"In any case," Guido went on, "there's nothin' we're concealin' from you. You can listen in to our whole tale of woe. In fact, we would be grateful if you had any input that would help us to deal with the problem in which we find ourselves. You have good insights, and we would be mugs not to take advantage of that."

"Nothing is wrong with Uncle Bruce, is it?" Bunny asked, suddenly concerned. Her avuncular relative was the employer of the two males. He went by the sobriquet "Fairy Godfather," which suited his dress and manner of speaking, but anyone who forgot the second part of his title while possibly finding the first part risible was likely to be reminded of his manners in a forcible fashion. Apart from not enjoying his cologne, which made me sneeze, I found Don Bruce more dragonish in character, and therefore more suited to my company, than most, if not all, of his subordinates.

"The Don is fine," Guido assured her. "I would pass along to you his kindest affections, but he does not know we are here at the moment He is expectin' us to handle this problem ourselves, which we should, except that it seems to involve magik of a higher order than we are accustomed to dealin' with on our own. Hence, our risk of your displeasure."

"You remember King Petherwick, maybe?" Nunzio inquired.

"Sure, I do," Skeeve said, wrinkling his forehead thoughtfully. "He was one of the kings that Queen Hemlock more or less evicted when she expanded Possiltum's borders."

"To the detriment of the old reigning houses," Nunzio confirmed. "Including that of Shoalmirk, Petherwick's old realm. Yet, it is not to be denied that the current situation is more livable than under the previous management Hemlock is holding it together pretty good, with the help of Massha and J.R. Grimble. The people is less revolting than before."

"Where's Petherwick now?" Skeeve asked. "I know Hemlock exiled the former rulers who wouldn't submit to her overlordship, if that's the right word. He didn't want to take a demotion to duke."

"Well, would you?" asked Guido. "When you're used to runnin' the whole show, it's tough when they build a layer of bureaucracy over your head. Especially when your family's been in charge since the species started walkin' upright. Petherwick's in the Bazaar, as it happens. He's gone into retail, in a big way. He bought an insurance policy from the Mob to protect his 'realm,' as he calls it, but it is no more than a big emporium featuring cheap household goods manufactured by those thousands of flunkies who did not want to be left behind to languish under Hemlock's reign. He calls it 'King-Mart.' He's doin' pretty good business, as it turns out. Deveels like a bargain. Petherwick's markups are less than theirs, as a rule, and he don't care if buyers resell his goods, so plenty of dealers take advantage of the sales. In any case, it don't work out for the secondary market so good. Once the shoppers figured out where the merchandise was comin' from, they went back to the source. Petherwick's makin' money hand over royal fist"

"So, what's the problem?"

"He's bein' robbed. It looks like some kind of big magikal beast is to blame, but it's one that the Shutterbug security system ain't picked up in their wing images. We've looked at dozens of frames, yet in the morning, there's big-time damage to the facilities, and a significant portion of the take is missing from the Treasury, as the old guy calls it Here. I brought some of them wit' me."

Guido laid out a handful of small, square parchments upon which had been limned scenes of a huge room lit only by night-torches. I peered closely at the images, until Skeeve shoved my head out of the way.

"The biggest concern is the deaths and injuries," Guido continued. "A couple of the night guards, former knights, experienced men, have been killed by this beast, whatever it is. Bite marks on the bodies show somethin' very large and with sharp teeth took a vital piece out of them. Trouble is, this does not fall strictly under the purview of our policy. We are supposed to deal with matters of security, theft and minor nuisances. But he's callin' it minor, and we have to deal with it, or have him badmouth us around town."

At this, I admit my ears perked up. It sounded as if one of my countrymen, another dragon, had invaded the Bazaar.

If one had indeed infiltrated this King-Mart and was already eating the locals, the possibility might arise that if Guido and Nunzio failed, Skeeve himself might be called in to dispose of it, putting himself into grave danger the likes of which he might not be able to extricate himself from. I knew that if I went with them to reason with my countryman or woman, I might be able to persuade it to leave and find more fruitful pastures elsewhere. Besides, I was not above a spot of altruistic behavior myself. Logic dictated that I must accompany them. Therefore, I must first persuade my pet and his friends of that notion.

I offered my most winning facial expression, all wide eyes and open mouth to approximate the "smile" that Klahds wore to show that they were happy. I wound myself around the legs of Guido and Nunzio, and even, I am ashamed to admit, laid my head in Nunzio's lap so he could scratch my ears.

"Gee," Skeeve said, puzzled, "he's never done that before."

"That's because he likes me," the Mob enforcer said, flattered. "Right, little guy?"

I allowed him to scratch both ears thoroughly, as well as the sides of my jaw and my scruff... very well, I must admit that he was a man who knew his way around a dragon's skull. But I followed Skeeve out of the room when he went to bring up wine for his guests. Now that the formalities had been observed, it was time to let loose. I brought my head up under Skeeve's arm as he was filling a pitcher from one of the many kegs in the cellar.

"I... go with."

"You really want to?" Skeeve asked, scratching the spot between my ears. I concentrated momentarily upon the pleasant sensation that afforded me. Nunzio was good at caressing, but Skeeve was far better.

"Yes. Curious."

"Okay," he said. "As long as you're sure you'll be all right"

"Of course I will be all right," I tried to say. "I am strong and quick, my senses are keener than your weakling Klahdish organs are, and I am capable of knowing when it is wise to withdraw from a perilous situation. I shall also take care to safeguard the lives of your two pets, since you prize their welfare."

Alas, all that came out was "Gleep!"

"How can you call dat a pest control problem?" Guido asked, as we all surveyed the stone pillar with the bite mark taken out of it that stood a few yards away from Petherwick's grand, padded throne. A broad bite mark, I observed, sniffing it closely. At least forty centimeters wide, and ten at its deepest point, denoting large and unusually powerful jaws, I concluded.

I took a full survey of my surroundings as the pets holding on to my leash spoke heatedly with King Petherwick of King-Mart. What might in other circumstances have been a warehouse with cashbox desks like most of the other bigger emporia in the Bazaar had been turned into a combination throne room and general store. Situated in the center just behind the checkout desks, where shoppers had to pass him on the way inside, the exiled Klahdish king held court. Attendants of both genders, attired in the brown and teal livery of their lost realm, clustered on both sides of the grand seat. About them on tall standards hung pennants of the king's coat of arms, and tapestries picked out in silk threads depicting valiant battles between fierce and handsomely attired opponents, or fantastic gardens containing plants that could never exist, most of them lacking such necessary parts as sepals, or indeed stems. Such impracticality hinted at a lack of foresight by the makers of the tapestries, which did not surprise me. Klahds were, as a rule, incapable of making plans beyond a certain elementary complexity. All around this small audience chamber, the room was lined with banks of shelves, hanging racks for clothing, and stacks of crates, cartons, and boxes of every size arranged in aisles, through which hundreds of shoppers from a hundred dimensions were pushing wheeled baskets and wearing the bemused looks of the up-to-date hunter-gatherer. No doubt the brush with royalty was one of the attractions of shopping at King-Mart. I fell back to sniffing the area, seeking in vain for a familiar scent that I had expected to find here. No dragon save myself had ever set foot in this space. I was relieved, but left with the puzzle of what had. A jerking of my collar brought me back to the argument going on over my head.