Making Money

are going to do?”
    “We’re going to talk to the late Professor Flead,” said Hicks.
    “Who is dead, yes?”
    “Very much so. Extremely dead.”
    “Isn’t that just a tiny bit like necromancy?”
    “Ah, but, you see, for necromancy you require skulls and bones and a general necropolitan feel,” said Dr. Hicks. He looked at their expressions. “Ah, I see where you’re going here,” he said, with a little laugh that cracked a bit around the edges. “Don’t be deceived by appearances. I don’t need all this. Professor Flead does. He’s a bit of a traditionalist, and wouldn’t get out of his urn for anything less than the full Rite of Souls complete with the Dread Mask of Summoning.” He twanged a fang.
    “And that’s the Dread Mask of Summoning, is it?” said Moist. The wizard hesitated for a moment before saying: “Of course.”
    “Only it looks just like the Dread Sorcerer mask they sell in Boffo’s shop in Tenth Egg Street,” said Moist. “Excellent value at five dollars, I thought.”
    “I, er, think you must be mistaken,” said Hicks.
    “I don’t think so,” said Moist, “you left the label on.”
    “Where? Where?” The I’m-not-a-necromancer-at-all snatched up the mask and turned it over in his hands, looking for—
    He saw Moist’s grin and rolled his eyes.
    “All right, yes,” he muttered. “We lost the real one. Everything gets lost around here, you just wouldn’t believe it. They’re not clearing up the spells properly. Was there a huge squid in the corridor?”
    “Not this afternoon,” said Adora Belle.
    “Yes, what’s the reason for the squid?”
    “Oooh, let me tell you about the squid!” said Hicks.
    “Yes?”
    “You don’t want to know about the squid!”
    “We don’t?”
    “Believe me! Are you sure it wasn’t there?”
    “It’s the sort of thing you notice,” said Adora Belle.
    “With any luck that one’s worn off, then,” said Hicks, relaxing. “It really is getting impossible. Last week everything in my filing cabinet filed itself under W. No one seems to know why.”
    “And you were going to tell us about the skulls,” said Adora Belle.
    “All fake,” said Hicks.
    “Excuse me?” The voice was dry and crackly and came from the shadows in the far corner.
    “Apart from Charlie, of course,” Hicks added hurriedly. “He’s been here for ever.”
    “I’m the backbone of the department,” said the voice, a shade proudly.
    “Look, shall we get started?” said Hicks, rummaging in a black velvet sack. “There are some hooded black robes on the hook behind the door. They’re just for show, of course, but nec—Postmortem Communications is all about theater, really. Most of the people we…communicate with are wizards, and frankly, they don’t like change.”
    “We’re not going to do anything—ghoulish, are we?” said Adora Belle, looking at a robe doubtfully.
    “Apart from talk to someone who’s been dead for three hundred years,” said Moist. He was not naturally at ease in the presence of skulls. Humans have been genetically programmed not to be, ever since monkey times, because (a) whatever turned that skull into a skull might still be around and you should head for a tree now, and (b) skulls look like they’re having a laugh at one’s expense.
    “Don’t worry about that,” said Hicks, taking a small ornamental jar out of the black bag and polishing it on his sleeve. “Professor Flead willed his soul to the university. He’s a bit crabby, I have to say, but he can be cooperative if we put on a decent show.” He stood back. “Let’s see…grisly candles, Circle of Namareth, Glass of Silent Time, the Mask, of course, the Curtains of, er, Curtains, and,” here he put a small box down beside the bottle, “the vital ingredients.”
    “Sorry? You mean all those expensive-sounding other things aren’t vital?” said Moist.
    “They’re more like…scenery,” said Hicks, adjusting the hood. “I mean, we could all sit around reading the script out loud, but without the costumes and scenery who’d want to turn up? Are you interested in the theater at all?” he added, in a hopeful voice.
    “I go when I can,” said Moist guardedly, because he recognized the hope in the man’s voice.
    “You didn’t by any chance see ’Tis Pity She’s an Instructor in Unarmed Combat at the Little Theater recently? It was put on by the Dolly Sisters Players?”
    “Uh, no, I’m afraid not.”
    “I played Sir Andrew