"Where'd he go, Massha?" I asked.

The Court Wizard of Possiltum wrenched her hefty self out of the trash and applied her skill to interpreting the beeps and twitterings coming from the green glass eye. She shook her head.

"It says he's still here," she informed us with a puzzled expression.

"Invisible?"

"Not possible." Chumley shook his head. "I had my hands firmly around his neck for one moment, then he was out of my grasp."

"At least we know he was substantial," I said, kicking aside heaps of paper.

A large brown rat, unearthed from its burrow, glared at me with little beady eyes. I glared back, and the vermin retreated with a scared squeak. "It's not some kind of illusion. He's a magician or shapeshifter of some kind. Keep looking. There must be some clue as to where he went."

I pushed over a stack of worn wooden skids and started to dig through a pile of burlap bags.

"Smile, boys," Massha said, from behind us. "The locals are here."

"Hands-a up!" a gruff voice barked. "Turn around, very slowly."

I know when I'm outnumbered. Very slowly, I turned around, with my hands up, as instructed. Chumley did the same. Hovering in midair Massha had already raised her arms over everyone's heads.

Facing us up the soiled corridor was either the chorus from Rose Marie, or a large portion of the security force of The Mall. I stopped counting at a hundred, as more and more of big, strong, blue-skinned beings in Renaissance costume pointed a nasty array of weapons in our direction. I recognized the guy with the extra set of feathers on his hat at the head of the posse as one of the officers who had arrested the pickpocket I'd soaked in the fountain.

"Hey, buddy," I called, giving him a friendly grin.

He recoiled a pace, his face sewn up in the solemn grimace of officialdom. His hands tightened on the polearm that even I, in my disenchanted condition, could tell packed some kind of nasty magikal punch. "Who is it? Who is it? Who are they?" a voice demanded.

The white hats shifted backward and forward as. someone made his way up through the crowd toward us. The last two security guards parted about a foot, and from their midst came a little bent figure, his eyes concentrating on the floor about two yards ahead of his feet. The little guy straightened up enough to look me over, then turned his gaze to Chumley, thence to Massha.

"You I remember from this morning," he smiled, nodding at her. "Nice girl, doing an old man like me a favor. So, what's all the fooferang?" He gave an impatient wave. "Down with the hands, capisce!

Keeping a wary eye on the captain of the guard, I lowered my arms.

"Look, friend," I began, in my most businesslike manner, "my friends and I are sorry to upset your routine. I know you're all busy. So are we. So if you don't mind, can we get back to our own business?"

The old man turned to the captain for an explanation. "Parvattani?"

' The guard snapped to attention, which made the feathers on his hat dance. I wouldn't have been caught dead in an outfit like that outside a Mardi Gras parade.

"We've been in-a pursuit of these three for over a mile, Mr. Moa. They've disrupted shopping for the past half hour or so. I have a sheaf-a of complaints from customers and store owners"—he snapped his fingers, and another rent-a-cop came forward with a handful of papers—"regarding breakages, disturbances of-a the peace, intimidation—"

"Come on!" the old man exclaimed, spreading out his hands to us. "You don't look like disturbers of the peace, especially this helpful lady. What's the story?"

I tried to sound just as friendly and reasonable as he did. "We were trying to catch up with an acquaintance of mine."

"And you followed him back here?" the old man asked, skeptically. "I take it your 'acquaintance' didn't want to meet up with you, did he? So, where is he?"

"He was here just a moment ago ..." Massha began.

"He owe you money?" the old guy interrupted, with a shrewd glance.

"Not exactly," I replied, peeved that he kept interrupting us.

"I recognize him, Mr. Moa," one of the other little Flibberites exclaimed, shoving forward. "This Pervert is an affiliate of the Great Skeeve!"

"That's Pervect!" I growled.

I recognized him, too. When I last saw him, immediately before I slammed a door on him, he'd thrown a bolt of lightning at me.

The little squirt ignored me. "We tried to get information from him regarding Skeeve's whereabouts, but he refused to cooperate."

He gave me a dirty look. I showed my teeth, and he backpedaled. He wasn't so tough without his two goons. I didn't see them in the crowd; they must have been off elsewhere pushing little old ladies off curbs into traffic.

"Now, hold the phone!" the third Flibberite sputtered, starting forward on bandy legs. He was built on more hearty lines than his two companions, and reminded me of an old cowhand. "You could've gotten the wrong house. It's happened before. You aren't so all-fired accurate as you think you are."

"I did not get the house wrong," the squirt groused.

The old guy raised an eyebrow at me. "You know this Great Skeeve?"

The whole of The Mall guard contingent leaned in a little closer.

"Look, is there somewhere we can talk in private?" I said, lowering my voice to a confidential level.

"My office," Moa snapped out.

I liked a guy who didn't have to think before making a decision. Since that had the added effect of causing the weapons to stop pointing toward us, I liked him even more. The little guy made a sharp gesture. The guards parted to form an aisle. Captain Parvattani stepped out as if he was passing a reviewing stand. Moa gestured to us to precede him and his companions.

"Mr. Moa—"

A small figure darted into our midst, the female in the white fur coat we'd last seen in The Volcano. Cute little face, if you liked them peaky with black, pointed noses.

"Not you again!" Parvattani groaned, rolling his eyes. He took her by the arm. "Get out of here!"

"Mr. Moa!" the female pleaded, trying to get past him to the little old executive. "Please. I've got some information for you!"

"Now, now, darling," Moa chided, patting her cheek with a paternal hand as he went by. "I'm busy. I'll listen to your fantasies some other time."

"—That's why I'm sure it's not my friend."

With one emphatically raised finger, I finished up my explanation, which had taken a long while to expound.

Moa's office was furnished the way I like to see executive suites. All the furniture, including the bookshelves behind Moa's desk and the very well stocked bar on the wall opposite the cut-glass windows, were fine-grained mahogany-colored wood. The green, leather-upholstered chairs, both behind and in front of a bronze marble desk smooth enough to ice-skate on, were deeply and very comfortably padded. Mine kept trying to engulf me whenever I sat down, so I had to perch on the end to keep from having to wiggle out of it in an undignified fashion every time I wanted to get up to make a point.

Parvattani had insisted on standing near the door at rigid attention, and now looked as if he wished he'd sat down as Mr. Moa had invited him. The Flibberite was a good listener, keeping his eyes on me the whole time and only pausing momentarily to take notes.

"Okay, that all?" he asked, as I sat down and at last gave myself up to the upholstery gods.

A pretty young thing in a modest dirndl skirt and bodice brought me a pint of whisky in a thin crystal glass. I tossed it back in one grateful gulp and set it down gently for a refill.

"Yeah, that's it."

Moa leaned toward me over his folded hands. "Mr. Aahz, I've heard everything you've got to tell me, and I wish it was a new story."