Hit or Myth by Robert Asprin

“Be careful,” the proprietor cautioned. “Once a Djin is released, it can only be controlled if you address it by name.”

“A Djin?”

The Deveel swept me with a speculative gaze. Since I wasn’t doing the heavy work, I wasn’t in disguise and looked like … well, me.

“I believe in Klah, they’re referred to as Genies.”

“Oh. You have quite a collection here.”

The Deveel preened at the praise.

“Do not be fooled by the extent of my poor shop’s selection, young sahr. They are extremely rare. I personally combed the far reaches of every dimension . . . at great personal expense, I might add … to find these few specimens worthy of….”

I had been wondering when Massha was going to make her entrance. Well, she made it. Hoo-boy, did she make it. Right through the side of the tent.

With an almost musical chorus, the stand along the wall went over, dumping the bottles onto the floor. The released Djin rose in a cloud and poured out the open tent side, shrieking with inhuman joy as they went.

The Deveel was understandably upset.

“You idiot!” he shrieked. “What are you doing?”

“Pretty weak shelves,” Massha muttered in a gravelly-bass voice.

“Weak shelves?”

“Sure. I mean, all I did was this …”

She shoved one of the remaining two shelves, which toppled obligingly into the last display.

This time the Djin didn’t even bother using the door. They streaked skyward, taking the top of the tent with them as they screamed their way to freedom.

“My stock! My tent! Who’s going to pay for this?”

“That’s Hoozit,” Massha retorted, “and I’m certainly not going to pay. I don’t have any money.”