"Okay, people, let's focus," I said. "We're not here to shop. We're here to find someone."

"Right you are," Chumley agreed, dragging his attention away from the rainbow seller. Massha reluctantly came to hover close. "Do we approach the management and ask for their assistance?"

"Let's scope out the place, first," I said. "If they knew why we were here, they might want to lean on us for repayment of their imaginary debt, and I am not going to give them a dime. Let's ask around, see if anyone's seen the kid, or someone identifying himself as Skeeve."

We started up the right side of Avenue D, asking the shop owners or their assistants if they'd seen a Klahd calling himself Skeeve. That didn't prove fruitful. We jammed ourselves into stall after tent after shop, asked a few leading questions, and got nothing. Massha had with her a copy of the official court portrait of Skeeve from back when he was Court Magician of Possiltum. I thought it was a pretty good likeness, since it portrayed a tall, very young Klahd with strawlike blond hair and big, innocent blue eyes who wasn't exactly the high roller and big-time kingmaker that he sometimes thought he was, and sometimes even succeeded in being. This image showed him for what he was, a good-natured, friendly kid who could be taken advantage of. Crom knew I'd done it myself half a dozen times. For his own good, of course. No one we talked to could ID Skeeve, nor could anyone recall having sold him anything, expensive or otherwise. I couldn't see inquiring into every single booth in The Mall. The map didn't give a total number of retail establishments in the building, but I stood by my original assessment of four digits or better. We'd be there for years, and I wanted to kick this problem in the butt before the bars opened.

I was finding it hard to think. Thanks to Massha's spell the noise level had abated somewhat, but nothing she could do could improve the quality of The Mall's music system. A group of bards was situated about every fifty feet. They were universally lousy, and placed so that a walker wasn't completely out of earshot before the next group's sound intruded.

"There's the sporting-goods store that sold the skeet-shooting outfit," Chumley shouted over the sound of a krumhorn, an accordion, and a steel guitar mauling jazz. He aimed a large, hairy hand toward the opposite side of the corridor.

"I'll go." Massha rose above the crowd and floated toward the indicated establishment. Suddenly, I saw weapons rising to aim at her.

"Massha!" I roared.

Her eyes widened. She yawed to starboard, but too late. Six crossbow bolts ripped through the air. Four of them ventilated the fluttering cloth of her costume. Chumley and I leaped into the crowd and dragged her down. I popped my head up above the shoulders of the crowd of shoppers. The crossbowmen were reloading. I felt my blood pressure rise. 'Take care of her," I instructed the Troll.

Disregarding the glares and yells of protest from the crowd, I stormed across the passage, tossing shoppers out of my way as I went. The row of Klahds in the front of the sports store stared at me uncomprehendingly as I yanked the brand-new weapons out of their hands and crunched them into sawdust between my palms. Dropping the tangle of wood and wire, I advanced upon the cowering bowmen.

"No one, I mean, no one shoots at one of my friends without answering to me!" I bellowed.

The Klahds backed away, babbling. One of them fell to his knees. I went to seize him first, intending to use him as a bat to clobber the other five.

A blue figure scooted in between me and my rightful prey.

"I am so sorry, shopper!" the Djinn proprietor declared, bowing his apology.

The meaty, blue-skinned being flicked a wrist, and the. Klahds vanished.

"It was a misunderstanding, truly. Please! They mistook her for a target. I was just a moment too late to stop them. You see?"

He pointed at the high-beamed ceiling, where a dozen round bladders, a couple painted the same color as Massha's gaudy outfit, were tethered among a clutch of nervous-looking pigeons.

"Let me make it up to you," he offered, as Chumley stormed down upon him, fire in his mismatched eyes.

Massha floated behind him, her bright red harem pants in tatters.

"I am the owner of this fine establishment. My name is Gustavo Djinnelli. I am pleased to make your acquaintance." He bowed deeply. Surreptitiously, I waved Chumley back.

"What are you offering?" I inquired.

"What do you need?" the Djinn countered, with an airy wave. "I have game equipment of all kinds. No heavy weaponry. The Mall's rules forbid it. Or perhaps one of my many cousins has something in one of his or her stores that you might like? We Djinnellis have shops all over The Mall."

He looked at Massha hopefully. "I would be happy to give you anything you would like to make up for the dreadful error."

"Well..." I glanced at Massha, judging how much I could shake this guy down for.

"I'm not hurt," she assured me quickly. "Just shook up, but look at my clothes!" She held up a fold of floaty silk, shredded into fringe.

"No problem," the Djinn cooed, moving around her with the magikally enhanced speed of his kind and looking her up and down. "My cousin Rimbaldi will have exactly what you want. He stocks wonderful clothes in all kinds. His establishment, The Volcano, is famous! Such generous beauty! He will love to dress you, you will see! He will have such scope to show style!"'

A wide, slow smile spread across Massha's face.

'Thanks, Hot Foot. I'd appreciate that. A girl my size has to keep track of clothiers who cater to it."

"I will send you there now!" the Djinn said, gathering his arms together under his chin.

"Just a minute," I said, opening the picture of Skeeve. "Have you seen this guy?"

Gustavo's brows drew down.

"This rotten thief?" he snarled. Clouds began to gather around his head, and lighting licked out of them. "I will never again trust Klahds! He collects up a load of my best equipment and pays me with a note for good nothing! I will never again fall for the fancy credit card."

I perked up my ears. "Credit card?"

"Yes," Gustavo exclaimed. "He pulls it out of the air— I should never trust magicians, either, but they run in the family, what can I do?—and presents it to me. The spell said his credit was top, simply top-rated. I took it. I wrap all the goods in a nice parcel. He vanishes. The moment next, poof! I get back no confirmation, because the card is not good. No credit is behind it. The bank will not honor it, and I am out fifteen hundred gold pieces."

Magicians. I could feel Massha's and Chumley's eyes on me.

"Coincidence," I said, trying to stay cool. "Anyone claiming to be Skeeve had better be some kind of magician. Some guy who looks a lot like him."

"Exactly like him," Gustavo countered. He felt in the big sash at his belt. "We keep watch for the dead bumps around here."

"Deadbeats?" Massha asked.

"Them, too. Here." The Djinn handed us a small crystal ball.

I peered in and saw a thin, pointy-chinned Deveel's face. It was replaced in a few seconds by the profile of a green Dragonet. The next one sure looked like Skeeve. I thrust the ball away from me. Massha took it. She and Chumley looked into it with interest.

"He cheats my brother, too," Gustavo added. "And eight of my cousins. They have sworn to take his heart out with their fingernails. My cousin Franseppe send me this image. I keep it, and if I find him again ... ggggrrrrgh!"

He twisted air into a knot.

Massha gulped and handed back the crystal ball.

"Thanks for the graphic description, blue and bouncy. We'd better be going."

"Of course! I am so sorry, luscious madame! Your clothes! My cousin awaits!" He assumed the position again, preparing to magik us out of there. "Come back again! I still owe you a favor! Come again!"