Flippers like his were hard to fit, and the boots the Djinnie had pressed on him must have been worth dozens of gold pieces.

"Rather!" Chumley agreed, enjoying his new ParchmentMan automatic book scroll.

Other grateful merchants were eager to help us recover from our run of bad luck. I hardly had time to think about the Skeeve impostors or our own humiliation as we were dragged out of the corridors every hundred paces by another shopkeeper or booth owner.

"You are good people," a Gourami remarked, kissing us all as she urged us to try on the glass finger and toe rings she sold.

"My mother would want you to have this," a teenage Whelf insisted, pressing a bag of candles on us.

I even found myself wandering around a furniture store with the Djinni owner hovering at my heels promising a deep discount on anything in the store.

"Or anything you choose to order," he added, hospitably, smiles wreathing his broad blue face.

I browsed a selection of recliners to take the place of my burned-out armchair, thinking what pleasure I'd get out of handing Woofle the receipt and insisting he pay the balance.

Thanks to one of Massha's gadgets, what parcels and boxes Chumley couldn't haul floated along behind us on our way back to the hotel.

"If we don't get the alarm to chase a Skeeve-clone, I'm going to take a nap," I informed the others.

Massha cupped a huge yawn behind her broad hand. "Good idea, Short and Scaly," she responded.

"There you are!"Rimbaldi Djinnelli came flying toward us through the crowd. He seized Massha's hands. "I love you even more today than before, you beautiful lady! Come to my shop!" He herded us all along with him. "You must all see the outfit that my wife has designed for this so generously made lady, whose body matches her heart. It will fill you all with delight!"

I caught sight of a familiar quartet of purple eyes on the other side of the hall near an art gallery.

"Hey, is that Chloridia?" I asked, pulling the gang to a halt. "Let me catch up with her."

"Of course!" Rimbaldi boomed. "You shall bring her along, too."

But by the time I turned around again, she'd disappeared into the crowd. I was relieved to see her back in The Mall again. We would cross paths again sooner or later.

TWENTY-ONE

As we entered The Volcano, Jack Frost, elemental building engineer, glanced up from a conversation with one of the Djinnelli cousins to tip us a friendly wave. The store was steaming hot, as was the discussion.

"I fixed this spell yesterday," Jack insisted, his cheeks and nose more than usually pink.

He threw up his hands, and the familiar white cones of cold came radiating out of his fingertips.

"But you feel how it is now?" demanded the Djinn, his face blue with outrage. "It is too hot again! Your spell failed."

"I don't get it," Jack admitted. "It really should not be this hot in here. It's not natural. Hey, Aahz!" He nudged me as we passed. "Sorry about the shop. It was a really nice place."

"Well," I tossed off noncommittally, "easy come, easy go. It is pretty warm in here. Anything wrong?"

"This whole place, she is over a live volcano," the Djinn exclaimed, giving us a distracted nod of greeting. "Of course sometimes it gets too hot! You are failing at your task, and do you know what I say to that?"

Jack blew a cloud of white condensation. 'The elemental under that volcano's a friend of mine. He keeps it down to normal most of the time. Moa and I have already worked out when he can have the next eruption, and it's not for eight years! So, don't tell me I'm not keeping on top of this!"

"Then, tell me why it is always my customers fainting from the atmosphere?" the Djinn demanded.

Jack shrugged in exasperation. "I dunno. Maybe it's your prices. Look, let's keep a cool head over this. Your floor is solid, right?" He stamped on the glowing orange floor. "There isn't a good reason more heat's venting up through here."

A bleebling sound interrupted their argument. He pulled a snow globe out of his pocket, and his sandy brows went up.

"Oops! Gotta skate! Fire in the corn-dog shop. See you all later! Take it easy, Aahz!"

"Later, Jack," I called, as the elemental froze the floor before his feet and whisked gracefully out into the corridor.

"This way, this way!" Rimbaldi urged, his arm still firmly around Massha. "My wife has been racking her brains for the very best design that would suit you, and she has done it! Every stitch, painstakingly made by fairy hands, every silk thread spun by the very most expert spiders! Our gift to you!"

"A gift?" Massha asked. "You really shouldn't have."

"But I must, dear lady. In, in!"

At Rimbaldi's urging, Massha went into one of the larger dressing rooms with two of the Djinnies.

"Watch it, honey," her voice came through the thin walls. "No, that's me! I can't—oh, oh, boy! Yes, that does do something for old Massha!"

The curtain swished open. Head held high, the Court Magician of Possiltum swished into the room, followed by yards and yards of marine blue silk. The bodice was cut low over her bosom, full sleeves encased her arms, opening to a smooth flare at the wrists, and the skirts, flat in the front and full in the back, swirled all around her legs.

"Oh, I say!" Chumley exclaimed, overcome.

"Gorgeous," Eskina declared.

Massha beamed. "Thanks. I feel great. What do you think, Aahz?"

"Very nice," I said, honestly.

The color of the silk went well with her mop of orange hair, and the fabric flowed over her more-than-generous curves like water over smooth rocks. Massha stared into the glass almost in a dream, turning this way and that.

Rimbaldi was beside himself with delight. The Djinni tailor floated around her several feet off the floor, declaiming, "It's you! It's you!"

Bemused, Massha turned to me. "But who am I?"

"What do you mean, who are you?" I asked, puzzled by the expression on her face.

Her pupils had disappeared into her irises. "Who am I?"

"Uh-oh," Eskina groaned. "Massha, look at me."

The tiny female climbed onto a chair so she was face-to-face with the puzzled magician. She took Massha's face between her hands. Massha tried to bat her away, but she kept staring blankly at her own reflection.

"She's been issued," Eskina explained. "Somewhere in this Mall they're using up her essence. Probably pretty fast. Rattila must have his shapechangers shopping everywhere, and likely for very expensive items."

"Rot!" Chumley declared. "How could they have gotten to her? We have been near her every minute."

"I do not know," the Ratislavan spat. "But they have."

"How come we haven't heard from any of the people she's been ripping off, then?" I demanded. "She's a store owner now. They'd probably have shown up by now wanting to cosponsor advertising throughout The Mall."

"That is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about," Rimbaldi replied, popping back with his arms full of brightly colored clothes. "Madama, she shops here every day. I thought perhaps I could say that Massha's other secret is that she loves The Volcano! Alas for the beautiful store." He kissed his hand to her. "And such a good customer. She always pays cash, every moment. That is why we are making this gift to her."

We all looked at each other. I shook my head.

'The sneaky bastard. He's been keeping the Massha impostors off the radar by having them buy things legitimately."

At that moment I hated Rattila more than I'd ever hated a living being, but I had to give him credit, so to speak.

"Rattila would love to get his hands on someone like her," Eskina agreed. "He wants her power. With it he might actually make it to full magician status. We've got to stop him very, very soon."