Wassup looked hurt. "You don't have to call us names."

"Settle down," Strewth ordered, turning a large beady eye on his associates until they quieted.

Rattila watched him with alarm. If he had to worry about any of his subordinates, Strewth was the one. He seemed brighter than the others, and observed more closely. Perhaps, if the day came when Rattila had achieved his purpose and no longer required The Mall, he would leave his domain to Strewth. But if he interfered with Rattila's scheme at all—slllcch! The street-cleaners upstairs would find yet another pathetic little body, which the puffy-pantsed guards would be at a total loss to explain.

Strewth nodded to Rattila and crouched down in a submissive manner, which Rattila completely distrusted. But he could wait no longer. He plunged a claw down into the Throne of Refuse, past the mouldering fish bones, past the wadded-up aluminum foil, past the square of gray-white chocolate with spoiled raisins, to the glowing heart of his power. The solid gold rectangle clung to his pads as he drew it forth. He could feel its store of power almost burning his flesh. He could see the gauge in his mind—the card was 75 percent full. So near to world domination, and yet so far. The card yearned to break free and rule all existence. All it took was the right magician to wield it, and Rattila knew he was the one.

"One day, my pretty, one day," he whispered.

The card burst with golden light, increasing the paltry glow that illuminated the Rat Hole a hundredfold. He touched the newfound credit card to it, and snarled at his subjects.

"Now, chant!" he ordered.

Their eyes fixed on the Master Card, the mall-rats broke into a singsong.

"One Card to rule The Mall, One Card to Charge It, One Card to cruise The Mall, and in the darkness Lodge It."

"Again!"

"One card to rule The Mall, One Card to Charge It, One Card to cruise The Mall, and in the darkness Lodge It!"

"I can't heee-aaar yeww!"

The mall-rats repeated the litany, over and over, until Rattila could feel the new treasure warming and flowing. The Master Card seemed to reach out tentacles to surround it, sucking its essence into the golden light. For a moment the orange card was an empty husk. Then, he let a little power trickle back, his power. Kazootina belonged to him now! The housewife from Imper had just joined Rattila's Raiders.

The orange card multiplied in his paws until there were nine of them, all completely indistinguishable from the first one. He dealt them out to the eager paws of his mall-rats.

"Now, go," he ordered them. "Buy! Follow the strangers. I want to know everything they do, everywhere they go. And make sure you use the Skeeve card a lot. Go everywhere with it. I want his all his power before his friends up there get any wiser to us than they are."

SIX

Parvattani, now in an embroidered blue tunic and breeches and a pair of black tights, came running up to us as we left the executive offices. He scrambled to a halt, all out of breath, and threw me a vigorous salute. „,

"Ready to go, sir! I mean, Mr. Aahz. I mean, Aahz—" He swallowed.

"Take it easy, kid," I said, raising an eyebrow.

Boy, he was young! I couldn't remember ever having that much nervous energy.

"And stop doing that! We'll never be able to observe anybody secretly if you keep saluting."

"Yes sir!" Parvattani acknowledged, hammering his forehead with another straight-handed blow. "Whatever you say, sir!"

"Cut it out!" I snarled. "We have to figure out where to get started."

A voice piped up from behind us.

"I know where to start."

We all spun around. Trotting in our wake was the little blond female with the black gumdrop-shaped nose in the white fur coat whom I had seen sneaking out of The Volcano and who had confronted Moa on our way out of the alley.

"Go getta lost," Parvattani snapped.

She met my eyes, ignoring the fulminating guard.

"I hope you have more sense than this toy soldier here. I know what you're looking for."

Par took my arm and turned me back in the direction we were heading.

"Pay no attention to her, sir—Aahz. We'll go and-a interview the shopkeepers who actually waited on the person masquerading as your friend. Perhaps one of them heard-a him—or her, we can't disregard that possibility, since we are dealing with shapeshifters—speaking with a confederate-a—or make any reference to who is behind the theft of identity."

The voice interrupted, more insistently.

"I know who is behind it, too."

Par's face became more set, but he kept marching forward.

"Now that we have a particular face we're looking for, we can inquire as to how many fraudulent purchases he or she made and see if we can distinguish a pattern. We should concentrate our efforts on the shops where the false 'Skeeve' repeated the most often."

"That won't help," the little female scoffed.

I shook off Parvattani's arm to confront her.

"What do you know that we don't?"

The little female's jaw dropped.

"You're actually willing to listen?"

"Try me. If you're trying to sell me a load of clams, I can ignore it after I hear it."

The guard looked surprised, then insulted.

"Sir, pay no attention to her. She's mad. She keeps insisting that there is a vast secret conspiracy intending to undermine The Mall."

"No, I don't," the female said. "I keep telling you the truth, and you pretend I don't know what I'm talking about." "You two argue like you've been married twenty years," I said, drily. "Before we go any farther is there something going on that I ought to know about?"

"Eyugh!" Par and the female chimed in chorus, exchanging looks of mutual dislike, but they shut up.

"Good. What's your name?" I asked the nonbride.

"Eskina." she replied, looking sullen.

"This is Massha and Chumley. I'm Aahz." She nodded to us gravely. "Let's go somewhere you can talk and I can listen. Preferably with a beer in my hand. That suit you?" I asked my companions.

"Beer good."

"Fine by me, High Roller," Massha added.

Parvattani bowed to us and began striding up the long corridor, threading his way in between crowds of people like an old pro. Massha floated beside the diminutive Eskina.

"Where'd you get the fur coat?" Massha asked, with a fashion-hunter's gleam in her eye.

Eskina glared. "I grew it," she snapped. "I'm a raterrier from Ratislava, a sworn officer in the Pole-Cat Investigation Department and the Ferret-Prevention Department."

"Oh," Massha said in a small voice. "Sorry. I'm from Jahk. I've never been to Ratislava. Your coat is very pretty."

"Sorry," Eskina said, with a toss of her fair head. "I am perhaps a little touchy. It is so long since I have been treated with any respect."

She treated Parvattani to another fierce look.

After one more glance of distrust toward the little female, Parvattani took over as tour guide. Eskina didn't utter another syllable the entire way to the hotel bar to which Par led us, the mere fact leading me to believe she was something unusual. Most females would have yakked their heads off, trying to make their case. The comer of the Mystikal Bar at the hotel seemed quiet enough. The intimate lighting seemed to make people automatically lower their voices. No one sat within two tables' radius. I settled into the corner seat of the burgundy velvet-covered, deeply upholstered banquette.

"It's a far cry from the Yellow Crescent Inn," I said, "but it'll have to do."

"Oh, Aahz," Massha chided me. "It's a classy place. Wait a minute, let me make sure we're alone." She took the cone of silence off her wrist and waved a hand over it until the purple glow extended outward to surround the entire table. "That ought to do it."