The great-niece nodded. "Auntie Vergetta said we could expect that. How much would he want?"
"Well, the fees have to support our company's efforts," I said innocently, forestalling a squawk from Guido. "To carry on his efforts for the greater good. How about, say, five hundred a week?"
The three smiled with relief.
"Total?" the tallest one asked.
"Each."
"No way!" the middle one protested.
"Take it or leave!" I roared. "The Great Skeeve doesn't deal with pikers!"
"No, no!" the smallest one said. "How about three hundred each?"
I grinned. Now the dealing was going the way I liked it.
Chapter Two
"How would teaching get anyone in trouble?"
SOCRATES
"Skeeve, stop it!" Bunny ordered me, exasperation plain on her pretty face. "They're too pink!"
"Are you sure?" I asked. I stopped adding color and stood back to get a better look at my illusion spell.
"Yes, I'm sure! They're Klahds, not Imps!"
I peered at the image. It issued from Bunny's Perfectly Darling Assistant, or PDA, Bytina, a palm-sized clam-shell of brushed red metal, and had been blown up by me with a touch of magik to cover the surrounding walls, covering the peeling paint and worn woodwork of the old inn. Striking poses in a copse of fake hazel trees were several beings wearing elegant clothing that seemed out of both time and place. From what I could tell by the old-fashioned phrases they were spouting, the male wearing the cross-gartered hose was pledging eternal devotion to the young female with long braids and a dress so tightly bodiced that every breath drew my—attention. An older male in a long houppelande and a twisty turban, the female's father, was against the union. They were Klahds, members of my own race. Honesty forced me to admit they were more fuchsia than the usual Klahdish varegations of pale beige through dark brown. Reluctantly, I mentally unreeled some of the rainbow I'd fed into the picture. Bunny tapped her foot impatiently.