"Look, we're investigators trying to clear up a ring of thieves in this Mall. We've got the cooperation of the administrators and half the shopkeepers here. This is our best shot at capturing the criminals!"

"You'll have to find some other way to do it," Dota insisted. He glanced at his enforcers. "We're done here. Have a nice day."

Massha settled down next to me.

"It's not your fault, Hot Shot. Moa must have forgotten to mention the tax forms. He's not the finance guy."

I felt steam shoot out of my ears. "But Woofle is. I bet he deliberately kept the facts back. I'm going to have a word with him."

Chumley patted me on the back. "Forget about it, Aahz. You can't prove it. Really, it's my fault, what? I could have read through all of those documents in full detail, but truthfully I would still be there now if I had tried. I thought I had noticed all of the important provisions."

"We will find another way to catch them," Eskina assured me.

I looked around at the shop. Most of the displays had been torn down by the hysterical crowd. The dressing room had been destroyed. What was left of the merchandise was scattered across the floor. Acrid smoke rose from the burning rack near the door. The place was ruined.

"What the hell else could go wrong?" I asked.

"Hello?"

Marco Djinnelli floated through the buzzing doorway.

"What happened here?" he asked, sympathetically.

"A riot," I replied, shortly. "It's gonna be a while until we can give you the second half of your money."

"Understandable, understandable," Marco agreed, soothingly. "We are friends. But the first half, as we agreed? I have come for that."

"What?" I demanded. "We paid you."

"No, of course not," Marco demurred politely. "All on credit, I ordered all these items for you. So beautiful they were." He kissed his fingertips. "Alas for such destruction!"

"No," I corrected him. "I mean, we paid you the first half of what we owe you about an hour ago."

"No, no! An hour ago I was enjoying a cappuccino with my cousin Rimbaldi at the Coffee House. The divine Sibone sends her best to her beloved Aahz." Marco narrowed his eyes at us as we all stared at him. "You are telling the truth, aren't you?"

"Marco," I began slowly, "what kind of credit account do you use?"

"Gnomish Bank of Zoorik," Marco replied. Light dawned on him as he studied our faces. "No. No, it is not true."

"I think it must be," Chumley rejoined. "How closely do you scrutinize your statements, Marco?"

Marco waved a hand. "Oh, you know, debits and credits come and go—but you are saying that I am being stolen from, in my very own account! I must go and look. What a terrible thing!"

The Djinn flew off, muttering to himself.

"What do you think, Green Genius?" Massha asked.

I frowned. "I think that the rat we captured wasn't carrying cards for all the bodies they can change into. They probably have hundreds each, maybe more." I crunched across the debris on the floor. "Let's lock this place up. We need to question the rat and find out where the rest of them are, and how many different identities are circulating."

TWENTY

We couldn't get near the Will Call office. Yellow tape stretched across the corridor, and the guards bustling back and forth behind it refused to let us through. I showed the Flibberite sentries the IDs that Moa had issued us.

"Look, we've been deputized by Captain Parvattani," I argued. "We have to talk to his prisoner."

"We haven't got a prisoner, sir," the guard replied stoutly.

"Fine," I grumbled. "Have it your way. Use whatever politically correct term you want. Detainee, intern, person helping you with your inquiries."

"I mean, sir," the guard corrected me, his eyes forward but his cheeks glowing blue like a cheap television screen, "that the person you seek is no longer in our keeping."

"The hell he's not! Where's Parvattani?" I pushed past the guard station. Chumley, Massha, and Cire followed in my wake, plowing forward like "his" and "hers" and "his" humvees.

"Please, sir, sir, madame, stay behind the line!" the guards squawked. They didn't have a chance. "I'm busy!" I bellowed back.

"I'm with them," Eskina stated perkily, trotting along behind us.

Parvattani greeted us, rings under his eyes as deep as the ours from a sleepless night.

"I should have-a sent word," he apologized, showing me the empty cubicle where the mall-rat had been sequestered.

It was furnished like a studio apartment, with a convertible sofa bed, a bookshelf and a reading light, probably used most of the time by hamsters waiting to be picked up.

"But it has taken all my attention."

"No problem," I assured him. "We've been having the day from hell ourselves. Any signs of forced entry?"

"Magikal," Parvattani replied. He held up a translucent gel in a frame. We looked through it at the temporary cell. The whole thing danced with deep violet light. "A huge expenditure of very powerful magik, like-a we have not seen here before. Much too much to undo a single locking spell, such-a as held this room shut. The Djinns are very worried."

I was, too. It had to mean that Rattila had sprung the prisoner, either before or after he paid us that little visit last night. He must be feeling pretty cocky, to expend a ton of energy on, as Par said, a cheesy little B&E job.

One of the guards ran up and saluted.

"Here is the crystal ball, sir," he snapped out. Parvattani took it from him.

"This-a was planted in the ceiling. It will show everything that-a happen during the night."

We all bent over it to watch. Par tweaked the spell so the night unfolded before our eyes in a matter of moments. Most of it was black, except for a burst of blinding light. He ran it back and started it over, much more slowly. The glare, when it came, illuminated not one but two bodies silhouetted against it. Two thieves, breaking open the Will Call box where the mall-rat had been staying. Then a face filled the globe's surface. There, thumbs in ears so all the fingers could be waggled at us, tongue stuck out to the roots and eyes squeezed shut in playful disdain, was Skeeve's face. My blood pressure shot through the roof. "I want this guy's hide!" I roared.

"My loyal subjects," Rattila announced to the cheering mall-rats. "Our company is complete again."

Mayno twirled his long black whiskers as he bowed low before the Throne of Refuse.

"Thanks to our gran' patron," he declared. "To be freed from such petite quarters eez a plaisir. Zere was nozzing to steal in zere. It was boi-ring."

Garn was the last to return to the Rat Hole. He had been spying on the visitors.

"You should've seen them," he gloated. "Running around in circles trying to figure out how we did it. How did we do it?" he asked Rattila.

"Stupid!" the Ratislavan sneered. "My new power exceeds everything they have at their disposal!"

He threw out his paws, and lightning sprang from them, ricocheting around the room. The mall-rats threw themselves to the sweating floor. Piles of clothing and baby toys burst apart, showering them with plastic shards and fabric tatters.

"Just think what it will be like when my talent is complete!"

"Uh, Ratty, you gotta get some control on there, dude," Strewth mentioned, from the foot of the throne.

"DON'T call me Ratty!" Rattila raged. Fire burst out of his mouth in a torrent. It splashed against the nearest heap of luxury goods and set it ablaze. "Say, I like that. When I am angry I am much more terrible." He loomed magnanimously over Strewth. "You may call me Ratty when I tell you to."

"Sure thing, R—I mean, Master."

"In the meantime, you will recite my titles, all of them!" He glared at all the mall-rats.