Strewth gulped. "How'd you—"

"I hear a faint echo of your thoughts, mall-rat!"

"All the time?" Strewth squeaked.

He flung his hand-paws up to his ears to keep his thoughts from leaking out.

"That doesn't work." Rattila laughed. "You think my hold on your senses just flickers out like a candle when the job's over? Don't you like having your eyes and ears conscripted for my use? What is a good minion for, eh?"

Strewth's shoulders hunched guiltily.

"Sorry, Ratty."

"Don't call me that!"

Rattila rose on his haunches, his thick black fur bristling between his shoulder blades. The rest of his henchrats giggled shrilly to one another. Everyone liked it when someone else got called on the carpet. Rattila grinned at his subjects, his teeth yellow in the glow from the magikal toys strewn around his throne. Every vermin in The Mall worked for him, but the mall-rats were something special. It was as though the species had been tailor-made for his purpose.

Mall-rats lived to hang around in shopping areas and pick up things that other people had dropped or turned their backs on for a moment. Not just merchandise, but outdated expressions, cast-off clothing and fashions.- All of it came in useful to Rattila's quest and the means of disguising how he accomplished it.

All around him, the wealth of objects glowed with the aura of the beings who had owned them last, the ones who had made them, and the ones who reaped the raw materials. From that horde of shop clerks and factory workers and farmers he squeezed out the basic spark of their lives.. True, most of the power that he gleaned was boring, earnest, and straightforward, but it provided him with more energy to pursue higher-quality targets. For his quest was a holy calling: to transform him into the most powerful wizard in existence.

He had seen it as a blazing burst of light, the night that he first beheld the Master Card. Touching it, he had had a vision what life could be like for him. From that moment, the purpose of his life was fixed.

But he needed living energy, lots of it. His own dimension, Ratislava, was a poor source, having few wizards, living or historical. He had since learned that power did not come from beings themselves, but rather from lines of force that crisscrossed the landscape. He needed to tap into people with the potential for magikal talent, until he had gathered enough to instill it in himself. But The Mall on Flibber—what was it the house agents always said were the three most important characteristics of the perfect piece of real estate? Location, location, location. Through the doors of this gigantic building, every day of the year, came thousands of beings from nearly every dimension, to buy goods from everywhere. The trait that made it possible for each of them to hop to an out-of-the-way land for the mere purpose of shopping? Magikal talent. They had it, in gobs, bunches, and tons. Rattila didn't merely want a piece of that, he wanted it all.

How easy it had been, to establish his headquarters there, in the last place the green ones would look. The basements had been roughed out in the natural caverns of the mountainside and never used once the builders of The Mall figured out that their shoppers didn't like to go underground. Rattila took the vacancy as another sign that fate meant to make his dreams of power and conquest come true.

He had found a ready-made workforce waiting for him, a people just desperate to be led forward into a glorious future. The mall-rats had been living such a pathetic existence when Rattila had arrived, second-class citizens in a world of several competing intelligent species. Most of them he let run wild under his direction. Nine of them showed special promise. He took those as his proteges.

While he knew that they weren't cut out for world domination, he had shown them how they could use their natural talents and inclinations to prosper, and enjoy an interesting and varied existence that let them wear a new face every day, several times a day, if they liked. All they had to do was whatever he said. They could use their free time and newfound wealth as they pleased. They served him enthusiastically. How much of a pity was it that they would never know or appreciate the power he was gaining through their actions? None at all. They did what they were told, and that was all he really cared about. For him, they were the means to an end. They would benefit, but he would rule over them, and every being in the overwork!. He was patient. His goal was within his reach. He listened once again to the words bumping around inside Strewth's head.

"So, we have visitors." Rattila said. "The Pervert might be fun to play with. He's so emphatic no one will question what he does. If we can turn him, he'll be very useful. The Troll... they never have any money, but who cares? He can carry a lot of booty for us. And that Jahk—now, she has possibilities."

"Not to mention all that bling-bling," Yahrayt added, showing his pointed front teeth. Rattila's red eyes shone.

"Ye-ees," Rattila breathed greedily. He waved a hand, and visions of the Jahk Massha's wealth rotated in the air before their eyes. Rings! Necklaces! Earrings! Anklets! Bracelets! Bejeweled, engraved, damascened, twisted, wrought, linked, and braided, and all of them brimming with magikal potential. What was the use of having power if you never used it for something you enjoyed?

"All that lovely jewelry for you, and all the power for me."

Oive, Mayno, and Garn went so far as to try and touch the illusion. Rattila swept it away with one wave of his paw.

"Awww!" they protested.

"You want to see it again?" Rattila snarled. He pointed at the ceiling. "Go get the real thing! Bring it here. Everything there belongs to us! Bring it to me. All of it!"

The others looked around. Wassup blinked stupidly.

"We don't have enough already? This place is full."

The others groaned. Wassup had a way of taking all the wind out of their sails.

"And you call yourself a mall-rat, eh?" Mayno asked, twirling his long black whiskers in disdain. "Nevair do we have enough. The pursuit is all."

"You're just no good at analytical thinking," Garn sneered, polishing her long claws on her fur.

"Ana-what?" Wassup blinked. "Like, I'm totally confused."

Oive groaned. "So, what else is new?"

"What do we want?" Rattila demanded.

"More! More! More!" the rats chanted.

"All right!" he said, grinning. "Who's got something for me?"

Oive pushed forward, a bag clutched between her slim pink paws. "Pretty, pretty," she cooed.

Rattila could sense the magik from the short distance.

"Give it here." From the red-beaded handbag he drew a new, bright orange credit card. "Barely used," he complained.

"Can't help that," Oive piped nervously. "I mean, like, I could wait until it got used more, but then I wouldn't have gotten it. Like, do you get that?"

"Good thought," Rattila praised her. The mall-rat was overjoyed as he tossed the empty purse back to her. By the Big Cheese itself, they were easily pleased.

"Let's see how much of its owner's essence it's managed to absorb anyhow."

Rattila put the card to his forehead. By the power of the Master Card underneath his Throne of Refuse, he had the power to be the Card Reader. Visions began to crowd his vision, full of linoleum and chintz.

"Kazootina. An Imp, husband, dealer in used wagons, three children, favorite color sky-blue-pink." Typical of an Imp, couldn't even like a real color. "Belongs to a bowling league. Cheats a little. Good. Loose morality will make it easy to intrude on her reality. Yes. She'll be a good addition to our stable."

"I want her!" Garn shouted.

"No, me!" Oive shrilled. "I found her."

"You'll all get her," Rattila said, opening one eye. "You idiots know that!"