"Okay," I breathed. "All in favor of Chumley's suggestion?" No hands went up. "Massha's?" Nothing. "Eskina's?" Bravely, Par raised his hand.

"Do not vote for mine," the Ratislavan chided him, though she looked pleased. "It was stupid! All in favor of Parvattani's?"

All of us, except the abashed guard captain, put up our hands.

"All right," I concluded, rising from my seat. "I'll go see what kind of a deal I can do with the Deveels."

SEVENTEEN

The razzing from the Merchants' Association over my order for fifty dozen assorted garters, a mix of magikally endowed and non, lasted just long enough for the assembled business owners to speculate on how fast they could get the same item into their shops, and how much they could undercut their neighbors.

"Of course we can help you, Aahz," Frimble, head of the Devan Marketing Association, insisted. He was a scrawny, middle-aged Deveel with a slick little black beard, which he stroked with a speculative thumb and forefinger. "Naturally there will be a surcharge for rush delivery—and set-up fees—and a percentage to ensure exclusivity for a period of say, oh, seven days—"

"Add it up," I agreed, "and cut the total by fifty percent."

Frimble screamed. "What? You'd be cutting the throats of your friends! What kind of ingrate are you? For top quality you would have to pay double!"

"I wasn't born yesterday," I argued back. "And I doubt I'll be getting top quality anyhow."

"How dare you!" yelled Ingvir, a potbellied Deveel who sold dry goods. He hoped to supply the twill ribbons and buckles, but I intended it to be on my terms, not his. "You son of a skink! I should know better than to try and do business with Perverts!"

"That's Pervect!" I roared.

"It's Pervert if you think I sell second-rate merchandise!"

"It's Pervect, and you do sell second-rate merchandise!" I exclaimed. "Maybe I should take my business elsewhere?"

"Who'd do business with you?" His voice rose in a shriek.

I started to relax. Deveel negotiation was always conducted at the top of their lungs. After several days of the genteel hum of The Mall I had started to forget how real trading was done.

"Ten percent discount," Coulbin shot at me.

He also manufactured small metal objects. The buckles he displayed were a little better looking than Ingvir's, and Ingvir knew it.

"Forty-five," I countered.

"Fifteen," Ingvir argued. "And I will cut you a deal on gold plating."

"Forty."

"Twenty," Coulbin shouted. "Gold-plating included!"

I was starting to enjoy myself, and Frimble hadn't even gotten into the fray yet. He held back, though, until the other two had made me identical offers at thirty percent off the original offer.

"Thirty," Frimble stated, "delivery included."

"You can't undercut us!" Coulbin shrieked. "You'd be buying the product from us anyhow!"

The argument started up afresh.

"Shut up!" I roared, over their voices. "Why not form a consortium?" I suggested, reasonably. "If this takes off, everybody could make a ton of money. And after a week, you can start selling them for yourselves. I won't need to have an exclusive for longer than that." The Deveels all shot one another the kind of looks that never kill when you need them to. Frimble nodded curtly.

"All right, it's a deal," he stated. "Delivery in three days."

"Fine," I assented.

Without a word of thanks or farewell they all turned their backs on me and started the argument up all over again. I wasn't offended. I had known Deveels for over a hundred years, and they were like that. Once a sale was done, you were off the radar. They were already onto the next moneymaking effort, which in this case was deciding who would get what piece of my pie. I didn't care. The goods only had to be priced so I didn't lose my shirt and pretty enough and functional enough to attract the shapechangers' attention. If the garters fell apart the day after we captured them, I didn't care.

Leaving the Deveels to their argument, I bamfed out for Flibber.

"No!" Massha yelled, hanging overhead like a huge, gaudy mobile. "Paint the walls before you put down the carpet. I thought you people did this all the time!"

The Flibberites rolling out the mauve rug rolled it back up again and returned to the buckets and brushes near the walls.

"She tell-a us to do it the other way," one of them whispered to the other.

"Yeah, but she tell-a us to do it the first way the first time!" They glanced at me over their shoulders and hastily bent to their task.

Massha noticed me and floated down to my level. "How'd it go?"

"We're all set," I assured her. "The stuff will arrive in three days. Once we get this place fixed up, all we have to do is open the door and wait."

"What kind of bags did you get?" she asked. "Bags?" I inquired blankly.

"To put sales in."

"We don't need bags!"

Massha gave me a hard look.

"All right, what about tissue paper? Tags? Gift cards? Antitheft devices? Receipts? Stationery? Business cards? And have you hired any clerks yet? I think I can train them, but it wouldn't hurt to get someone with real retail experience in here first."

"Hey!" I bellowed. "What are you trying to do here?"

Massha put her hands on her hips. "Set up a shop, sugar pie. I may never have run one, but I've been in thousands of them. Take the Bazaar. Most deals there are verbal, but even the Deveels wrap up small goods when you take them out of the store. Otherwise, how do you tell the shoppers from the shoplifters? Also, it's a courtesy for merchandise that's easily broken, soiled or"—she grinned— "a little embarrassing, like underwear. And what we're going to put on the walls falls into that category."

"I—er—I didn't think of bags," I admitted.

"Do you want me to take care of it? You'd have to take over here."

I looked around at the workers plastering, painting, and papering. The smell was already making my eyes water. "I'll do it."

I headed for the door. "And what about music?" she called behind me.

"I'm already on it!" I assured her.

"Naturally, naturally," Moa remarked, when I laid out the situation for him. "We can take care of everything for you. We do it for hundreds of the stores here. A lot of them are sole proprietors, don't have the time or expertise, or access to the right resources. I'll send a Djinn around to you at your hotel. He'll get everything you need." "Marco at your service!" exclaimed the cheerful, portly Djinn in purple robes who appeared at the door of our suite. He bowed.

"Another Djinnelli?" I asked, showing him in.

He beamed at me. "My cousin Rimbaldi said you were a sharp observer! We are so happy you decide to join our little community! Now, come, let me show you all the things we can offer."

Marco waved his hands. The room filled with huge, hardbound sample books.

"Shall we begin?" he inquired.

"The visitors are doing what?" Rattila asked.

Garn timidly extended a paint chip to his master. "They're opening a shop. This is the color. I just spent three hours painting the walls. There was nothing else to steal yet except this. They don't even have a name."

Rattila rubbed his paws together. "How fitting!" he cackled. "They are going to assist me in draining the essence of their own friends, and I can use their own merchandise to do it! What are they selling?"

Garn rubbed his nose with a paw. "I dunno."

"Then go back! I want a full report. I want to see it," Rattila added greedily, "with my own eyes."

"Boxes," I decided finally, after going through dozens of packaging options.

"Good choice, Master Aahz," Marco congratulated me. He threw a hand toward the hovering examples. "Now, flat square, cubic, flat round? You have all these choices because this handsome little item"—he flourished one of our sample garters—"would look beautiful in all of them." He kissed his fingertips. "Now, which one would you like best, if you were bringing a present to a beautiful lady?"