“I see.”
He ran his eyes over me, and much of the warmth went
out of the room. I was suddenly acutely aware of how I
was dressed.
After overdressing for my interview with the Butterfly,
I had decided to stick with my normal, comfortable, informal
appearance. I had anticipated that bankers would be more
conservative than financiers, and that a bank would probably
be equipped to detect disguise spells, so it would be wisest
if I was as open and honest as possible. Courtesy of a crash
course by Bunny, my administrative assistant, on how to
dress, my wardrobe was nothing to be embarrassed about,
but I probably didn’t look like most of the businessmen
Malcolm was used to dealing with. His visual assessment
MYTH-NOMERS AND IM-PERVECTIONS 147
of me reminded me of the once-over I would get when
encountering a policeman . . . only more so. I had a feeling
the banker could tell me how much money I had in my
pockets down to the loose change.
“What line of work did you say you were in. Mister
Skeeve?”
I noted that the “Mister” had reappeared, but wasn’t up
to arguing over it.
“I’m a magician . . . Well, actually I’m the president of
an association of magicians … a corporation.”
I managed to stop there before I started babbling. I’ve
noticed a tendency in myself to run on when I’m nervous.
“… And the name of your corporation?”
“Urn . . . M.Y.T.H. Inc.”
He jotted the information down on a small notepad.
“Your home offices are on Klah?”
“No. We operate out of Deva … At the Bazaar.”
He glanced up at me with his eyebrows raised, then caught