or should we be talkin’, down at the precinct station?”
Kalvin was suddenly hovering in front of me again.
“Better tell him, Skeeve,” he said, his tone matching
his worried expression. “This cop seems to have an Eath
up his Yongie.”
That one threw me.
“A what up his what?”
The policeman looked up from his notepad.
“And how are ya spellin’ that, now?”
“Umm . . . forget it. Just put down ‘Skeeve.’ That’s my
name.”
His pencil moved briskly, and for a moment I thought I
had gotten away with my gaffe. No such luck.
“… And what was that you were sayin’ before?”
“Oh, nothing. Just a nickname.”
Even to me, the explanation sounded weak. Kalvin
groaned as the policeman gave me a hard look before scrib-
bling a few more notes on his pad.
“An alias, is it?’,’ he murmured under his breath.
This was sounding worse all the time.
“But …”
“Residence?”
“The New Inn.”
My protests seemed to be only making things worse, so
I resolved to answer any other questions he might have as
simply and honestly as possible.
“A hotel, eh?” The pencil was moving faster now. “And
T
MYTH-NOMERS AND IM-PERVECTIONS 75
where would your regular residence be?”
“The Bazaar at Deva.”
The policeman stopped writing. Raising his hand, he
peered at me carefully.
“Now I thought we had gotten this matter of disguises
settled,” he said, a bit too casually. “So tell me, Mr.
Skeeve, are you a Klahd … or a Deveel masquerading as
one?”
“I’m a Klahd . . . really!”
“… Who lives on Deva,” the policeman finished
grimly. “That’s a pretty expensive place to be callin’ home,