displays were to be limited to a standard billboard in size. The Geek's Salamander crew could operate for three hours after sunset every night, no more. Neither side was happy, but at least no refunds had to be issued.

Matfany shook his head when the Geek disappeared to inform his partners of the changes.

"I don't like it, Mister Aahz," he said.

"Don't like what?" I asked, peevishly. This investment was saved, but I was still feeling the sting of losing Dervina. That thousand coins was going to be hard to replace, and I would never get another appointment with the Gnomes over Foxe-Swampburg.

"I must say I doubt that those Deveels are going to stick to the agreement we just made. Just a feeling I have."

"A newborn baby would get that idea from talking to a Deveel," I said. "Look, the Geek agreed to tone down his fancy sign. You'll hardly know it's there."

"I would have preferred to have no lights at all. I understand why we have got to put up with it for the term of the contracts, but it is gonna upset the Old Folks. They like the way things are."

"So what?" I asked. "I can talk to a bunch of senior citizens. Where are they?"

"Well, that's kind of hard to explain. They're just around. They sort of enforce the old ways."

"Are they Swamp Foxes?" I asked.

Matfany nodded. "Yes, sir. Well, they were Swamp Foxes. When they were alive."

I felt the scales at the back of my neck prickle. "They're dead? Are they undead now?"

"No, sir, they're just dead. But they don't go away. Why would they? Foxe-Swampburg is their home. They like it here. And I don't think they're gonna like your changes too much, even if you do think they toned it all down."

"What can a bunch of ghosts do?" I asked, with a laugh. I opened the door. SPLAT!

A long-dead fish hit me in the face.

"Who threw that?" I demanded.

"I beg your pardon, sir," a courteous voice shouted from the middle of the crowd. "I meant to hit that rapscallion next to you. This one's for you!" A hunk of decayed seaweed smacked into me.

I bamfed out. I had had enough of Foxe-Swampburg for one day. I had to locate some more prospects to replace Dervina. At least the investment here was safe.

I frowned at Gimblesby Ockwade. The Imp tycoon crossed his arms over the breast of his blue houndstooth suit. "So that's your final word on it? You won't even listen to the transcript of The Princess's Diary? Your letter to us was downright enthusiastic."

"That was before I heard more about it," Ockwade said. "I don't really go in for prurient literature."

"Prurient?" I repeated, not sure I had heard him right. "But it's just the observations of a young woman ..."

"Enough!" he said, throwing up a hand. "I don't want to hear any more. I have a weak heart, and I can't take too many shocks. Just go away, please."

"May I just ask who told you what was in her diary?"

The Imp turned pink. "I have my sources. I consider them reliable."

"You know my reputation, don't you?" I asked, though I knew it was a lost cause to make any further appeal to him. "I'm considered very reliable, and I think you should reconsider using that source. He's lying for his own purposes."

Ockwade turned pinker. "I don't remember giving you a name."

I allowed myself an imperious smile. "I am a magician, you know. I have ways of knowing."

"Reading minds without permission is rude! Goodbye, Mister Skeeve. Good to meet you, Mistress Massha."

"Just Massha," the court magician of Possiltum said, with a wicked wink. "Gave up being a mistress a long time ago when I got married."

The Imp's bright pink cheeks turned even pinker. He glanced at Nunzio, but thought better of addressing him.

"Thank you for dropping by," he said, all but pushing us through the ornate doors of his office "Miss Selquiff, send in my three o'clock appointment."

"What a disaster," I said, as we got outside the gaudily painted office building. I ducked around the corner and leaned against the wall.

"You said it, Big Shot," Massha said, fanning herself with a length of the filmy violet cloth she wore around her ample form. "That's four in a row."

The Imp tycoon had been nice enough to listen to my explanation of the difference between the princess's Cake ceremony and the knockoffs that Aahz had spawned across the dimensions, but he had flat out refused to reschedule Hermalaya's appearance. Most of those who had canceled wouldn't even take my calls. The people I did speak with were apologetic. Some of them renewed their invitations, but most of them didn't want anything to do with me. The controversy and the sudden onslaught of imitators were poisoning our appeal.