 
### A Little Hospitality

Kevin L. O'Brien

Smashwords Edition

+++

Text Copyright 2013 by Kevin L. O'Brien

Cover design and typography copyright 2013 by Kevin L. O'Brien

Adventure font distributed under a free use license by Neale Davidson and Pixel Sagas

+++

License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. It is licensed for your personal enjoyment and remains the copyrighted property of the author. This ebook may not be sold, reproduced, or copied, whether for commercial or non-commercial purposes, but it may be given away if no changes are made. If you enjoyed this book and would like to share it, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from Smashwords or their favorite online retailer, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support, and for respecting the hard work of this author.

Please consider writing a review for this book on the retailer's website.

If you see any misspellings or typographical errors, please notify Kevin L. O'Brien using one of his online social networks. Thank you.

+++

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, including those based on the real world, are either products of the imagination of Kevin L. O'Brien or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Because some ebook platforms do not support special characters, certain words may appear misspelled, but this was done deliberately to avoid the problem of the platforms deleting the characters. Also, the LRF platform used by older models of the Sony Reader does not permit the use of links to external URLs, whereas the PDB platform used by Palm reading devices does not support any form of linking whatsoever. Finally, certain words use British instead of American spelling, to simulate the characters' English accents.

+++

Table of Contents

Preface

A Little Hospitality

Bonus Story: Genderbent

About the Author

Other Books by Kevin L. O'Brien

Connect with Kevin L. O'Brien

Sample Excerpts

+++

Preface

In addition to her adventures as Director of the Caerleon Order, each night Sir Differel Van Helsing sojourns to the Land of the Dreams of Men. She first discovered the Dreamlands when she crossed over physically through a transient gate. Eile and Sunny of Team Girl found her and protected her until they could get her back to the Waking World. Later she returned in the normal fashion to stop a Fomorian plot to rule the Waking World through people's dreams. During that second trip she met her former husband, Victor Plunkett, who in life had been a Dreamer and who "retired" to the Dreamlands after he had been killed. They remarried, and after she returned to the Waking World Medb hErenn gave her a "magical" device that would allow her to re-enter the Dreamlands whenever she liked. After a few nights she no longer needed it, and she has been making her daily sojourn ever since.

She was effectively a novice for her first couple of weeks, and Team Girl mentored her (with Victor's help) just as Medb had mentored them when they first arrived. However, unlike most new Dreamers, she was better equipped to handle dangerous situations, and early on she took trips on her own to more quickly familiarize herself with the lay of the Land. This story describes one of those solo adventures. It is also the beginning of a series of related stories, and it introduces a character who will appear in later stories.

The Bonus Story, "Genderbent", marks the second return of the Princess in Orange. It is a humorous vignette that shows both the extent to which she treats Differel like a plaything, and the degree to which she will try to humiliate her.

Back to TOC

+++

Differel Van Helsing paused at a bend in the corniche road and looked west out over the valley behind her. The sun would set behind the mountains in another hour, making it too dark to travel, even considering the well-marked trail, though night would not fall for another hour after that. She had to find a place to camp, as unwelcome as that prospect felt. Hitching the pack higher up her shoulders, she pressed on.

It was her fourth night in the Dreamlands. It had taken her a week to travel from the town of Ulthar to her mansion in the city-state of Celephais. Once she had had a chance to clean up, change clothes, and have a bite to eat, she contacted the embassy for the island nation of Punica to inquire as to the whereabouts of her husband. Victor Edward Plunkett served as plenipotentiary ambassador to the Kingdom of Ooth-Nargai, of which Celephais was the capital, but he spent about half of his time on his estate in the Mark of Elissa, a group of a dozen islands over which he held seisin as a marquess. Unfortunately, he was absent from both places; Elishat, the Queen of the city-state of Karchedon which ruled Punica, had sent him on a secret diplomatic mission and he wasn't expected to return for a fortnight, ten days at the earliest.

The road made a sharp turn into a tributary valley and terminated at the foot of a path that ran up the steep slope alongside a cascading stream. Looking ahead, she saw it led to a ridgeway high above. Though the path looked rugged, she figured the track on the ridgeline would be fairly straight and level. She paused again, but to look straight up. She could just barely make out a tiny dot in the cloudless azure sky. It was her faithful Wakiya, Eleanor d'Aquitaine. She smiled; Eleanor had become bound to her by an empathic link and followed her everywhere, soaring on thermals and currents in lazy, miles-wide circles, but never more than five minutes away in a dive. Looking down, she eyed the path, sighed, and planted her makila to steady herself as she started up.

She had spent her first full day in Celephais dealing with the concerns of her knighthood, her rank of lord marshal, and her position as heir presumptive to the throne of Ooth-Nargai, and the second occupied with the maintenance and financial matters of her mansion. Come the third, however, she had nothing to do and considered taking a walking tour. Fortunately, Kuranes, the king of Ooth-Nargai, needed to have some important decrees and missives delivered to various places along the Naraxa River, and she agreed to accept the commission as a good excuse to explore the vale. As such, the following day she set out north for the mining town of Carsoon nestled against the southwestern tip of the Tanarian Hills, and then followed the southern edge of the mountains to the east, stopping at villages and homesteads along the way. A week later she had just one destination left, a Cistercian monastery located on the opposite side of a spur of mountains that extended east from the main mass of the Hills. Kuranes suggested that, rather than waste time going all the way around the range as most travelers did, she take a little used road that cut across the spur and came out above the monastery.

As she struggled up the precipitous slope, she reflected on how the old king had conned her good. On a map the way looked fairly straight, but in reality it started off as a road with a series of hairpin turns that snaked up the escarpment before turning into the corniche road that wound its way around peaks and followed the line of serpentine ridges. She had hoped to reach the monastery before dusk, but she calculated she probably had traveled twice the straight-line distance, and she doubted she had even reached the halfway point.

After a quarter of an hour she spotted the beginning of the ridge line. For the last third of the path, the stream fell as a waterfall from an outcrop of weathered rock before hitting the slope of the valley further down. When she reached the ridge, she saw that the stream flowed out of an adjacent mountain before being diverted by the ridgeline. Looking back, she watched as the water first spilled into a plunge pool in a smooth, flat shelf before running off the edge on the far side. She realized that must have been the rock outcrop she had spotted from below. A copse of firs, pines, ashes, and cottonwoods, with numerous deadfall logs and broken boughs, surrounded two-thirds of the circumference of the pool.

_That looks like a fine spot for an encampment_ , she thought. It lay sheltered from the weather, there was plenty of fresh water and firewood, and it stood hidden from casual observation. Only someone who stood where she did could see down into it. But could she reach it? Studying the wall formed by the ridge she spotted a trail, probably one used by deer. None were around at the moment, which briefly disappointed her; venison stew sounded rather good. Then she realized she didn't want to mess around with skinning and gutting a large animal, especially so close to her camp. She didn't want to attract predators.

She went to the head of the trail and started down. It was almost too steep for her to negotiate, and she ended up skidding on her backside. Once she reached the bottom, she noticed that the ridge wall overhung the shelf in the back, forming a broad, shallow cave. She walked to the edge of the pool and looked up to see where she had stood on the ridge, as the stream flowed over the ridge wall.

Turning, she headed for the cave, but stopped before her third step. A camp had already been set up. A fire sat prepared but not yet lit within a ring of stones with cooking gear placed nearby, a lean-to had been constructed from native material and a bedroll laid out inside, and neatly folded clothing lay on a flat rock, with a staff and a bowie knife resting on top. However, she didn't see a traveler.

Could he be out hunting?

A splashing sound caught her attention and she turned, reaching under her coat to grasp one of her pistols. A nude male figure emerged from the pool. At first she thought he was a child; he couldn't have been more than four feet tall. Then she noticed the minor disproportions in the sizes of his head, trunk, limbs, and hands. As well, his facial features resembled an adult, and his manner seemed mature by several decades of experience. A dwarf, she realized, relaxing.

He made for the camp, but only went a couple of feet before he spotted her: he came to an abrupt halt and stared at her with an expression that mixed surprise, apprehension, and keen interest. Suddenly mortified with embarrassment, she whipped around in an about-face.

"Oh, bollocks, I'm terribly sorry!"

"No, please, it's all right. I just wanted to wash off the trail dust." His voice was a smooth, gentle, lyric baritone, melodic and soothing, and it calmed her frazzled nerves. "It's probably my fault, anyways. This road is so seldom used anymore I assumed I would have privacy. But, you know what they say: when you 'assume' you make an 'ass' of 'u' and 'me'!"

She couldn't help chuckling at the absurdity of that statement.

"You have a nice laugh. You can turn around now."

She did so and saw he had dressed in what looked like a hooded monk's habit.

"I suppose this will sound like a dumb question," he went on, "but are you an adventurer? As opposed to being a hedge robber, assassin, or lady of pleasure."

She flashed a smirk. "I'm journeying to Cwmhir Abbey, but it's taking me longer to get there than I anticipated."

"Do tell! I'm bound there myself, but I'm afraid you won't be able to make it before night; there's another twelve hours of traveling ahead of us, at least."

"Hmph. I thought as much."

"Then allow me to offer you the hospitality of my campsite, such as it is."

"No, thank you, I couldn't intrude--"

"Don't be ridiculous. I would appreciate the company, and I don't see how you could intrude more than you have already." But he said that last with a wry grin.

"I'm sure I'll be able to find some other place--"

"Nonsense. There isn't any along the entire length of the ridgeway, and I wouldn't advise trying to camp up there, not with the way the wind can blow in off the mountains."

She grinned and shook her head. He certainly was persistent. "Very well, in that case I accept." She walked under the overhang.

"Splendid! My name is Michael by the way." He extended his hand.

She removed her glove and shook. "I'm Flynnette." She had adopted that alias for when she traveled alone. Being Kuranes's heir, she figured it wasn't a good idea to advertise her movements.

"Please, make yourself at home. I'll just get the fire started." He squatted down beside the ring of stones.

She walked over to the lean-to, taking off the other glove and stuffing both into a pocket of her red great coat. Sometimes she felt self-conscious about its colour, being British and all. She leaned the makila against the cave wall and slipped off her pack, placing it beside the stick. She then unhooked the harness that supported Caliburn on her back.

"That's quite a sword!"

She looked back at him and held it upright on the tip of its scabbard. The pommel came to just under her chin.

"Family heirloom." Which was no lie. Caliburn was another name for Excalibur. She descended from King Arthur Pendragon through her mother. Every member of that matrilineal line had been able to summon Caliburn in times of great need, and she had inherited that talent.

He hit flint against steel. "Is it a claymore?"

She placed the sword beside the makila. "Similar, but much older. You know about swords?"

"I have some small knowledge." His lilting tone suggested he was being facetious.

"Where should I sleep?"

"You're welcome to share my lean-to; there's plenty of room."

She examined it and decided he was right, if she lay lengthwise. Still: "Are you sure?"

"Of course. If you're worried about propriety, while I would love to ravish you, as my guest I am bound by the demands of hospitality to protect you and treat you well." He glanced up at her with a grinning leer, and winked.

She realized he was being facetious again. "Hmph. Well, if you do, and I ever find out about it, I'll hurt you good, little man."

He laughed. "My word, such wit! As Speedy Gonzales might say, 'I like you, you're silly.'"

She removed her coat and hung it over the closest upright support of the lean-to. "That isn't as obscure a reference as you might believe."

"You've heard it before?"

She unbuckled the harness over her sleeveless doublet. "From a friend in the Waking World." It was one of Sunny's favorite lines.

"Ah, so, you're a Dreamer--good heavens, woman!"

She glanced at him and saw him staring at the six pistols hanging in the harness. She had two more in belt holsters, along with a rondel dagger and a few pouches.

"Expecting bear?"

She flashed a lopsided grin. "I get it. In a manner of speaking. I'm a pistol marksman in the Waking World. I feel more comfortable with a gun in my hand than a blade, and even if these are not what I'm used to, they're still better than nothing. Having eight of them just makes it possible to get off multiple shots before having to reload."

Then the shilling dropped. "You don't seem too surprised to see them."

He shrugged. "I've seen matchlock guns before, but nothing like those. Are they flintlocks?"

She slipped off the harness and laid it over the coat. She understood his confusion. Nothing more recent than 1500 could exist in the Dreamlands. "No, they use a mechanism called a wheellock. It was developed just before the 16th century. A spring-driven wheel turns against a piece of pyrite to create sparks." She unbuckled the belt and hung it off the harness.

"Are they common?"

She removed her red, wide-brimmed hat and laid it on top of the coat. "No; I believe my collection is the only one so far, but these were made by a weaponsmith in Ulthar, and he offers others for general sale. So you may see more of them as time goes on." She untied her pink ascot from around the doublet's high collar and draped it over the hat.

"Ulthar, you say. They could make my life a bit easier; safer, too."

She untied the lacings on her doublet and draped it over her pack. Underneath she wore a chemise tucked inside a pair of tight-fitting trousers. "It takes a goodly amount of practice to be a passable shot, and they require a great deal of care and maintenance to keep in working order, but for all that, they're still easier to master than a knife or a bow."

"Might be difficult finding a teacher."

She knelt and unbuckled the straps on her boots. "The smith in Ulthar can show you all you need to know. After that, it's just a matter of practice making perfect." Standing, she leaned with one hand against the cave wall and pulled them off, dropping them beside the pack.

He didn't say anything more, and the tapping of flint on steel resumed.

She walked over and knelt down to watch. Eile and Sunny had shown her how to start a fire that way, but she had had little opportunity to practice. After about a minute, she saw a wisp of smoke rise from the tinder. He bent over and blew into the pyramid of wood, and in seconds the tinder blazed up. He quickly added fresh material, then larger pieces of kindling, and in no time the center blazed strongly. He then stood and went over to the other side of the lean-to.

"Is there anything I can do?" She watched as he rummaged around inside his own pack.

He shook his head. "You're my guest. Aside from seeing to your own needs, nothing."

"I'm a fairly good cook."

He pulled out food packs. "I'm not too bad myself."

"I meant no offense."

He straightened up and came back to the fire, carrying half a dozen parcels. He had that wry grin on his face again. "None taken. Feel free to kibitz."

"I just think I should pull my own weight."

He passed the packages to her and she laid them beside the cooking gear. Then he knelt beside the growing fire. "Would you consider traveling with me? I could use the company."

He looked and sounded rather earnest, almost like a child frightened of the dark. It made her wonder if, for all his confidence and high spirits, he wasn't in some measure intimidated by the huge world around him.

She smiled and extended her hand. "As would I. I would be honoured."

He beamed at her with what seemed like ecstatic relief, and took her hand in both of his. "Then that would be good enough."

He flashed that wry grin and winked as he recovered his composure. "Besides, it never hurts to have a big person by your side, does it? Especially one as alluring as you."

She chuckled. "You are outrageous, you know that?"

"It has been said of me," he replied in a mischievous tone as he unwrapped one of the packs.

After a few minutes of silence he said, "Speaking of audacity, it will be some time before supper is ready. Why don't you go for a swim?"

She glanced at the pool; it did look inviting.

As if reading her mind, he continued. "The water is deliciously cool and refreshing, and you'll be more comfortable sleeping if you have a chance to wash off." He then sported another mischievous leer. "Besides, I'd like to get a peek of my own."

She favored him with a half grin. "You're not helping."

"Well, then, what if I promised to keep my back turned, until you're in the water. Will that do?"

"Your word of honour?"

"Certainly." He winked at her.

"Hmph. I don't have a towel."

"I have a spare you can borrow. Go ahead and get started, and I'll dig it out once the food's on."

_Oh, why the hell not?_ Even if he did peek, it wasn't like she would be parading around for his enjoyment.

She spared him a smirking half-smile as she raised an eyebrow. "Very well. But just remember what I told you earlier."

"Don't worry, I'll be the perfect gentleman. Well, maybe not so perfect."

She shook her head and chuckled as she stood up. She walked back to her pack and undid the ties on her trousers, slipped them off, and laid them over the doublet. The chemise fell to mid-thigh, providing adequate coverage of her hips and associated regions.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he had moved to the opposite side of the fire with his back to her, as he said he would. Smiling, she reached under the chemise and pulled off her braies. The Dreamlands had no gender-specific undergarments; everyone made do with the same basic garment, except she had hers made from cotton instead of linen. She dropped them on the trousers, but hesitated, and as an afterthought hid them under the pants. Finally, she removed her glasses and placed them with the rest of her clothes. In the Waking World she was badly myopic; in the Dreamlands her eyesight was perfect, but they had become such a part of her appearance she continued to wear a pair with plain-glass lenses out of habit.

She headed for the pool, keeping an eye on him, but he never once glanced up at her. Satisfied, she pulled the chemise over her head and dropped it to the ground. Stepping up to the edge, she saw the basin of the pool dropped off immediately, so she dived in rather than waded.

She spent considerable time splashing around. She loved to swim, but in the Waking World, aside from a swimming machine in her manor house and the rare afternoon at the lake on her estate, she had few chances to indulge herself. The Dreamlands were only half better. Her mansion in Celephais didn't have a pool, just a spa, but Eile and Sunny had one, and Victor's palace in Elissa had been built into the side of a cliff with a private beach. They went swimming just about every day. Besides, the last time she took a thorough bath had been back in Celephais the day before she left. Michael had offered her the first real chance to get clean again, other than the occasional bucket of tepid water and scrub brush offered during her travels.

The pool turned out to be more spacious than she expected, which surprised her. She estimated it to be about ten yards in diameter and four fathoms deep at it center. That gave her considerable room to do laps and swim around underwater. At one point she broke the surface coming up from a rather deep dive and spotted him standing by the edge, straining as if to catch a glimpse of her.

She paused, treading water. "Enjoying the show?" She noticed he had taken the opportunity to change into a tunic.

He flinched, like a naughty schoolboy caught in the act. "Could be better." Then he held up a square of folded gray cloth. "I brought your towel." And he laid it on top of her chemise.

"Supper should be ready in a half hour," he added before he went back to the fire. She grinned and, feeling mischievous, flipped over in a backwards dive.

He was right, the water was cool, in fact invigorating. She figured the stream that fed it was derived from snowmelt. It felt even better than swimming in the sea around Elissa. The Mark lay close to the same latitude as Jamaica in the Waking World. While clean and clear, the water could get rather warm, and she felt the need to rinse off afterward to cool down and get the salt out of her hair. In contrast, Ooth-Nargai lay roughly where France would be, making it more temperate, and the pool contained fresh water.

She enjoyed herself so much she lost track of time, and he surprised her when she broke the surface somewhat later and saw him waving at her. She realized the food must be ready. She waved back, and after he turned around she swam for the edge and pulled herself out. She wrung most of the water out of her hair, dried herself off, then slipped the chemise over her head and wrapped the towel around her head. Her waist-long smoke-gray locks had so little body that it wasn't worth her time trying to brush them out.

She decided not to redress; she saw no point to it since she planned to retire right after supper. She walked back to the fire and knelt down as he dished up plates of what looked like a thick stew, with rice, vegetables, and meat in a reddish-brown sauce. He also had coffee going, and she poured herself a cup.

He handed her a plate. "Help yourself to seconds."

She scooped up a forkful and took a bite. She didn't expect it to be terrible, but she had been prepared to make a fuss over it regardless. Instead, she felt surprised at how good it really tasted.

"This is excellent!" It reminded her of Aelfraed's recipes, but then her butler had been trained at Le Cordon Bleu.

"Why, thank you. The ingredients are nothing to boast about, just standard travel food, and they contain a lot of salt. So I liven them up with infused oils, spiced sauces and gravies, and a little cooking sherry as needed. Onion, garlic, and curry help, too."

"I doubt I could have done better."

As they ate, they talked about themselves. He had been a Dreamer like her, until he died in the Waking World from complications due to his progressive chondrodystrophy, which also accounted for his dwarfism. For some reason, in the Dreamlands his body was fully normal except for its small size and odd proportions.

"I've often wondered if that was because as a child I used to wish for a normal body."

He loved entertaining people with his singing, playacting, and piano playing. He had started off as a nightclub performer partnered with a beautiful normal lady, then progressed to stage, cinema, and television acting. He mentioned a number of movies and shows he had been in, including the one that had garnered him an Academy Award nomination.

"I'm sorry, but I've never seen any of them."

He looked disappointed for a moment, but then shrugged it off with a grin. "We probably moved in very different circles."

He went on to describe how in the Dreamlands he supported himself as a raconteur and minstrel, as well as carrying messages for people and delivering items or papers they could not take care of themselves. His biggest client was King Kuranes.

That piqued her interest. "You know Kuranes?"

"We've been friends for years, ever since I first started coming here."

She didn't pursue the subject, but it made her wonder if their meeting was really as coincidental as it seemed.

As they ate seconds, she told him about herself. Though careful not to reveal any identifying information, she described her first visit to the Dreamlands, when she crossed over physically through a transient gate. Then she told of her second visit, due to a magic spell, to help stop a threat to Ooth-Nargai. That was when she had learned how to Dream and began coming on her own. And she related how she met and married her husband. She almost gave the show away by saying his true name, but she caught herself in time and stated it was Edward.

"It hasn't been easy maintaining a relationship, especially with our time apart, and it's worse for him being as he has to wait nearly four Dream-months, whereas for me it's only a few Waking-hours. And then I can only stay for nine Dream-weeks, assuming something doesn't wake me up sooner."

"He must love you very much."

"I have no doubt of that, but it's still a strain on both of us."

"It shouldn't be; you're both extremely lucky." She realized that for all of his lecherous parody, he wished he had that kind of love for himself.

After they finished eating, she helped him clean up--she insisted over his protests--and opened and spread her bedroll in the back of the lean-to. She took one of her pistols from the harness and placed it under the head roll that served as her pillow, then removed the towel and rubbed her hair in a vigorous manner to smooth it out as best she could.

She opened her pack to remove a roll of toilet paper before she refolded the towel and gave it back to him. "Is there a place where..." She couldn't finish. Despite the primitiveness of the toilet facilities in the Dreamlands, she still felt too embarrassed to ask where she could relieve herself.

He winked, a mischievous smile on his face. "If you're asking about the little girls' room, euphemistically speaking..." He pointed towards the foot of the deer trail. "On the other side is a stout tree branch that overhangs the chasm. You can sit there, assuming you're not afraid of heights. Just sit far enough back that you don't soil the bark." He then went off to prepare his own bed.

She walked over to the spot he indicated and found a giant, gnarled oak that grew out of the corner where the shelf connected with the ridge. It had a massive trunk, but appeared stunted, with numerous boughs and branches growing out over the valley. It reminded her of a playground jungle gym, and she climbed through to a sturdy location, sat down, pulled up her chemise, and tried not to look down. She remembered when she had first entered the Dreamlands and discovered that Dreamers could 'retire' there after they died in the Waking World. Eile and Sunny had been amused when she questioned what kind of afterlife would include bodily functions.

After she finished, she made her way back to the shelf and wiped herself off, throwing the paper over the ledge. At least that was one advantage of the Dreamworld: everything was biodegradable. She then headed back to the camp. The sun had long since set and the shelf and cave rapidly fell into shadow. He rummaged through his pack, putting some items away and getting others out, probably for the next day. He turned as she approached and held up a bottle of amber liquid.

"Care to join me?"

She considered herself a teetotaler most of the time, but she could be a social drinker when circumstances demanded it of her. "I would be delighted. Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Not at all." As he stood up she saw he had a pipe and a pouch of tobacco.

"Just give me a minute." She went to her pack to put away the toilet paper and took out a tin of cigarillos. She had them hand-rolled in Ulthar and picked up a fresh supply every night when she arrived.

She returned to the fire and sat down. They each lit up and he pulled the cork in the bottle, offering it to her. She smiled at the lack of glasses and took a swig.

She handed it back. "My word, that's smooth." It reminded her of the 50-year-old single-malt Scotch she paid through the nose for.

"Sarrubian whiskey is the best, in either world." He took a swig of his own and gave it back.

"So, what takes you to the abbey?" She took another drink.

"In the Waking World I had toyed with the idea of becoming a monk, but I couldn't handle the physical exertion."

"Exertion?" She took another drink.

"They expected novices to perform the bulk of the manual labor, and for obvious reasons much of it was beyond my abilities." Then he winked. "Besides, no elevators."

She laughed and took another drink. "I imagine that would be an inconvenience." She handed the bottle back.

"Naturally." He took a sip. "Well, in any case, here I'm having too much fun to consider the ascetic life, but occasionally I need a respite, and that's a perfect place for rest and meditation." He handed the bottle back.

"They offer sanctuary, then?" She took a swig.

"To people they know and trust, yes. I also do some minor work for them, and they love my stories and songs, though I tone some of them down, of course." He winked again.

She chuckled and took another drink.

"And what about yourself? Why are you going there?"

She took a sip, and handed the bottle back. "I have letters and proclamations from Kuranes he asked me to deliver. I also thought I might use it as a base from which to explore the area."

He took a sip. "Indeed? I'd be glad to be your guide, if you like." He passed the bottle back.

She nodded and took a drink. "I would like that; thank you. But would they let me stay?"

"I would vouch for you."

She took another drink. "You barely know me."

He smiled and winked. "I think I know you well enough."

She took another drink. "But I'm a woman; wouldn't that be a problem?"

He chuckled. "They're celibates, and half their members are women."

She laughed. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." She took another drink, and felt a wave of dizziness wash over her.

"Bollocks, this is bloody strong stuff." She handed him the bottle.

"Just one more." He pushed it back.

"No, I think I've had enough." She urged it on him.

"I thought a toast would be appropriate, in honor of our first meeting." He pushed it back again.

She flashed a lopsided grin. "Hmph. Why the bloody hell not. Then, to friendship and adventure, the staples of a good life." She tipped the bottle back and took a long swallow.

She handed it over and he raised it in salute. "To friendship and adventure." And he took a quick sip.

She threw the remnants of her cigarillo in the fire. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe it's time for bed." She stood up, swaying a bit, but got herself under control. "Coming?"

He shook his head, grinning. "Not in your condition. Besides, I want to finish my pipe."

She nodded and flourished a wave. "Then good night, good Michael."

"Good night, my dear Flynnette."

She turned and made for the lean-to, walking steady despite her light head. She pulled back the blanket and lay down, then rolled over onto her right side and pulled the cover to her shoulder. She took a peek backwards and saw him illuminated by the fire, puffing away, but he had stoppered the bottle and put it aside. That seemed odd, somehow, but she felt too tired and fuzzy to ponder it. Settling her head, she closed her eyes and let herself drift off to sleep.

Differel awoke out of a sound sleep.

_Something's wrong_.

Reaching under her head roll, she felt for the pistol, but couldn't find it. Alarmed, she threw off the blanket and jumped to her feet, summoning Caliburn. The great sword appeared in her hand as she left the lean-to. In the dim light of the much diminished fire, she saw five Leng Men, dressed in belted tunics, trousers, robes, and boots, with bulbous turbans on their heads. Three confronted her directly, with scimitars and butcher knives; behind them, two held Michael, one with a dagger to his throat.

"Surrender," the one in the middle front said, "or we will kill your companion."

Had she been alone, she would have engaged them all and taken her chances, though she had little doubt she could beat them. But she wouldn't be able to get through the three in front of her before the others cut Michael's throat.

She had no choice.

She lowered the blade, then gripped the ricasso and presented it to the middle Lengite, whom she figured was the leader. "Your prisoner, sir."

Grinning, his wide, frog-like mouth full of blunt teeth, he gestured to his left-hand companion. He strode forward and took hold of the hilt, but as soon as she let go, its relative weight increased hugely and it dropped, its point biting into the rock in a shower of sparks. He grabbed the handle with both hands, but he couldn't lift it, even with all his strength.

She willed the sword to vanish as he strained, and he flew backwards, falling onto his arse, to the amusement of his companions.

"Get on your feet," the leader ordered between chortles, then looked at the other two. "Let him go."

The one removed his dagger and they both pushed Michael forward. He walked up beside her, looking rather contrite.

"You shouldn't have done that." His voice had a melancholy tone.

"Never mind," she muttered, "we'll get out of this yet."

He gave her a pained look at the same time he revealed one of her pistols. "You don't understand. I was never in any danger." He pointed it at her.

She raised both eyebrows as her stomach clenched.

He flashed a puzzled expression. "You don't seem very surprised."

"I wasn't expecting it, but this kind of thing happens all the time. I just wish you weren't involved."

"Keep an eye on her," the leader said, "while we set up."

He nodded, and the Leng Men walked across the shelf to where five Shantak birds perched on the edge. Looking like a cross between a vulture and some kind of pteradon, she thought they were the ugliest things to ever fly through God's skies.

"What are they planning to do?"

"They're going to make it look like you were killed by a wild animal. I'm supposed to spread the word that I found you torn to pieces."

"Hmph. I have friends who won't believe it. Not to mention my husband."

"They've used it before; it's always worked."

"Why would they care so much about me?"

"They know who you are, as do I."

She didn't think he lied, but she decided to bluff it out to try to throw him off guard. She flashed a smirk and laid her hands on her hips. "Oh? And pray tell, just who am I supposed to be?"

"Lady Differel of Elissa, Heir Presumptive to the Kingdom of Ooth-Nargai."

She lowered her hands in mild shock. She hadn't imagined he could be that certain.

"What tipped you off?"

"I recognized you almost as soon as I first saw you."

"How?"

"The red coat and hat? That giant sword? The pistols? Any by themselves were suggestive; all three together were definitive, especially the pistols."

She couldn't help smiling as she shook her head. "I suppose they are a little obvious."

"Plus, you look like her description, and those stories you told me. You were very good at leaving out incriminating details, but I could read between the lines. Besides, I also searched through your pack while you swam and I found those letters written by your husband."

"Oh, bother. Did you set this up?"

"No." He turned his back on her. "I'm really sorry, I never meant for any of this to happen--"

She kicked him in the back, sending him flying onto his face. Turning, she dashed for her clothes, pulled a pistol out of the harness, and aimed it at him.

"No, wait!"

She pulled the trigger without hesitation. The internal wheel spun, throwing off sparks, but the gun didn't discharge. Surprised, she opened the pan; the powder had been removed. She realized he must have done it after she fell asleep.

"Bloody hell."

He stood up and approached her. Staring in a cold rage, she tossed the pistol at him. "Here; payment in full for services rendered."

He fumbled catching the weapon, but managed to get a firm grip before he dropped it. Meanwhile, the Lengite leader stalked over.

"Enough of this nonesense." He pulled some cord out of a bag tied to his belt. "Hands behind your back."

Michael pointed the primed pistol at her. "You'd better do what he says; you don't have any choice."

She complied and the Leng Man tied her wrists together.

She hissed in pain. "Not so tight."

"Of course not, Your Highness," he said in a mocking tone. He came around to face her, grinning. "Do you have any idea what we plan to do with you?"

"Not the foggiest. Enlighten me."

"We will hold an auction, with you as the main attraction. There are many people who would like to get their hands on you; you should fetch a high price. Of course, what your buyer does to you is their business, though I can imagine what that might be." He paused as he let his eyes drift down her front, then he ran a hand over her flat bosom. She considered spitting in his face, but thought better of it. It would have been a futile gesture.

"If I wouldn't take such a huge loss, I'd consider keeping you for myself." He pinched a nipple, making her wince. "Ah, well, such a pity."

Turning to Michael, he grinned a leer. "Enjoy yourself." He went to join his companions, chuckling in an evil manner.

She turned to give him a baleful stare, and he blushed and looked away.

"You tried to kill me." He managed to sound hurt.

"Does that surprise you?"

"Yes. I thought you liked me."

"I did, until you betrayed me."

"I didn't betray you. As I tried to explain before you kicked me, I didn't want this to happen, but I couldn't stop it."

As much as she would have enjoyed cutting him up into roasts, the sincerity in his voice unnerved her. He appeared to have too honest a character to be deceptive, and she doubted he was that good an actor.

_Maybe he's telling the truth_.

"All right, I'm listening."

"I'm a smuggler. I sell items that are either banned or have high tariffs placed on them. The Leng Men are one of my clients. They give me items and I pay them the money I collect, minus a small commission. We meet here once a month to make the exchange. Tonight is one of those rendezvous."

"And I blundered into it. Why didn't you simply tell me?"

"Confess to being a criminal? How could I be sure you weren't a marshal, or that you wouldn't try to turn me in for a reward, or blackmail me?"

"Hmph. I see your point."

"Even if I could trust you, the Leng Men would have killed me if they found you here with no explanation, and still have taken you. The only way to save you and protect myself would have been to send you away."

"Then why didn't you?"

He turned his back on her again, as if trying to hide from her. "I'm ashamed to say."

She almost felt sorry for him. "You've been honest with me up until now. Best to make a clean break."

He sighed. "You're probably right. I want to get out of this racket, make a fresh start. When I thought I recognized you, I realized you could be my ticket to making a huge score, big enough to let me go somewhere else and set up some kind of business, like a small tavern. Nothing fancy. So I convinced you to be my guest. I planned to turn you over to them. I waited until after you were asleep to disarm your pistols, and then stayed up until they arrived."

"When did you steal the one I put in my bedroll?"

"When you relieved yourself."

"Is that why you got me drunk? So I wouldn't check to make sure it was still there?"

"I wasn't trying to do that, but I needed you to sleep soundly until we were ready for you. So I drugged the whiskey. An expensive sacrifice, but you would be worth a hundred times that bottle."

Puzzled, she said, "But you drank from it, too."

"Only small amounts, and about a third less than you did. The drug is weak; it takes a fair amount to make someone woozy."

"I see. You had this well thought out."

"Yes, but I didn't count on liking you. After you retired I debated with myself whether to go through with it, and if not how to get you out of it. I finally decided to let them capture you, then I'd release you and you could hide until they left. Unfortunately, I had not counted on you being tied up."

"How were you going to accomplish that?"

"Have you pretend to attack me, then run away. Only you moved before I could explain what's going on, and you went for a gun instead of trying to escape."

She got an idea; it was a long shot, but it just might save his plan. "What did the leader mean when he told you to enjoy yourself?"

"He probably assumed I'd take advantage of your plight, if you catch my drift."

"Wouldn't that lower my resale value?"

"You're married."

"Yes, that's true."

"Besides, I'm pretty certain any buyer's going to be more interested in torture than rape."

"Then why don't you do it."

"Do what?"

"Rape me, of course."

He spun around and gave her pop-eyed look of shock. "What did you say?!"

She frowned and narrowed her eyes. "Point the pistol at me."

"What are you talking about?"

She shook her head in a defiant manner. "Do it!"

He turned the muzzle of the weapon towards her. "I don't understand."

"In a moment I'm going to turn around and kneel, as if submitting to your demands. You will then come up behind me--"

"No! I can't, I--"

"--and use your body to shield you cutting my bonds. Not all the way through; just enough that I can tear them loose when I need to. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, but--"

"No 'but's; you really don't have a choice, not if you meant what you said."

"Alright, then."

She glanced at the Leng Men. They were unloading cans and packs and tools; whatever they had planned, it looked like they intended to execute it soon. She didn't believe she had much time left. Turning, she knelt and leaned forward slightly.

"Alright, here I come."

"Just remember what I said earlier this evening."

He didn't reply, but she felt him straddle her legs, raise her chemise, and lean against her arse, followed by the slip of his knife between her wrists. He sawed at the rope and the bonds loosened as some of the braided threads parted.

He withdrew the knife. "That should do it. Here." He thrust the pistol into her hands.

That gesture surprised her. He was taking a chance she wouldn't kill him. It was at that moment she decided she could trust him again.

"Pardon me," she heard the leader say. She turned on her knees to face him and stood up as Michael stepped away.

"I hate to interrupt this tender moment," and he grinned in a lascivious manner, "but I need to leave if we're going to get her across the border before dawn."

"I would like to dress first."

"You look fine the way you are." He licked his lips.

"Could I at least have my coat? It'll be cold at altitude. You don't want me to catch my death, now, do you?"

He scowled, but he turned towards the lean-to and removed the items covering the garment.

She flexed her arms and the rope broke. She cocked the dog on the pistol against the wheel and raised it shoulder-high, holding it on its side at arm's length. She idly wondered what Eile would say in her place, then she grinned.

"Sayonara, sucker."

The Leng Man turned and stared into the muzzle of the pistol a mere two inches from his round face. For someone who had never been to the Waking World, his expression looked a perfect imitation of an 'oh, shit' realization.

She pulled the trigger, sparks flew from the pyrite held in the dog's jaws, and the weapon discharged with an explosive bang, spewing fire. The .56 caliber minie ball slammed into his forehead just above the bridge of his nose and threw him back, demolishing the lean-to as he fell. His turban blew off with the back of his head, revealing satyrish horns and ears.

She tossed the pistol onto her pack, summoned Caliburn, and charged the other four Leng Men, roaring a wordless battle cry. They pulled their weapons and rushed to meet her. She swung on the lead Lengite, cutting off his weapon arm with an upward slice, then chopping down on one shoulder and through his chest. She spun around on the next behind him, slashing the tip of the great sword across his abdomen, disemboweling him with one swing, and on the backswing took off his head as he collapsed to his knees. She parried the third's strike by raising the sword to her nose, deflecting his scimitar with the strong of the blade as she cut diagonally up through his face with the weak. The fourth came at her from her blind side, but screamed before he reached her. As she turned she saw Michael strike at the back of his knee, hamstringing him. Dropping Caliburn to her hip, she thrust it into his chest, piercing his heart.

A hideous roaring, croaking screech rang out from the ledge. She turned and saw the five Shantaks staring at her and Michael. Spreading their wings, they started towards them with a rapid hop-skip gate.

"Oh, bloody hell!" She forgot they were intelligent. She turned to face them, holding Caliburn upright, the hilt beside her head.

Another scream rent the air. It came from above and sounded like a titanic eagle. She looked up out of reflex, but she knew what she would see. Eleanor hurtled out of the night sky, skimming along the face of the ridge wall. Her eyes glowed and her wings burned with St. Elmo's Fires as electrical sparks danced between the vanes of her crest, from the static electricity her feathers picked up during flight. She snapped her wings open and snatched two of the Shantaks off the ledge, her talons driving into their organs, before she soared off over the valley. One of the Shantaks took to the air. Differel rushed forward and threw Caliburn. The great sword impaled itself through the monster bird's chest and it dropped to the ground like a stone.

Eleanor rose up from below the outcrop and hovered, her wing beats sounding like thunderclaps.

"Into the pool!" She grabbed Michael's tunic and ran towards the water.

"Wha--?" She threw him in as she made a flying leap. She sank down with her momentum, then popped to the surface, with him sputtering and coughing beside her.

"Dive!" She took a deep breath and submerged, pushing him down with her hand. Moments later the surface of the water lit up with an actinic glow as a fierce current rippled across the outcrop. She knew that Eleanor had discharged the entire electrical force that had accumulated in her feathers. She could feel the water heat up as the current flowed through it into the surrounding rock, but she felt none of the voltage since she wasn't grounded.

Moments later the glow faded, and she and Michael broke the surface, gasping for air. Eleanor had landed on the outcrop and ate one of the three barbecued Shantaks. She felt the Wakiya's pleasure and satisfaction, and she couldn't help laughing at the simplicity of the great raptor's desires.

Differel paused on the ridgeway and waited for Michael to make his way up the path from the outcrop.

After they had dried themselves off, and he changed clothes as she put on a new chemise, they threw the Leng Men bodies off into the valley and did the same with the Shantaks once Eleanor had had her fill. They then washed most of the blood off the rocks. The rest would have to be cleansed by decay and rain. Next they checked their gear. Gore from the leader had ruined their bedrolls, but her clothes and pistols had not been damaged, and she had a spare blanket. They spent the rest of the night wrapped together, propped up against the cave wall, as Eleanor sat perched on the ledge watching over them. In the morning she flew off as soon as they awoke. They used the embers to reheat the dinner coffee as they ate hardtack and jerky, after which they disposed of the ashes, cleaned the site, packed, and dressed for travel. During all that time they didn't say a word to each other, but while she felt no animosity, it seemed to her that he was apprehensive, as if he wasn't sure what she would do to him.

He looked surprised when he joined her on the ridge. "You waited for me?"

"We agreed to travel together."

"You still want to after last night?" The tone of disbelief sounded clear, but she detected an undercurrent of relief and hope.

"We both wanted companionship; nothing's changed since then."

"But I don't understand. How can you still trust me?"

"Everyone makes mistakes, Michael; poor choices, bad decisions we regret. Redemption comes when we realize our error, work to correct it, and make amends, but redemption also requires forgiveness. It's true, you arranged for the Leng Men to capture me, but you also made possible my escape. As far as I'm concerned one balances the other, and I am not ungrateful. So I forgive you and I'm willing to start fresh."

"I..." He wiped away a tear. "I don't know what to say."

"Thank you would be sufficient."

"Of course; thank you."

"Also, you should realize that you cannot now go back to your old way of life."

"I know. But what else can I do? I don't have the big score I wanted, and without it I can't start over."

"There are always ways and means. I have two friends; you may have heard of them, they call themselves Team Girl, but they are also known as The Twins."

"Yes, of course. They're famous."

"Braveheart and White-Lion are also wealthy, and they're always looking for new ventures to invest in. I have no doubt they would gladly help you set up that tavern you dream of, in exchange for a cut of your profits. My husband and I would contribute to that as well."

That time he couldn't speak, and he just gave her a dumbfounded stare.

"Then too, I don't believe our encounter was an accident."

"How do you mean?"

"Kuranes suggested I take this route. I believe he meant for us to meet."

"But...why?"

She gave him a pointed stare. "You said he's a friend. According to Team Girl, friends look out for one another and help each other when they need it. I believe he wanted to help you through me, in a way that wouldn't endanger or legally threaten you."

"You mean, you won't turn me in?"

"I don't see the point. You haven't harmed anyone through your activities, have you?"

"No, I just operated as a middleman. Well, except you."

"In which case, I think a probationary period of community service would be the best restitution, along with turning Crown's evidence and describing everything you know of the smuggling operation. As for myself, all I would ask of you is that you make the very best of this opportunity. And a case of that excellent whiskey."

He laughed, sounding relieved. "I think I can arrange that. But we'd better get going. We've got a fair distance to travel if we want to reach the monastery by dusk."

"No, I don't feel like walking." As she spoke, Eleanor rose up the slope of the ridge, startling him. She braked and landed in front of them, then hunkered down. She climbed up and settled on the Wakiya's shoulders, then reached down and helped him climb on behind her. When they were both settled, him gripping her pack, Eleanor leapt up and soared out over the mountains.

+++

For more information on Sir Differel Van Helsing and the Caerleon Order, see the official site [http://www.sir-differel.com/].

Back to TOC

+++

Bonus Story: Genderbent

Paperwork was the bane of Sir Differel's existence, or so she thought, especially considering that she had to write it out by hand, despite being the digital age. Fortunately, having a staff meant that all she needed to do was create penciled drafts that they would then type up for submission. However, composition had been a low priority when being trained as a child. She had to devote half her effort to simply figuring out how to say what she wanted to say in a manner that would fit in the fields provided on the forms. That meant frequent revision using an old fashioned eraser.

At one point she reached for it without looking and accidentally knocked it off her desk.

"Oh, bloody hell." She scowled as she reflected on all the petty nuisances she had to put up so far that morning. She pushed her chair back and searched around, but couldn't she it. Then she ducked down and looked under the desk. She spotted it all the way in the back.

"Of course." She got out of the chair, went down on her hands and knees, and crawled in after it. Even as she reached for it, she felt a slap on her backside.

"Hi'ya, Cousin!"

Startled, she reared up, and smacked the top of her head against the desk.

"Arrrgg! Bloody bugger bollocks!" She crawled backwards out from under and knelt upright as she held her head.

The Princess in Orange lay on top of her desk on her side, her torso propped up on one arm, and she beamed a lunatic grin. "Ohhhh, that must smart!"

Differel flashed an angry leer before she stood up. "What do you want?"

The Princess sat up on the edge of the desk and dangled her feet over the floor. "I just stopped by to commiserate."

That surprised her. As her anger drained away she realized she should be terrified. In their previous encounters, the Princess had nearly claimed her as an eternal plaything, had forced her to perform mammary intercourse with Billy the stableboy to save her people from a pornographic nightmare, had trapped her in an abandoned house filled with ravenous undead that sought to rape her and consume her flesh, had manipulated her into being a dragonslayer for a group of human-mouse hybrids, had sent her to an alternate reality to be the bride of a reanimated mummy, and had turned her and her frenemy Margaret Chesham into erotic Sailor Senshi ordered to arrest a space pirate on a pornographic pleasure planet run by her Vampire servant Vlad Drakulya. God and the Devil alone knew what new mischief she had planned.

"Silly willy Diffy! That write-up in _The Sun_ about you playing a reverse Victor-Victoria."

"Hmph." The daily tabloid had published an article accusing her of being a man pretending to be a woman pretending to be a man. She just figured Rupert Murdoch had it in for her after she publicly dressed him down a few months back at a Conservative Party fundraiser for revealing state secrets.

"My solicitor is dealing with that."

"Still, it must be frustrating having people think you're a guy all the time."

"Yes, well, it is, but why do you care?"

The Princess fixed her with a wicked grin. " I can change that!"

It took a moment for the shilling to drop, and then her heart stuttered as her gut froze and her mind skipped a track. "Merciful God in Heaven, no!!" She tried to back away.

The Princess raised a hand and snapped her fingers. "Voila!"

A blinding flash of light engulfed her. She raised her arms to protect her face, but it passed in an instant. At first she thought nothing had happened, but then she felt a cool breeze blow over her body.

The Princess made a mirror appear in front of her out of thin air. "Check it out!"

Her gut turned to ice as she stared pop-eyed at her reflection. She wore a tiny slingshot bikini that left her practically naked. Furthermore, the Carcosan Royal had exaggerated her figure into a pronounced hourglass, with an overly-large bosom and wide hips framing an impossibly narrow waist.

"There! Now no one will ever mistake you for a man again. Ta-ta!"

"No, wait!" But the Princess vanished in a flash of orange light.

Vlad Drakulya appeared out of a burst of shadow only a moment later. "Is there a prob..." He started when he got a good look at her, then relaxed and favoured her with a lascivious leer. "Oh. This is unexpected. Still, I like your new look."

She felt her irritation flare and jammed her fists into her hips. "Just shut it, you bloody git, and fetch me a robe!"

He bowed. "Instantly, My Master." And he sank into the floor.

Back to TOC

+++

About the Author

Kevin L. O'Brien was born with a pen in his hand.

Well, not quite, but he has been writing for as long as he can remember, at least since First Grade. Writing has always been his first, true love, but it hasn't always been his career. He worked for 15 years as a biomedical researcher, then for 3 years as a web designer. However, after 30 years of trying to be published in print with little success, he has decided to try his hand at self-publishing. Most of his works will be sold as ebooks through various online retailers, but he also plans to make some available for free exclusively on Goodreads.

He writes primarily speculative fiction--fantasy, science fiction, horror, and their sub-genres--but he also likes to try his hand at thrillers, suspense, mystery, and even westerns. However, his stories tend to have a fantasy element, no matter how subtle.

Most of his stories involve the following three main characters:

Medb hErenn [http://www.medbherenn.com/]--One-time queen of Ireland, she is over 3500 years old. A warrior and a sorceress, she cannot be harmed by any weapon made by the hand of man.

Eile and Sunny, Team Girl [http://www.teamgirlforever.com/]--They are two adorable, vivacious, fun-loving young women whose motto is ONWARD TO ADVENTURE!!! Yet trouble follows them like a love-sick puppy wherever they go.

Sir Differel Van Helsing [http://www.sir-differel.com/]--The descendent of Abraham Van Helsing and King Arthur, she heads the Caerleon Order, the premier monster-hunting organization of the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth. She commands Dracula, the most powerful vampire extant, and the greatsword Caliburn, better known as Excalibur.

He also writes a series of sword & sorcery stories set in an alternative universe known as the Lands of the Dreams of Men.

Kevin lives in Denver with his family and 4 cats.

For more information, see the Songs of the Seanchai [http://www.seanchaisongs.com/].

Back to TOC

+++

Discover other titles by Kevin L. O'Brien:

Available on Smashwords - <https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/biochemborg>

A fidus Aranea, Adventurer's Honeymoon, Barbarians R Us, The Beast of Exmoor, The Christmas Vampires, Dark Vengeance, A Deliberation of Morality, The Denver Walker, Desperate Acts, Disposable Commodities, Do Unto Others, Far-Sight, Feline Savior, Felis ex Machina, Fun 'n' Games, The Golden Mushroom, Gourmand Hag, Gratuitous Crossover, Gruff Tolls, Immanuel, In an Octopus's Garden, Inseparable, Jigsaw Dragon, The Lions of Inganok, Man Friday, Masie's Mind, No Torrent Like Greed, Oak Do Hate, One-Percenter Vendetta, The Peril Gem, Post-Traumatic Redemption, The Price of Folly, Pride and Fall, Pyrrhic Victory, Redshirt, Rhapsody in Orange, The Road to Hell, Sacrificial Offering, Shenanigans, The Steel Gazelle, The Surrogate, Survival & Sacrifice, The Temple of Ubasti, A Typical Friday Night

Enjoy these other titles at fine ebook retailers everywhere.

Available on Goodreads - <http://www.goodreads.com/story/list/20075368>

The Differential Damsel, Dribble & Maggot in the Land of Dreams, We Deliver, Youthful Indiscretion

Back to TOC

+++

Connect with Kevin L. O'Brien Online:

Twitter: <https://twitter.com/KLOB_writer>

Facebook: <http://www.facebook.com/kevin.l.obrien.1>

Website: <http://www.seanchaisongs.com/>

DeviantArt: <http://teamgirl-differel.deviantart.com/>

Goodreads: <http://www.goodreads.com/Kevin_L_OBrien>

Smashwords: <https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/biochemborg>

Back to TOC

+++

Sample Excerpts

From "The Denver Walker"

Seven F-15E Strike Eagles flew in a diamond wedge formation over eastern Colorado. They had departed Buckley Airforce Base in Aurora where they were temporarily stationed. They were headed due east towards the Kansas border, and their intended target. Each was armed with eight AIM-120 AMRAAM medium range air-to-air missiles, modified to deliver fragmentation warheads, and an AIM-54 Phoenix long range air-to-air missile, as well as their standard 20 mm M61A1 gatling guns.

Approximately fifteen minutes behind them followed a single A-6E Intruder attack aircraft. It carried a single BGM-109 Tomahawk Land Attack Missile under its fuselage with a special warhead. The pilot was Lt. Col. Eile Chica. Her squadron, which included the Eagles, had been transferred from California a week before just for that mission. Their target was the Walker, which was on a direct course for Denver, and if not stopped would arrive in twelve hours. Where it went, nothing was left in its wake.

Eile's mind wandered as she zoned out the monotonous task of straight, level flight. She recalled the briefing she and her people had been given when they first arrived. Approximately nine months ago, a meteorite crashed into the ocean a couple of miles off the eastern seaboard of the United States. Though it had been a large one and had caused some flooding along the Atlantic coast, nothing more was thought about it.

Six months later, the Walker came ashore off New York City. Though it gleamed as if made of metal or plastic, it had a smooth, organic shape, with no obvious seams or joints. It consisted of a bulbous, misshapen body, like a russet potato, with numerous feathered and branched appendages. It stood and walked on three spindly legs. The surface of the body was featureless except for what looked like a single, blood-red eye covering about one-sixth the surface area. Except that instead of being used for seeing, it fired a disintegrator beam that could reduce anything to plasma in an instant. It destroyed everything in its path, leaving nothing but bare rock and a layer of dust.

The devastation caught everyone by surprise. All attempts to communicate with it went unanswered, though whether it simply ignored them or was unable to understand them no one could say. It travelled in a straight line, cutting a swath through the heart of the city twenty miles wide. The military responded immediately, but few weapons could get past its formidable defenses. Of those that did, most were destroyed by the disintegrator beam. The rest either couldn't penetrate the skin or only damaged the appendages, which grew back in a very short time. One aircraft that made a kamikaze run did succeed in damaging the body, but it too quickly regenerated.

From New York it continued cross-country, devastating Pittsburgh, Columbus, Indianapolis, St. Louis, and everything in between. Outside of Kansas City, the President finally authorized the use of nuclear weapons. He had been reluctant, for fear of civilian casualties, but he finally decided he had no choice; nothing else seemed to work. A cruise missile carrying a one megaton warhead detonated a mile above the Walker, well out of reach of its defenses. The shockwave smashed it into the ground, and the heat bloom seared and melted it. It seemed to be finished, and a research team was put together to study what was left. It took them a day to arrive, and they found the Walker not only intact, but nearly operational. It annihilated the team and went on to destroy Kansas City before continuing on towards Denver. The town of Hays had been wiped out just the day before.

The radio crackled. "Flight leader, Eagle flight, we have visual contact with target. ETA now fifteen minutes."

"Eagle flight, flight leader, we copy," Eile replied. She glanced at her navigator-bombardier. Maj. Sonne Hiver nodded back. "Confirm fifteen minute ETA. You are cleared to arm. I repeat, you are cleared to arm."

"Wilco, flight leader. Eagle flight out."

"Almost there," Eile remarked.

Maj. Hiver, whose callsign was Sunny, nodded again. "Ten beers says we won't get the bastard until after the first run."

Eile grinned, though Sunny couldn't see it as it was hidden by her flight mask. "Yer on, sucker."

Sunny giggled. Eile reflected, not for the first time, how odd she was. Surprisingly silly and girly for a serving Air Force officer, she was nonetheless the best navigator in the service. She had been transferred to Eile's squadron just a year before, and she proved her worth on her first mission. Eile assigned her to her own Intruder because she wanted the best by her side. She had an almost intuitive grasp of navigation, and was able to calculate even complex targeting equations in her head. Since she joined the team, the squadron's mission success rate had jumped a hundred and fifty percent.

Now she needed her even more than ever. The consensus among the think tank eggheads was that the Walker was a berserker, a machine designed to kill and destroy. They speculated that it had been developed either as a doomsday weapon or as a way to eliminate possible interstellar threats and potential competition. They couldn't say whether its appearance had been a random landing or a targeted strike, but they estimated that just one Walker could clear the continents of all life in a year.

Fortunately, there was hope. A salvage mission by the Navy managed to recover material from the ocean floor that they believed came from the Walker after it crash-landed. That was confirmed by comparing it to material recovered from the nuclear detonation site. Analysis of the material revealed that its structure was built and maintained by nanotech robots no bigger than bacteria, which explained how it was able to repair itself even after being blasted by a nuclear bomb. Somehow, a group of scientists managed to reprogram a collection of nanobots to demolish the Walker's substance rather than rebuild it. Those had been packed into a warhead installed in the Tomahawk they carried. It was hoped that when the missile struck the Walker the nanobots would be released on impact and would destroy it. It was a gamble; no one knew if it would work, or how long it would take, though the principle had been proven using the recovered material. But gamble or not, it was their best hope. If it failed, their only remaining option was to try to make a direct hit with a ten megaton bomb, but there were those who didn't believe it would work.

The radio broke into Eile's thoughts. "Flight leader, Eagle flight, ETA five minutes."

"Eagle flight, flight leader, roger, cleared to engage, repeat, cleared to engage."

"Wilco, flight leader. Out."

"They're getting into position," Sunny reported.

Eile couldn't see it, they were still too far away, but she imagined the Eagles breaking formation to reassemble into a vertical rosette. Six planes would form a ring around the seventh, creating a large face from which to fire a massed salvo. It was necessary to break through the Walker's defenses.

It had only a two-layer barrier, but it was formidable. The first layer consisted of a field of aerial mines called Poppers. About the size of a softball, they floated in a torus around the Walker. Though only one Popper occupied a cubic meter, the field was made up of multiple staggered layers that closed all gaps. They exploded on contact, but the thickness of the field ensured that even a missile was likely to hit at least one while trying to penetrate, and no aircraft had ever made it through unscathed. Despite their size, they packed a wallop; just one could destroy a fighter, and three or four could bring down a bomber.

Experience had shown that only when enough Poppers had been destroyed could aircraft get through the field; the magic number was eighty-five percent. Military analysts had also discovered that it wasn't necessary to attack the whole field. Once a Popper was placed, it stayed in its place until destroyed. Hence, if a section of the field could be reduced to 15% intact or less, aircraft could make it through. The vertical rosette was designed to accomplish this. When they got close enough, they would fire their fragmentary AMRAAMs, and with any luck they would blow a hole through the field.

After that came the second layer, a ring of satellites each the size of a weather balloon. They were called the String of Pearls because each satellite was a featureless, smooth, pearly white ball. If anything got past the Poppers, the Pearls would emit an electromagnetic pulse that would fry all semi-conductor circuits in range, effectively disabling any electrical and computer system. The Eagles were specifically hardened against the EMP, as was her Intruder. Hopefully they would survive long enough to take out the nearest Pearls with their Phoenixes. That would clear the way for the Intruder to make its bombing run against the Walker.

But regardless of the success of the mission, the Eagles were not expected to survive. Eile had made participation in the mission strictly voluntary, but she had been made proud when all her pilots volunteered. Those that were flying with her now were chosen by lots, except their leader.

"Flight leader, Eagle flight, in position, standing by. Three minutes to contact."

"Eagle flight, flight leader, roger."

"Flight leader, target acquired. Pickles going hot. Two minutes to contact."

"Eagle flight, copy. Fire at will, repeat, fire at will."

"Wilco, flight leader. Ninety seconds to contact. Fox three."

"First salvo away," Sunny reported.

Eile waited anxiously for the results.

"Popper field 98% intact," Sunny reported.

"Flight leader, sixty seconds to contact, fox three."

"Second salvo away." Pause. "Popper field 95% intact."

"Shit, this isn't working! Eagle flight, fire all missiles, repeat, fire all missiles."

"Copy, flight leader, wilco. Thirty seconds to contact, fox three."

"Third salvo away."

"Come on, come on!" Eile muttered.

"Popper field 90% intact," Sunny squealed, anxious.

"Dammit! Break off, Eagle flight, break off!"

"Negative, flight leader, we still have our cannons. We'll get you through. Five seconds to contact. Eagle flight out."

"They're going in!" Sunny yelped.

"Aw, cripes!"

"Eagle three, gone. Eagle five, gone. Popper field, 88%. Eagle six, Eagle two, gone. Popper field 85%. Eagle four gone, Eagle seven gone, Popper field 83%."

"Eagle one, break off! That's an order, break--"

"It's too late!"

Eile saw a small fireball bloom in the distance.

At first too shocked to speak, Eile soon felt rage boil up inside her. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!" She knew the odds of Eagle survival were low to begin with, but it seemed so senseless for them to throw away their lives like that. They were good men and women, most with families. For a moment, she found herself hoping she wouldn't survive, so that she wouldn't have to inform their loved ones.

"Status," she ordered. When Sunny didn't reply, she turned to look. Sunny was staring out the window as if stupefied.

"Major!" Sunny jumped and looked at her.

"Status!"

Sunny looked at her instruments. "Popper field 80% intact."

_Not enough; nowhere near enough_ , Eile thought. "Jesus, we're not gonna make it." And she didn't know what hurt most, that they would fail their mission, or that Denver would be wiped out.

Find the story here: [https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/411798]

From "The Surrogate"

Shasta watched as her hostess poured coffee into two cups before setting the pot on a ceramic hot plate. She then added a touch of brandy and a drop of honey to her own.

"And what would you like?" She gestured to the dozen silver or ceramic containers spread across the top of a glass-shelved cart standing at her left elbow.

Shasta gave them all a quick glance. "Just...a little milk, please." She felt too nervous to ask for anything else.

She saw the corners of Ms. MacCandels 's mouth twitch in a quickly suppressed smile. That made her feel even worse. It seemed to her the woman toyed with her, and not for the first time she asked herself why she sat in the breakfast nook of her mansion having high tea. A $25-a-trick street whore meant nothing to a woman of her social and financial standing. With interests in real estate, biotechnology, mining and banking--to name only a few--she wielded a lot of power in Colorado. And she used her enormous wealth to support universities and hospitals around the country, provide endowments to the arts and sciences, establish scholarships and fellowships, and donate huge sums to many charities, both public and private.

Still, she was there, and that meant there had to be a reason. One thing she knew for certain, if Ms. MacCandels did want something from her, she would undoubtedly get it. She had a reputation for being ruthless in her business dealings, even cutthroat, and rumors of foul play followed her like her own shadow. She would simply take her time, and play her games, and try to break her before making her demands. Knowing all that did not ease Shasta's nervousness, but it could help her give the old bitch a good fight.

Ms. MacCandels passed the cup across the frosted glass table top and then turned to the cart on her right. It carried platters of fruit, muffins, cookies, slices of cake and pie, and candies. Shasta's mouth watered just looking at it all. She rarely got the chance to see that much food, much less eat it. Her pimp took the lion's share of her nightly take, so she considered herself lucky if she had twenty dollars to her name. Fortunately she could live on that, being as she made her home in the basement of an abandoned, rat-infested tenement. But to keep herself reasonably well-dressed and groomed, certain sacrifices had to be made, such as food. However, she didn't want to give her another chance to humiliate her, so over the protests of her stomach she politely refused more than a plate of fruit.

Ms. MacCandels, however, had no such compulsions. She took a sample of everything, big samples at that. Shasta envied how the woman could eat so much and still remain trim, but that wasn't her only desirable characteristic. She had to be at least sixty, but looked less than half that. In point of fact, she had the kind of face many in Shasta's profession, including herself, would kill for. Each feature looked delicate and finely sculptured, except for her full, wide lips and her large, soft brown eyes. Her face had a round shape with no plumpness as well as being well framed by her shoulder-length hair. Its blue-black color contrasted with her milky complexion so that her face stood out. Any prostitute could have an alluring figure, with the proper combination of costume and props, but a face like hers was impossible without measures most street tarts could not afford.

"So, my dear, tell me: what's it like to be a 'working girl'?"

Shasta grimaced in distaste. Everyone asked her that, even her johns. She got so sick of hearing it, but she realized that Ms. MacCandels also used it as part of her little mind game. Well, she felt sick and tired of playing that, too. She knew the bitch had her outclassed. She decided it would be better to go straight to business and skip all the society-style sparing.

She slowly and carefully set her fork down, trying to calm the fluttering in her stomach. Determined she might be, but it didn't relieve her anxiety. "Ms. MacCandels--"

"Oh, please dear, call me Clarrisa. We are, after all, going to be friends."

She hesitated as she did a mental double-take. The interruption startled her, but her statement unnerved her.

What did she mean by friends?

Momentarily gaining control of herself she began again. "Clarrisa, I..." She paused, her voice cracking when a stray thought occurred to her. Not all of her "clients" were men. That actually didn't bother her, but who knew what a woman like Clarrisa MacCandels considered good clean fun between the sheets?

Clarrisa feigned a concerned look. "Yes, dear, is something wrong?"

_So, the bitch is enjoying this too_. That made Shasta so angry that her hesitancy fled in the face of it.

_Alright, damn it! Let's get this over with. Say it. The worse thing that can happen is I'll be sent back to my pimp empty-handed. Just say it_.

"Clarrisa."

_That's good. Sound confident, keep your face neutral, don't give that bitch any more ammunition_.

"Justin, my manager, told me you gave him $1000 to send me out here. I doubt it was to have tea and make small talk. Just what is it you want from me? If it's sex, I have to tell you, I don't do anything weird or kinky."

Clarrisa looked at Shasta as if she had finally noticed her for the first time. A taut smile appeared on her face, perhaps a product of a grudging respect.

She set her fork down and pushed her plates away from her. Folding her arms across the table top she leaned forward. "Very well, dear. You want all the cards on the table, so to speak. I don't mind; in fact, I've been waiting to see if you had the backbone to stand up to me. You are the eighth girl I've interviewed, and you are the first to show both intelligence and spirit. You see, I have need of both."

That made her cautious. "For what?" Anxiety replaced her anger as it evaporated.

"You guessed correctly, I want sex, but not for myself. And you won't have to do anything you are uncomfortable with. All I want you to do is seduce my son."

Shasta relaxed as soon as she heard that. That didn't sound too bad; in fact, she had heard of that kind of thing being done, though she had assumed it was just an urban folk tale. And yet something didn't feel right. She couldn't be sure if her suspicion was real or simply part of her anxiety, but she had to make certain before she went through with her request.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know about this. It all sounds rather strange to me."

For a brief moment it looked as if a worried expression flickered across Clarrisa's face, after which it resumed its usual casual contemptuousness. "Oh? In what way, my dear?"

"Well, for instance, why are you setting this up? Why wouldn't he simply hire me himself?"

Clarrisa chuckled, as if she humored a small child, but Shasta didn't buy it, not after what she saw a moment before. "I'm afraid my son would never have thought of this himself, and besides I want to surprise him."

"Why, is it his birthday or something?"

"No, I just like to do nice things for him on occasion."

Shasta shook her head in confusion. "This doesn't make any sense. Why wouldn't he think of this himself? Why someone like me, and not some high-priced fancy escort? And why are you doing this for him? Why would you care?"

Clarrisa's smile turned into a thin, hard line. "Why would you care what my reasons are, as long as you are getting paid?"

"But you already paid Justin for my time."

Clarrisa managed to look hurt, as if her honor had been insulted. "Of course you will be adequately compensated. I had planned that all along. I will give you another $1000, which you will give to Justin as your fee. How much of that would you receive?"

"I don't know; maybe a hundred, maybe less. That's more than I would make in one night, but I would hardly call it adequate."

"I have also deposited $250,000 in a bank account under a false name. I will give you the account number and the name of the bank after you complete your task. With that money you could leave Justin, set yourself up as an independent in, say, Vail, or wherever else you like. Is that better?"

Shasta couldn't speak; better was an understatement. A new life, away from Justin, away from the streets, where she could work as often (or as little) as she pleased, accept only those clients she liked, charge as much as she could take, and keep it all. That seemed like paradise to a doxy of her status. The only thing better would be to catch a young, handsome multimillionaire like Julia Roberts did in _Pretty Woman_.

She realized her expression must have displayed just how much it really did appeal to her when Clarrisa chuckled with self-amused triumph. "I see that it is. Well then, if you accept my offer, I would like to get started right away. My son is taking a nap upstairs and I want you to be there when he wakes up."

Those words snapped Shasta back to reality. "Just hold it a minute. You still haven't explained what's going on. All that money won't do me any good if you son's idea of kicks is roasting me on a spit."

Clarrisa looked honestly shocked, but then she let loose a quick, barking laugh before getting control of herself. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"It wouldn't be the first time some society bitch provided her psychopathic son with victims to keep anyone from finding out."

Clarrisa frowned deeply and narrowed her eyes, but her face also went pale. Shasta figured she had just hit pretty close to the mark, but that realization frightened her.

However, Clarrisa shrugged and looked resigned. "Very well. I suppose you will need to know anyway, to do your job properly. I hesitated only because it is personally embarrassing, and frankly I didn't want to reveal anything you could later use against me. But...no matter. It's all very simple. You see, my son is a recluse. In fact, he hasn't been out of this house his entire life. As such, he has never had the opportunity to, shall we say, gain experience."

"Never?!"

Clarrisa shook her head. "I'm afraid not. He was always a studious boy."

The whole situation had become very strange. "But what does that have to do with me?" She had a suspicion what the answer would be.

Instead, Clarrisa fooled her. "To understand that, I must tell you about Peter's father--Peter's my son, by the way."

_Peter MacCandels_. That name sounded vaguely familiar, but Shasta lost her train of thought as Clarrisa continued.

"You see, his father and I were never married. We were not even what you would call friendly. We were lovers merely as a matter of convenience: we both had something the other wanted. He had wealth, power, and influence, and I had a womb to provide him with an heir. And I was tired of waiting on tables in truck stops. As such, when one of his associates offered me a million dollars to be impregnated, I agreed.

"Peter's...conception is the gentlest word I can think of...was not pleasant. It took several tries before I became pregnant, and his father was unnecessarily brutal. Nonetheless, afterwards he had no further use for me. He paid the million, plus an extra amount to cover the hospital expenses, and charged me with raising Peter to manhood. He provided tutors while I used my fee to become financially independent, but when Peter had learned everything his father required of him, it was left to me to prepare him to receive his birthright.

"All his father ever cared about was that Peter satisfy him that he could effectively take over and manage his affairs, but to me Peter was--is--my whole life. Everything I have done has been for his benefit, to try to make him into something his father would be proud of. Maybe I made a mistake somewhere along the line, but Peter in fact turned into a great disappointment to his father. He ended up a dreamer, interested only in art, literature, and study, which was not at all what his father wanted. I believe that Peter simply received the wrong combination of genetic traits from the two of us, but his father blames me. He has made it very plain that if, by his twenty-first birthday, Peter has not changed or redeemed himself, I will suffer for it. I am not concerned for myself, though I should be. He is very powerful, and could make my life a horror if he truly wanted to. It's Peter I'm worried about, because his father would surely repudiate him if he cannot please him. And what would become of him if I am not able to protect him I cannot bear to think about."

Throughout, Clarrisa had been careful to maintain her mask of casual superiority, but Shasta noticed that as she talked her voice steadily became quieter and more somber, as her true feelings showed themselves. Shasta understood that she loved her son deeply and that she would do whatever she felt necessary to keep him secure.

Still: "I'm very sorry for you and Peter, but I still don't understand how any of this involves me."

Perhaps it was because Shasta had expressed sympathy for her problem, but when Clarrisa continued her voice had become firmer and lighter. "As I said, Peter can redeem himself, but to do so he must provide an heir of his own. The problem has been Peter's lack of experience. Oh, he likes girls well enough, fascinated by them in fact. But he hasn't shown the slightest interest in making love to any of the women I have presented to him. That's why I'm hoping you will be able to, shall we say, spark his interest."

Shasta got a cold feeling in the pit of her abdomen. "I see. And you want me to get him to impregnate me."

Clarrisa burst out laughing, so hard it took her a few moments to catch her breath. "Good heavens, my dear! No, no, I have a much more suitable girl in mind for that."

_That's certainly a relief_. "But if you don't want me to become pregnant, then why do you want me to seduce him?"

"My dear, haven't you been listening? My son cannot make any woman pregnant because he doesn't know how. I need you to be a surrogate. I want you to show him how it's done, to initiate him in the pleasures of the flesh."

"So to speak."

"Quite so. Will you do it?"

She noticed a pleading quality to her eyes that no amount of self-control could hide, but it might have been purposeful. The expression reminded her of a basset hound she had when she was a little girl. Actually, Clarrisa need not have used the big, sad, soulful eyes routine, because Shasta suddenly found the whole idea very attractive. She always wondered what it would be like to be in total control, giving instructions instead of receiving them. And she found the challenge inspiring, even more so than the money. She had become so enamored in fact that she only peripherally entertained the question of why Clarrisa wanted to hire a prostitute instead of a professional sex surrogate. She decided that it really didn't matter, so long as she could do the job herself.

"Yes, I'll do it." She nodded her head, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "In fact, it sounds like it would be grand fun."

Clarrisa seemed to visibly relax, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Excellent. Then let's get started; we haven't much time. Stand up."

Shasta did so. Clarrisa stood herself, then took Shasta's hands and positioned her a short distance away from the table.

"Take off your clothes."

Shasta felt her jaw drop as her eyes popped out. "Here? Now?"

"Yes, yes!" She made an impatient gesture. "I want to see if you are stimulating enough."

Shasta felt her cheeks and neck grow warm as she blushed, feeling uncomfortable. "Ah, no, I think it would be better if I undressed in front of him; more erotic that way."

"But you don't understand, I've shown him pictures of naked women and he has been suitably aroused each time, but any woman he has met personally has been fully clothed. I don't believe he's made the connection between the two images."

"Oh, now, wait a minute. That's ridiculous, unless he's a simpleton or something."

Clarrisa's expression turned cold and she gripped Shasta's left upper arm hard enough to hurt. When she spoke, her voice had an edge to it sharp enough to draw blood. "My son has an IQ of 280, but he is incredibly naive about many basic things." Her tone then turned commanding. "As I've said, we haven't much time, so do as I say." And she released Shasta with a slight push.

There had been times in her life when Shasta had been physically scared, but even when in the clutches of a sadistic client she had always managed to remain calm and in control. Clarrisa's sudden change in manner terrified her in a way no physical threat ever had and it left her delirious. She hastily complied as Clarrisa scrutinized her in a critical manner. It didn't take her long. All she had been wearing was a tube-top and a pair of short-shorts, with no underwear or hose. She even removed her knee-high boots, though she didn't know why. She just instinctively felt that Clarrisa had demanded she denude herself completely. Only after she finally stepped away from her tiny pile of clothes did she remember the nook was enclosed on three sides by glass. The alcove and its contents would be clearly visible to anyone outside, and the fact that the mansion stood alone in the country over twelve miles outside of Denver did not prevent her arms from reflexively covering herself.

With her face a stony mask, Clarrisa circled Shasta as if she examined a priceless statue. When she came back around in front of her, however, she smiled, though still somewhat coldly. She stepped up closer and gently pulled Shasta's arms down to her sides. Then she laid the fingertips of both hands on her shoulders. Slowly she traced a line down around the outsides of her voluminous breasts, across her stomach, and then along the edges of her hips, before dropping off her thighs. Finally she stepped back and grinned.

"Fantastic!" She seemed to gush with excitement. "Absolutely fantastic. My son won't be able to keep his hands off you."

Shasta didn't believe she really wanted to go through with the whole affair anymore. Clarrisa's rage, coming as it did so quickly after her seeming implorations, had thoroughly unnerved her, and her subsequent examination of her body hadn't restored her confidence. But considering her present condition, she felt she had gone too far to back out. Besides, she suddenly realized that the thought of what Clarrisa might do to her if she tried terrorized her.

She shivered, despite the warmth of the room, and Clarrisa turned and walked briskly to a cabinet set into the interior wall. Opening it, she pulled out a floor-length red satin robe and took it back to Shasta, holding it out to her. She accepted it and quickly put it on, grateful for some slight protection at least.

Clarrisa focused on her head. "Oh, let your hair down."

Shasta reached up and pulled out the pins holding her tresses in place, handing them to Clarrisa. The soft, honey-gold mass dropped to the middle of her back and over her shoulders. Clarrisa actually yelped with joy and clasped the sides of her face. "Absolutely fantastic! My son loves blond hair."

Despite her dread, Shasta couldn't help smiling herself. Clarrisa's enthusiasm was infectious. And it had the affect of making her feel more comfortable.

Clarrisa took hold of Shasta's right wrist, gently but firmly. "All right, then, come on. Let's get this show on the road." And she began towing her out of the room.

Taken by surprise, Shasta nearly lost her balance. When she regained it she then began resisting slightly, pulling back and dragging her feet. "Wait, what about my things?"

Clarrisa didn't stop, but turned her head and gave her an irritated look. "Oh, for heaven's sake, leave them. You'll get them back when you're finished, so don't worry, I'll take good care of them. Now come on!" She quickened her pace and pulled all the harder.

Shasta continued to resist at first, but had to quicken her pace into a trot to keep up. The two women made their way to the stair hall, then climbed the grand staircase to the second floor. The hardwood floors on the first story and the marble steps were chilly on the soles of her feet and the rapid staccato of Clarrisa's heels made her worry about getting her toes stepped on, but the carpeting at the second story landing felt comfortably warm, and it muffled the clack of the heels.

Find the story here: [https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/414481].

From "Survival & Sacrifice"

"Hey! Stop hoggin' the mirror, ya butthead!"

Eile stood beside Sunny in front of the bathroom's small vanity. It really had been designed to be used by just one person, so both of them together made it somewhat crowded, and Sunny's huge mane of gamboge hair didn't help matters any, either. Then again, the rooms in the suites on the third story of Differel's ancestral manor were rather small to begin with, pretty much comfortable only for single persons. She and Sunny normally didn't mind, because they enjoyed the intimacy, but there were times when it became bothersome.

Like when they were in a hurry and trying to put on makeup at the same time.

They were visiting Differel and Henry for a few days, and the aristocrat had decided to throw an impromptu semi-formal dinner party. They had spent the whole afternoon shopping for new clothes in King's Lynn and nearly didn't make it back in time. They rushed through a shower together and threw on their new threads, with just barely enough time to make themselves presentable.

"I just need a few more seconds!" Sunny replied. There were few times when she lost her temper, but interfering with her primping was one.

"Like you need it." She elbowed Sunny over so she could brush on mascara.

"I'm not some kinda supermodel, you know." Sunny leaned back in to paint on lip gloss.

"More like a bimbo centerfold--watch it!" A lock of Sunny's hair flapped into her face.

"I'll be done in two shakes of a lamb's tail; can't you wait?"

"We're late enough as it is. Diff's gonna blow her top if we show up after the horse doovers are served."

"That's hors d'oeuvres, you Philistine."

She flashed Sunny a dirty look. "Put a sock in it."

A loud _kerfumple_ sounded from somewhere close by.

"What was that?!" Sunny looked off in the direction of the sound.

"How the hell should I know, ya ditz?" But it almost sounded like someone running into a door.

"Come on, let's check it out." And Sunny skipped off into the bedroom as Eile jogged after her. She reflected how, even after so many adventures together, her partner still tended to go running off into the face of possible danger without thinking.

Nothing looked amiss in the bedroom, other than their street cloths and underwear scattered across the bed and floor where they dropped them in their haste to change. Nor did they see anything wrong in the drawing room. Eile had just about convinced herself that the sound was nothing important, when Sunny opened the door to their suite and jumped away from the threshold with a squeal.

A Caerleon Order guard lay just outside, face down in a pool of his own blood.

Sunny knelt to feel the pulse on his neck as Eile sprinted forward. She scanned the hallway; to the right lay the corridor that gave access to the gymnasium, game room and chapel, while to the left the passage led to the solar. Both were empty.

"He's dead."

"No shit, Sherlock." Eile didn't look down. "Gimme his rifle."

Sunny passed up the L85A2 assault gun. "He must've hit the door when he was killed."

Eile released the magazine and examined it; it was loaded, and it looked to be a full thirty rounds, but she couldn't be sure. "Does he have any more ammo?" She fitted it back in place and cocked the weapon.

Sunny opened a snap pouch on his belt and pulled out two STANAG magazines. She held them up as she removed his L106A1 service pistol.

"Huh. We're gonna be handicapped hauling these clips around with us."

Sunny retrieved two 15-round pistol magazines and his combat knife. The British Armed Forces didn't have a standard-issue knife, but Differel made sure all her troops had a Gerber Mark II.

"I've got an idea." Sunny slipped the knife into one of her designer boots and stood up. "Keep watch." She slipped past Eile back into the room.

Eile went out into the hall, thumbing the selective fire switch to three-round bursts as she stepped over the body. All the combat training they had gotren from Lt. Gen. Morgan Leia Ross for the special missions she used to send them on was still pretty fresh in her mind, and they had been getting supplemental training from Differel's Master-at-Arms, Sergeant Major Giles Holt. She glanced back into the room. Sunny had one of their handbags and had dumped the contents into a chair. She placed her magazines inside and slipped it over her head and one shoulder.

She stepped out into the hall. "We've gotta get to Henry." She released her pistol's magazine and checked it over, then slammed it back into place and cocked the gun.

Eile handed her the STANAGs and Sunny put them in the bag. "Yeah. You take point."

"Right. Let's go kick hiney, partner!" Gripping the pistol with both hands and raising it to her face, she checked up and down the passage and then headed for the solar. Eile raised the rifle to her shoulder and fell in behind her, keeping watch in back of them as she followed.

Sunny paused at the corner of the room and hopped forward, aiming the pistol left to cover the alcove for the service elevator.

"Clear!" She raised the gun and continued on. At the end of the passage stood a door that led into the solar, but it stood open. Sunny flattened herself against the right wall and Eile hugged the left. She didn't see anything in her line of sight, but she couldn't see much of the room in any event. They stopped a couple of feet from the threshold; Sunny lowered the pistol to her waist as Eile pointed the barrel of the rifle at the ceiling. They looked at each other and nodded.

Sunny jumped into the room and crouched as she raised and pointed the pistol to the left at the double doors that led to the family activity rooms. A second later, Eile stepped inside and aimed right towards the stairs that came up from the second story.

"Clear!" she said.

"Clear!" Sunny echoed.

"Go!"

Sunny sprinted for the closed door at the opposite end of the room while Eile covered her. When she reached it and turned to face her, Eile started towards her.

The double doors crashed open; in the threshold stood a bipedal monstrosity, like a cross between a man, a lizard, and a rat. It balanced on its toes as a long, sinuous tail lashed around behind it. Screaming, it rushed at them. Sunny fired three times in quick succession; two of the 9mm Parabellum slugs slammed into its chest while the third ripped through its throat. It fell forward even as three more creatures charged up the stairs. Eile spun around and squeezed off three shots; two trios of 5.56mm NATO ammunition squarely hit their marks and threw a pair of the creatures back, but the third ducked and the rounds only grazed it. Sunny turned and fired thrice more; two of the bullets went through the neck while the third lodged in the skull. Eile sidestepped as it fell past her and collapsed in front of its companion.

Eile gave Sunny a thumbs-up, and she returned a big goofy grin. She then sobered and gestured that she would open the door. Eile nodded and raised the rifle, sighting on the entry. Sunny flattened herself against the wall beside the knob, turned it and opened it a crack, then grasped the door and threw it open. In the hallway stood another creature. As it leapt, Eile fired and it collapsed backward.

"Go!"

Sunny leapt into the corridor, planted a foot on its chest, and shot it once in the head.

"Clear!"

Eile ran through the entry and slammed the door closed behind her. They charged down the passage to the opening into the Grand Hall. Across the way sat a door that led into the second level of the library. They slowed as they reached the exit, but they didn't stop. Sunny approached on the right and Eile on the left as before, and again Sunny crouched aiming left as Eile stood over her aiming right.

"Clear!" she said.

"Clear!" Sunny squeaked.

They dashed across the Hall and flattened themselves against the library wall on either side of the door, their weapons pointed up. The wall curved away in both directions, towards the master suite on Sunny's side, and Differel's suite and Henry's bedroom on hers.

Eile glanced at Sunny, who nodded. They both took a step to ease along the wall towards Henry, when a figure emerged from the north stairwell behind Sunny. They turned and leveled their weapons, ready to fire, but deflected them when they saw it was Holt. He had an L7A2 general purpose machine gun, with a belt feeding into it from a pack on his back.

"Geezus, Giles!" Eile hissed as he lowered his weapon.

"Are we glad to see you!" Sunny squealed.

He jogged up to them.

"Where's Differel?" Eile asked.

"Securing the shelter; she ordered me to fetch Master Henry."

"Then let's get him!" Sunny quipped.

Holt nodded. "I'll take point." He moved ahead and they followed him around the wall. The hall at that end terminated in an alcove that gave access to Differel's rooms, the children's bedroom, and the nurse's room, as well as another entrance into the library.

"I'll wait out here," Holt said, "while you two--"

The doors the nurse's room and the library crashed open as dozens of the creatures streamed through, screaming a multitonal chorus.

Holt opened up on them, spraying 7.62mm bullets across the alcove.

"They must be coming up the secret stairwell!" Sunny screeched.

"Go in through the boudoir!" Holt shouted.

"Come on!" Sunny pulled on Eile's arm. They ran for the glass door behind them that led out into the west loggia, went a few feet, and then opened the glass door into Differel's study. Two doors sat in the opposite corner, one exiting into the hall, the other giving access to Henry's bedroom. They dashed for the latter, throwing themselves against the wall beside it. Eile turned the knob; finding it unlocked, she pushed the door open but stayed out of the threshold.

A shot rang out and hit the wall on the opposite side of the study.

"Henry, it's us!" she shouted.

"Aunt Eile!" Henry cried. "Aunt Sunny! They're breaking in!"

They turned into the doorway. Henry stood on the near side of his bed, holding the L117A2 compact pistol Differel had given him.

Sunny waved her arms at him. "Come on!"

He ran over to her just as shrieking monsters smashed open the doors to the nurse's room and bathroom.

"Move!" Eile switched to full automatic as Sunny grabbed Henry's hand. They ran for the glass door as Eile fired off short bursts and retreated after them. She hesitated in the loggia, firing into the boudoir, until Sunny and Henry disappeared back into the hall, then she ran after them.

Holt still held off the creatures in the alcove. "Go! I'll cover you!"

"We've got incoming!" Eile fired into the loggia as the creatures shattered the glass door.

"Understood!" He started to retreat, and Eile moved beside him. They skipped backwards as the creatures converged from multiple directions. He kept up a withering field of fire as she shot at targets of opportunity, but then her rifle quit.

"Shit! Outta ammo!"

"It's too open here!" Holt said. "Head for the stairwell; we can contain them there!"

Eile dropped back to where Sunny and Henry waited by the spiral stone staircase, expelling her magazine.

"Gimme!"

Sunny pulled a STANAG out of the bag and passed it to her.

"Henry," she said as she shoved the magazine into place, "you stick with Sunny no matter what! Hear me?"

He nodded as he and Sunny clasped their free hands.

Eile cocked the rifle and started down the stone steps. Behind her she heard Sunny: "We're leaving, Gurney-Man!"

"I'll be right behind you!" he replied. Eile just concentrated on the way ahead. The stairs turned counterclockwise, so the defenders would have a clearer field of fire, and Differel had room to use a sword if she wanted.

Eile descended as fast as she dared, not wanting to outpace the others, or run headlong into a pack of monsters. Behind her she could hear Holt firing sporadically to keep the monsters from overrunning them.

When they reached the second story she paused long enough to quickly scan the corridor to make sure it was clear. There were no creatures, and she continued on. As she approached the ground floor, she heard footsteps coming up the stairs towards them. She signaled for Sunny to stop and went a few steps further onto the landing, sighting just to the right of the central column.

Differel sprinted into view. She stopped immediately, crouched, and raised her pistol, but she and Eile both relaxed when they recognized each other.

"Geezus, Differel."

The aristocrat joined her. "Where's Henry?"

"Right here, Mother!" He and Sunny came around the bend from above.

"Holt's behind us," Eile reported, "along with about a gazmillion screamin' monsters."

Differel nodded. "I can hear them. We'll get out through the great hall." She started to step out of the stairwell.

Eile grabbed her by the elbow. "What about the shelter?"

Differel shook loose. "It's been overrun." And she went out into the family passage. Eile exchanged glances with Sunny, and she could see her partner didn't like the sound of that either.

Eile followed the blue-blood into the passage, as Sunny shouted back, "We're getting off here, Gurney-Man!" As she passed it, she glanced at the security gate that closed off the entrance to the administrative wing. It looked to be intact, and more importantly there were no monsters behind it trying to break through.

She found Differel looking through the glass door that led out into the north portico. As she passed a window, she saw the garden beyond was flooded with monsters. A band of house guards had set up three machine gun nests supported by riflemen just inside the pillars, and they fired into the horde as it swarmed up the porch, patio, and terrace.

"This isn't a raid," Differel muttered as Eile felt butterflies dive-bomb her gut, "it's an incursion."

"Where's Dracula?" She expected to see him down there in the thick of it, shooting creatures and ripping them apart.

Differel didn't respond at first, and when she did her voice sounded uncharacteristic in its softness. "Vlad has been destroyed."

Her words seemed so simple and spoken in such a subdued tone that she might have missed them. Instead, they sent a jolt through her body. "How?!"

"They must have come in through the secret tunnel from the motte-and-bailey. There were too many of them, we couldn't hold the shelter. Vlad confronted them so I could get away. The last I saw of him he was overwhelmed and being torn to pieces." She spared Eile a momentary glance of despair. "He never had a chance."

"Holy Jesus God!" She turned to look at Sunny. Her face had twisted into a look of anguish and beside her Henry sniffled and rubbed at his eyes.

Differel recovered her composure. "We have no time for this! We need to get to Command and Control." She brushed past them and approached Holt.

"We can't get through this way!" he said as he fired off short bursts. The monsters were flowing out of the stairwell and bunching up at the end of the passage, trapped against the gate.

"Then we'll go through the great hall and the gallery. That's more direct anyways. Cover us."

"Go. I'll stay here and hold them as long as I can."

She put a hand on his shoulder, a distraught look on her face. Having lost Dracula, Eile figured she wasn't eager to loose another close friend. "That isn't necessary! We can all get out of this if we stick together."

"There's no other choice. We can't waste any time. We must wipe them out before they break free of the estate and scatter across the countryside."

"Giles..." Her voice broke.

"I'll buy you the time you need. It has to be done. Remember: we hold the line, and this line will not be crossed. Now, move it, you little wildcat!"

For a moment, Eile thought she would grip his coat and pull him backward with her, but instead she balled the hand into a fist and pounded his shoulder twice. Then she turned and came back up the passage without a word. But Eile saw tears trickling down her cheek.

Find the story here: [https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/417211].

From "Differential Damsel"

Differel crept up the trail towards the wall as Eile and Sunny followed. The ruins were part of an ancient manor abandoned long ago, and while most of the buildings had long since collapsed and fallen into rubble, the protective curtain wall remained largely intact, except for a handful of breaches. The trail led to one, and she stopped on one side, keeping out of sight of the interior. The Girls fell in behind her as she took off her glasses. They were really a fashion statement; though myopic in the Waking World, she had perfect vision in the Dreamlands. But there could be a danger they would reflect light.

She peered in a cautious manner around the broken masonry into the central courtyard, fingering one of her wheellock pistols just in case. A few rods away four Men of Leng sat around a fire beside one of the few intact buildings, eating, drinking, and telling stories as they whiled away the evening before going to sleep. Though they wore dark-colored tunics and traveling coats, the flames illuminated their bulbous turbans and round faces in the growing twilight, with their wide frog-like mouths and wicked grinning leers. From the way they talked and laughed, she figured they were well pleased with the progress of their adventure so far.

But she felt less concern about them than the man they held captive. Strung up by his wrists inside the building's open doorway and stripped to the waist, Victor looked none the worst for his ordeal.

_Which is good_ , she thought. She had resolved before she arrived that if they had harmed her husband in any way, she would kill them instead of take them captive. She was a crack marksman, and at that distance could pick them off easily, even with her primitive firearms.

She stepped back from the gap and turned to look at the Girls. They had volunteered without hesitation when she asked for their help, and she had been glad of it. She would rather have them at her back than an SAS troop in full battle gear. They were her friends in the Waking World as well as the Dreamlands, and called themselves Team Girl in both places.

She held up four fingers, and they nodded. She pointed at Sunny and motioned for her to remain behind. She crinkled her azure-blue eyes behind her granny glasses and smiled, then slipped off and strung her reflex composite bow. The Mercutio of the pair, she called herself White-lion in the Dreamworld, though she seemed more golden with her huge mane of gamboge hair and her buff complexion. She preferred comfortable traveling clothes, such as a long skirt, a sleeveless shirt that bared her midriff, and an open jacket, all of which did little to hide her voluptuous figure, along with leather boots and gloves, and a Robin Hood hat with a large golden plume. Her costume often led assailants to underestimate her, but her prowess with the bow and her magical talent prevented most attackers from getting close, and those few who did discovered she was equally adept with a quarterstaff or dagger.

Differel removed her hat and passed it to Sunny. The broad floppy brim provided excellent shading from the sun, but it would be more of a hindrance than a help in clandestine activity. She focused on Eile and indicated for her to start before her. Eile responded with a grin and a wink of an indigo-blue eye. Differel gave them both an a-okay sign as she pulled out a pistol, before turning and darting across the opening of the break to the other side. When she looked back, she saw Eile peeking into the courtyard. The sober, rock-solid member of the duo, she went by the name of Braveheart. She was thinner and tougher than her partner, with a long seal-brown ponytail and forelocks dyed a vivid fuchsia framing her ochre-toned face. She preferred to duel with her opponents face-to-face, and like a typical knight-errant she wore armor: a hauberk of cuir bouilli covered with bronze metal scales, an armoured bustier, and shoulder guards over a leather unitard, with gloves and boots. She had no helmet, but carried a wooden shield faced with metal strapped to her back, which she used to good effect with her broad, short-bladed sword.

Eile glanced at her and flashed a thumbs up. She put an arm around Sunny and gave her a quick smooch on the lips, then waited as her partner aimed high and fired an arrow over the wall. It whistled as it flew and clattered against rocks behind the Leng Men. As soon as they turned to see what had made the noise, including Victor, Eile slipped inside and made off along the wall's inner perimeter. Her destination was a collapsed tower further down the circumference that would put her behind and to one side of the Leng Men. Differel let her make the first move because she had the farthest to go.

As soon as she passed beyond the firelight, Differel looked at Sunny and nodded. She returned it and nocked another arrow. She fired again in a different direction and Differel ducked around the corner of the break. At the same moment, however, the Leng Man on the opposite side of the fire glanced in her direction, and she threw herself face-down behind a line of tall weeds along the inner side of the wall. The Lengite frowned and looked past his fellows, as if trying to get a better look at something he glimpsed for a moment. Differel lay still and held her breath. Her blood-red great coat, forest-green trousers, and mud-brown boots and gloves were dark enough to blend with the shadows, and she turned her face towards the ground to hide her medium-tan skin, but her long smoke-gray hair might be visible if the light was right. After a few moments, however, the Leng Man turned his attention back to his companions and took a drink from his bottle.

Exhaling a quiet sigh, Differel crawled along the edge of the wall until she reached the side of Victor's building. Standing, she flattened her back to the structure and looked out into the courtyard. The Leng Men were still preoccupied with their reverie. Gazing across the open area, she saw Eile wave at her from behind the tower. She was in position.

Differel signaled her acknowledgement, then turned away from the corner and moved towards the back of the building. The space behind it lay in shadow almost to pitch blackness, except for a light that spilled out a hole onto the curtain wall. A man-shaped shadow played over the stone blocks, flickering with the campfire.

She groped through the darkness, feeling her way with her free hand on the building. When she reached where the light came from, she found an opening big enough to step through. The room beyond consisted of a single large space with four pillars down the center. Three yaks were tethered to one side, and their packs stacked nearby against the far wall. Almost directly across from her she saw Victor silhouetted against the firelight.

Holstering the pistol, she crawled through the hole and deftly sprinted across the room to stand on the left side of the threshold. Victor stood taller than her by a head, with a strong svelte body. That handsome, angular face, with its chiseled, rugged features of a cinema star and wavy collar-length walnut brown hair, could make her swoon like a schoolgirl, though his goatee gave him a diabolical caste.

He stiffened, as if hearing something, and his head twitched as he made ready to turn it.

"Don't look," she whispered.

He relaxed and a faint smile crossed his lips. "I figured you'd come," he murmured. "Did they contact you or Karchedon?"

"Me. As luck would have it, I had just arrived at my mansion in Celephaïs when I received the ransom demand. But I never had any intention of paying."

"That goes without saying, My Love. Is Team Girl with you?"

"Naturally."

"I expected you sooner."

"Bloody cheek. I stalled the negotiations as long as I could, but I wasn't able to discover where they were holding you, so I arranged to make the exchange here at noon tomorrow, and I insisted they bring you along. I refused to cooperate unless I could see you were alive and well."

"I appreciate that. You do realize this is a trap."

"Of course. I'm well aware of the various rewards the Moonbeasts and others have offered for my head. I calculated they would arrive ahead of us to set up their ambush, so we got here early."

"Well, better late than never, I suppose."

"You're one to talk. I'm still trying to figure out how you got yourself into this mess."

"I'd be more than happy to enlighten you later."

"We have some time. I want to wait for them to get good and plastered. Besides, the Punicae authorities were less than forthcoming."

"Very well. Queen Elishat had sent me on a mission to Lelag-Leng."

Victor had been a British diplomat in the Waking World before he died, and he continued that profession in the Dreamlands, only now he worked for the city-state of Karchedon, which ruled the island-nation of Punica.

"She commanded me to keep a low profile, so as not to raise suspicion. I decided to travel as a trader, and I had hired these four 'gentlemen' to be my escort. One of them must've recognized me, or they were tipped off. Either way, they kidnapped me as soon as we arrived in the Northern Lands. The rest you know."

"Why didn't you wait until my next Dream cycle?"

"I couldn't; the mission was time sensitive, and frankly you're too recognizable." He then shrugged. "Besides, this isn't the first time I've done something like this. Now, if you don't mind, I would appreciate being rescued."

"Hmph. A damsel you're not."

"I couldn't agree more, though I find the parallels amusing, and I'd be more than happy to offer the usual reward. But, seriously, could we table this discussion for another time? I really would like to be set free sooner than later."

"Patience." She examined his bonds. His wrists were secured by ropes looped around the lintel through gaps between the masonry. She could see no slack, but the cords ran along the underside of his palms and wrists.

A half-smile tugged at her mouth. "I have an idea."

"A successful one, I hope."

"It will be tricky. I'll need you to stay perfectly still."

"I believe I can manage that."

She grinned at his sarcastic tone. He didn't like taking a passive role.

"I'll be right back." She patted him on the rump as she retreated into the middle of the room. She turned and positioned herself until his body blocked her view of the fire, then started forward in a slow and careful manner. She intended to hide herself from the Leng Men as she came up behind him.

The distance between them shrank with interminable slowness, but finally she came close enough to embrace him. "I've arrived. Don't move." He didn't reply, but she didn't expect him to.

She drew her poignard dagger from her belt and crossed her arms over her chest. She opened them across her face and held them on either side of her head. After a moment she raised and spread them until they matched the position and placement of his arms, as near as she could with their height difference.

"Hold the ropes with your hands." He grasped them as if using them for support.

"All right, this is the tricky part. I'm going to try to slip my dagger blade between your wrists and the ropes, then cut the latter, but don't let go."

He gave his head a twitching nod to indicate he understood.

She strained on tiptoes, steadying herself by gripping his other arm, as she stretched to reach his right wrist. She tried poking with the tip of the dagger to slip the long, thin, razor-sharp blade between his wrist and the rope.

"Ouch!" he hissed in a whisper.

She froze as one of the Leng Men looked in their direction, but he only grinned with evil mirth at their captive's apparent discomfort and turned his attention back to his companions.

"That was close," he murmured.

"Hopefully he was too drunk to notice anything. Relax your wrist."

A gap opened up between the rope and his arm, and she inserted the blade through.

"Now, pull the rope taught." He did so, and she started sawing.

"It's working."

"I know, I can feel the strands part."

She sliced through the cord in seconds. "Keep holding the rope. It will look like you're still secure."

"Figured that out the first time."

"Bloody cheek." She lowered her arms and transferred the dagger to her left hand. "I have half a mind to leave you like this while I kill them myself."

She turned her head as she raised her arms, and caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Whipping around, she spotted a dark shape fly at her; firelight flickered off the polished blade of a shamshir scimitar. Following through with her turn, she parried the blow with the dagger and lashed out with a jujitsu kick, knocking her attacker back.

"What's happening?" Victor asked.

Coming in April.

From "Dribble & Maggot in the Land of Dreams"

Sir Differel Van Helsing strolled into the recovery room of the infirmary in her manor. Lady Margaret was awake, and she tried to make herself comfortable in the hospital-style bed. She pulled up a chair and sat beside her.

"How do you feel?"

She rubbed her stomach. "Like I was put through a wringer. Just what the hell did that crackbrain do to me!?"

The 'crackbrain' was Dr. Mabuse, the Caerleon Order's resident mad scientist. "She's developed a whole technology based on the Schrodinger wave function. You remember what that is?"

"Barely."

"Never mind. In essence, she used a device that sped up your pregnancy, so you came to term in a few hours instead of nine months."

"And that was better than an abortion how?"

"The baby is alive, and will be adopted by a loving childless couple, anonymously. While you avoided the embarrassment, inconvenience, discomfort, and maternal bonding. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but I didn't expect it to hurt so bloody much!"

She smirked. "Think of it as payback, for being a selfish slag."

Margaret scowled. "You're all heart, Dribble."

She returned a grin. "What are frenemies for, Maggot?"

"So what happens now?"

"Mabuse says you should rest for a day, but I have a better idea. How would you like a fifteen week vacation? On me?"

She made a sour face. "The way I feel, I'd rather sleep for that long."

Differel chuckled. "Funny you should say that."

Margaret flashed a puzzled look. "Besides, I don't have the time."

She stood up. "Neither do I. Meet me in my bedroom after supper. We leave tonight." She ignored her look of alarmed confusion and hurried out.

"Hey! What about something to eat?"

Differel had already changed into a nightshirt when Margaret arrived. She glanced at Vlad Drakulya standing at the foot of the bed, but ignored the Vampire and came over to her.

"All right, what's going on? This had better not be some kind of sick joke."

She handed her a nightshirt. "Change into this, and I'll explain."

Margaret gave her a dirty look, but started to unbutton her blouse when she glanced at Vlad again. He flashed a predatory leer, and she retreated into the bathroom.

Differel leaned against the doorway and watched her change. "For ten years now I've been going to an alternative universe every night in my sleep."

She paused and gave her a look like she was moony.

"I'm serious. It's called the Dreamlands, and I propose to take you there on an extended stay, to give you a chance to relax and recover."

She slipped the shirt over her head. "Are you saying we'll be asleep for fifteen weeks?"

"No, just fifteen hours. Time is different there. For every hour that passes here, a week goes by there. Your body can get the rest it needs while you mentally get to take four months off from the social and political rat race."

She retreated further into her bedroom as Margaret followed. "So how does this work?"

She sat on her bed. "I can do it automatically, but you'll have to take a drug, a potion if you will. It will put you out for fifteen hours, but also alter your brain chemistry so you can enter the other universe. However, it will keep you asleep until it wears off. I have to take it too, otherwise I could wake up before you do." She sidled across the mattress to give her room to get into bed.

"You mean we won't be able to wake up for all that time? Won't that make us vulnerable?"

"Vlad will watch over us," she said as Margaret crawled in beside her. "And I have my household guard."

"Indeed," he rumbled. "You will be as safe as babes in my arms." He spared them a wolfish grin.

"Behave yourself Thrall. So, are you ready or not?"

She flashed a worried look. "Not, but I'm intrigued. Let's do this."

Differel held up one hand and revealed a pair of small perfume bottles. "Drink this all down." She handed one to her, then pulled the stopper on her own. They downed their contents simultaneously.

Margaret licked her lips. "Mmmm, that was great! Tasted like honey."

Differel handed her bottle to her, and she placed both on the night table. "It's derived from mead. Now, lay down; it takes effect quickly, and you won't even realize it."

They maneuvered to stretch out supine, and she crossed her hands over her diaphragm.

"So, what is this place?" Her voice already sounded drowsy.

"Sort of a sword and sorcery fantasyland," she murmured as she felt herself drift. If Margaret replied, she missed it as she dropped into slumber.

Differel opened her eyes, feeling refreshed and energized. She sat up as Margaret did and they both got out bed.

"What went wrong?"

"Nothing. We're both Dreaming." She headed out of her bedroom; Vlad gave no indication he could see them.

Margaret fell in beside her. "This isn't like any dream I remember."

"No, 'Dreaming', with a capital 'D'. Mabuse believes it's an altered state of consciousness, one that can penetrate dimensional barriers and allow us to travel to the Dreamlands. We're not in the house anymore, or rather our bodies still are but our minds are already roaming. This is a staging area that allows us access to the Lands; like a hallway with many doors in it leading to other universes."

They made their way through the manor to the ground floor, then out into the back garden. Though they encountered servants and guards, none acknowledged their presence, or responded when Margaret tried to talk with them.

"Think of Dickens; 'they are but shadows'. Though I suppose we're really the shadows."

"You always did think too much, Dribble."

At the far end of the garden, before they reached the surrounding security fence, a path that shouldn't have been there led to an opening in the ground surrounded by rose bushes. Steps carved from living rock descended into the earth.

"These are the Seventy Steps to Lighter Slumber. They lead into the Dreamlands, by way of the Cavern of Flame."

"The what?"

"Think of it as a security checkpoint. You need to be cleared before you can enter. I doubt you'll have a problem, but I need to warn you. It's an idiosyncrasy of the Cavern that, even though we'll descend together, each of us will go through it alone. You'll be naked, but it's more like a bared soul. You'll encounter the guardians, but they won't harm you, so don't panic and attack them. If they let you pass, they can answer any question you might have. We'll meet up in the Dreamlands proper after descending the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber. Understood?"

"Yeah, sure; let's get this over with."

"After you, Maggot."

"As it should be, Dribble."

Margaret started down and she followed. Darkness closed in around them, and though only a couple of feet away, she soon lost sight of her frenemy. In typical dream distortion fashion, it seemed to take forever to reach the bottom, but when she did it felt like no time had passed. The cavern had at one time been natural, but it had long since been smoothed over and covered with colorful bas-reliefs. There were no furnishings or lamps, but inside an exit at the back of the cave stood a crystal pillar that encased a column of flame. It provided all the light and heat the cavern needed.

In the center stood two bearded priests wearing long, flowing colorful robes and ornate hats that looked like bishop mitres. They had a youthful appearance with dark hair and eyes, but they always seemed to exude a sense of age greater than she could comprehend. Their names were Nasht and Kaman-Thah, and they served as guardians and gatekeepers.

They bowed, which she returned. "Welcome back, Differel Van Helsing, to the Land of the Dreams of Men. We trust you are well?"

"I am, and I trust all is as it should be?"

"Everything and nothing."

"As always, the Lands are whatever you wish and will make of them."

She grinned; they never did give straight answers. They were probably driving Margaret mad.

That reminded her: "I came with a companion whom I wish to introduce to the Lands. Is she worthy?"

"She is worthy, and welcome."

"You shall meet her again in the Enchanted Woods."

She nodded her head. "Thank you." She hurried passed them and around the Pillar of Fire. On the other side lay a second smaller chamber that contained two tables of green malachite. One had clothing, the other weapons and equipment. The components of her costume never changed: braies for underwear, a long chemise and a pair of tight-fitting trousers, buckled boots, a sleeveless doublet with a high collar, an ascot and gloves, and a red great coat and matching hat with a wide floppy brim. A pair of glasses with large round rims rested on top of the folded apparel. From the other table she took a belt with two holstered pistols along with a pouch of paper cartridges, her greatsword Caliburn attached to a pack harness, a poignard dagger, a canteen, a pack of travel bread and jerky, a tin of cigarillos, and a purse, then she turned towards the exit. The arched opening revealed a set of steps leading down, and beside it stood a makila walking stick. She took hold of the handle, wrapped the lanyard around her wrist, and started down.

As with the Seventy Steps, the Seven Hundred seemed to take forever to descend, until she stepped out into the Woods, when it felt like no time at all. She stepped away from the bole and gazed around. The trees were cyclopean oaks, taller than redwoods, more massive than sequoias, and older than the world. Their crowns combined to form an unbroken canopy that closed off the sky. Their deeply gnarled bark, thick and strong as steel plate armour, served as a foundation for bracket fungi that glowed a weird, eldritch green, creating an environment as dim as twilight. She stood on the head of a gravel path made with crushed pearly-white stones that shown with a black light fluorescence.

"And just when I thought this place couldn't get any weirder."

She turned and saw Margaret emerge from an archway in a tree. Then she did a mental double take.

"What's with the costume?" She resembled a cavalier of Charles I, complete with linen shirt, jerkin, waist sash, reticella lace collar and cuffs, breeches, and tall narrow boots with turned-over tops and boothose, complimented by gloves, a short cape, and a plumed wide-brimmed hat. Her bouncy, billowing cinnamon-sorrel hair looked like a wig typical of that period. She had armed herself with a rapier hanging from a baldric and a main-gauche parrying dagger in her sash. Differel noted, however, not without some irritation, that her attire did little to conceal her statuesque figure. It made her own stick-like body seem even more boyish than normal, and her long, flat, stringy, smoke-gray hair would do little to dispel that illusion.

"It was all that was available. You're one to talk; don't you think the redcoat look is overkill?"

She glowered but ignored the barb. "Where's your equipment?"

"I didn't know what I'd need, except these." She reached under her sash and held up a set of lock picks.

"Hmph. The tables offer you everything you would need, or want, within reason. Though why you'd want to look like that I can't fathom. Fortunately we don't have far to go, so you can share my food and water."

"Where are we, exactly?"

"We're in the Dreamlands proper."

She wore a dubious expression. "Not what I expected."

"This is the Enchanted Woods--"

Margaret barked out a laugh, but it had an anxious note. "Are you off your nut?"

"Don't be fooled by the name. It can be a very dangerous place, particularly for novices. Just stick with me, and don't go wandering off, no matter what you see or hear. Clear?"

"Crystal."

"Our destination is a town called Ulthar. It's like a pre-industrial holiday village. Trust me, you won't be disappointed."

"Oh, bugger. Look, can we just get going?"

"In a moment." She looked around, but didn't see anything stirring. "Is anyone here?"

Margaret blinked a questioning look. "What?" But Differel ignored her. A singular creature crawled around the trunk and came to rest above the stair exit, facing down. Margaret heard the scratching of its claws on the bark and looked behind her.

"Aaah! Blimey!" She danced away and hid behind Differel. It looked like a short, squat, tailless rat, half again as big as a rabbit, with large rounded ears and huge peat-brown eyes whose pupils glowed an iridescent neon green. It had short bronze fur tinged with verdigris, while stripes of tarnished silver lined its face. Its front paws were thumbed hands, while wriggling pink tendrils bestrewn its long flexible nose.

"What the bleeding hell is that?"

"A Zoog. Behave yourself; they eat rude people."

She flashed a consternated look, as if she couldn't be sure she wasn't serious.

"Welcome back, My Lady Elissa," it said in a high-pitched voice. "I trust thou art well?"

Margaret's exotic copperish eyes bulged out and her jaw dropped. "Bugger!" Then she whipped her head around to stare at her. "Lady Elissa?!"

Differel returned a grinning leer. "Oh, didn't I tell you? I'm a marchioness here. I outrank you now."

She scowled. "What an appalling thought."

Differel smirked and turned her attention back to the Zoog. "I am well, thank you, and I trust all in the village are well?"

"We be'st well. Thou art early this eventide."

"Yes, I wanted to introduce a friend to the Dreamlands. This is Lady Margaret Rose Chesham, daughter of the Duke of Anglin."

The Zoog focused on Margaret. "I be'st pleased to meet thee, My Lady Chesham. Thou art welcome."

She nodded. "Thank you." Her voice sounded uncertain, but for once more deferential.

"I would like to make a withdraw."

"Of course, My Lady Elissa. Proceedest ye to the edge of the Woods, and we shalt deliver thy goods." It then turned to face up the trunk and scampered out of sight around the bole.

She touched Margaret on the elbow. "Come on, let's get out of here. This place gives me the collywobbles." She headed down the path and Margaret fell in beside her.

"What's up with all that theeing and thouing?"

"Zoogs have an archaic way of speaking. I sometimes think they learned English from reading Shakespeare."

"Does everyone talk like that here?"

"Fortunately not."

"Wait, how could they know about Shakespeare?"

"He was a Dreamer, like me, but the Woods also touch on a number of places in the Waking World. There are Zoogs in Sherwood Forest."

"Waking World?"

"That's what our home universe is called here."

She fell silent and said nothing the rest of the way. Differel got the impression she had come close to information overload.

When they emerged from the Woods, the bright sun momentarily blinded her, but her eyesight adjusted quickly.

"My god! It's beautiful!" Margaret stared at the vista with a dumbfounded expression. A meadow sloped gently down to a river in the distance. Beyond it, a grassy plain stretched to the horizon, and at the extreme edge of vision sat the hazy mass of a town.

"You know what this reminds me of? That scene in _The Wizard of Oz_ , when Dorothy steps out of her house and everything explodes into colour!"

"I know what you mean. I've been coming here for over thirty-five hundred nights, and the sight still awes me."

"Bugger!"

She glanced at her and found her staring at her with an astonished look.

"What?"

"I couldn't be sure inside that bleeding forest, but you look twenty-five again!"

She grinned, satisfied she had gobsmacked her again. "So do you."

Margaret reached up and touched her face in wonder.

"Dream bodies tend to be healthier, stronger, and sturdier, too. For example, my eyesight here is perfect, while in the Waking World I'm blind as a bat."

Margaret smiled. "I always thought that appropriate. Wait, if you don't need glasses, why wear them?"

She shrugged. "Matter of habit, I guess. That, and they're probably part of my identity. These just have plain glass."

"My Lady Elissa!"

She turned, and a leather pouch dropped out of a tree. She caught it, and tipped her hat. "My thanks!"

"Mayest ye fair well, on your adventures!" She didn't see anything, but she heard the Zoogs scramble deeper into the Woods. They didn't like bright light.

She opened the pouch as she faced Margaret, and poured a number of golden coins into one hand.

"Bugger! Is that real...?"

"They're called crowns, and yes, each is an ounce of pure gold. Hold out your hand." She divided them up. "I have the Zoogs keep some money for me, because I like to have traveling expenses on hand as soon as I arrive." She separated the lot into two piles of ten coins each and poured one into her purse. The rest she put back in the pouch. "These are yours. Try not to spend them all in one place."

Margaret grinned like a kid at Christmas as she took the pouch and stuffed it inside her sash. "How much is it?"

They started down the slope together. "It's hard to say, exactly. Crowns are minted in the kingdom of Ooth-Nargai, but outside that realm they are used pretty much for credit transfer. More common is the tahler, which is an ounce of pure silver. The exchange rate is fifty tahlers per crown, so carrying crowns is easier than the equivalent value in tahlers. Though the value of silver in pounds Sterling is considerably higher, you can think of a tahler as having the purchasing power of one pound. Since there are no coins of smaller denominations, everything is priced in whole tahlers, and the only items priced at less are those purchased in bulk. You have the equivalent of 500 tahlers; that's a lot, but no better or worse than having 500 pounds."

"I didn't ask you how to make a clock." Margaret sound piqued.

"Oh, shut it, you slag."

A gigantic shadow passed overhead and a scream like that of a titanic eagle split the air. Margaret shrieked, covered her head, and collapsed to the ground. Differel couldn't help bursting with laughter.

Margaret sat up and looked out over the meadow. A huge raptor soared low over the ground. Even in the bright sunlight the wing tips glowed with St. Elmo's Fires as sparks danced between the pinions of its crest. Once it reached the river it gave a ponderous flap and rose into the air.

"What the bleeding hell is that?!"

"That's my faithful Wakiya, Eleanor d'Aquitaine." She held out her hand. "We share an empathic bond, so she always knows when I'll arrive. That's just her way of saying hello."

Margaret took it and Differel hauled her to her feet. "A what?"

"Another name is 'thunder bird'. She can pick up and store static electricity in her feathers, and discharge it at will as lightning."

"You and your dodgy companions."

"Hmph. You're one to talk."

They started off again, but just before they reached the river they came to a road. Differel crossed over and went on down to the river to fill the canteen, but Margaret paused and squatted, running a hand over the rust-red surface. "Is this concrete?"

She looked back as she pulled the brown glass jug out of the leather pouch. "No, it's called laterite. It's a form of subsoil rich in iron. When mixed with sand, small stones, and water, it forms a slurry that can be poured like concrete, but it dries in the sun, forming a hard, brick-like surface. It's brittle, so it cracks easily, but it can be repaired with minimum effort."

She knelt by the bank to fill the jug, and Margaret kneeled beside her. "This is the River Skai, and it's one of the major waterways in this part of the Dreamlands."

But she didn't seem to pay attention as she examined her cute round face in the water. "Oh, bugger. I wanted to see what I looked like."

Differel understood what she meant. The water appeared so clear it seemed invisible.

Margaret eyed the canteen. "You sure that's safe to drink?"

She stood up as she stopped it. "Perfectly. Further down it picks up junk from the fields, but here it's practically pure." She placed the jug back in the pouch.

Margaret took off a glove and filled her hand, then slurped it up. "Mmmm, fantastic! I've never tasted water that fresh and clean before!"

"Part of it's because there's no pollution, but part is due to the nature of Lands themselves. Hungry?"

"I could eat." She stood up and Differel handed her a piece of bread and a handful of jerky.

She chuckled when Margaret made a face. "The bread looks like hardtack, but it lasts three times longer and tastes like pastry. But you can only get it in the Cavern of Flame." She watched as she nibbled at it, and laughed when he face lit up in surprised enjoyment.

While Margaret ate, she loaded her pistols. She took a practice shot with each and reloaded them.

"I thought you said this place was sword and sorcery." She spoke around a mouthful of food.

"That's basically correct, but not strictly so. Nothing that was invented after 1500 in the Waking World can exist here. No one knows why, though most believe it's because it takes 500 years for something to become embedded in the collective unconscious. Regardless, there are exceptions, but there are also items and technologies that people think are modern but are actually much older. Firearms and gunpowder are two examples. These are called wheellock pistols. The mechanism was invented just before the sixteenth century. They look like flintlocks, but they use an internal spring-loaded wheel to create sparks. They're bloody complicated to maintain and clean, but I feel more comfortable with one of them in my hand than a sword. I have quite a collection by now; these two will put it at nearly 400."

"You always were a packrat, Dribble."

She felt her irritation flare. "At least I collect something other than men, Maggot."

Coming in April.

From "We Deliver"

It is a curious biological event, but whenever someone enrolls at a university, metabolic changes occur within every cell, creating a nutritional need for pizza and beer. Fortunately, most students revert to a normal biochemistry upon graduation, but some never fully recover.

Pizza is big business in Delasalle, Illinois. There are over two dozen parlors alone, and virtually every restaurant offers pizza in some form on its menu. Yet by far the most popular store is Checker's Pizza. It is a small shop, without a parlor; instead, it bases its entire business on delivery. While other establishments make deliveries as an optional service, at an extra charge, Checker's makes it a way of life, at no extra charge. The owner, Michele Horne, believes that what students want most is dependable delivery right to their door. So, she makes it standard policy to guarantee 25 minute delivery to any spot within the Delasalle or Tamarack city limits, or that order is free.

I joined Checker's as a driver after losing my teaching assistantship because of poor performance. I studied biochemistry at Keekishwa University, and I had depended on the stipend to support myself. Summer was not Checker's best season. With no dormitory students on campus, and relying solely on the permanent residents of Delasalle and Tamarack for business, Michele could afford to hire only a total of five drivers and work only three a night. Business would usually be brisk until 10:00 P.M., but afterwards she always sent one driver home and the other two filled the empty time between deliveries as best as they could.

I remember that particular Wednesday vividly. It had been Checker's busiest night so far that summer, but as usual, orders dropped off after ten. In fact, business became so slow that by eleven Michele sent the other driver home, leaving me to deliver any orders that might come in. None did, and by midnight Michele had exhausted all ideas to keep me busy. So, while she caught up on her paperwork, I simply waited for a telephone to ring.

Typically for central Illinois in high summer, the evening was warm and humid, though not unbearably so. Yet the interior of the store felt intolerable. Michele had turned off three of the four ovens located at the rear of the shop, but the heat from the one still stifled. I stood in the open doorway, seeking relief through any small breeze. Outside, beyond the semicircle of light from the entrance, the night looked absolutely black. The parking lot lights had been turned off a few minutes earlier as the other stores prepared to close. Far across the street, I could see the tiny glow of lights above an apartment front; nothing filled the emptiness between. Even the street seemed deserted of both cars and pedestrians.

I turned around and took a few steps inside, just enough to peer into the office. Michele sat at the desk, a fan blowing her loose blond hair about her oval face. Her long fingers effortlessly worked the desktop calculator as she totaled the day's receipts. Michele struck me a pretty woman, let's make no mistake about that, but she stood taller than I did, with virtually no figure. Besides, her husband could have been the inspiration for Bad Leroy Brown.

She paused and looked up at me, her green eyes slightly magnified by her wire-rim glasses.

"I was just wondering if you wanted me to start cleaning up."

One corner of her thin mouth turned upward a little. "What time is it?"

I looked over my shoulder and up at the clock over the door. It had black plastic cards with white numbers printed on them attached to a rolodex-style spool. I watched as the minutes spool flipped from eleven to twelve.

She frowned when I told her. I had a good idea of what she thought. Ordinarily she preferred to stay open as late as possible, which on a summer weeknight meant three in the morning. Some of the other drivers complained that it was due to pure greed, but I suspected that, as popular as Checker's was, it was an expensive enterprise to run. She needed these extra hours simply to break even during the summer, despite the expense of keeping a driver that late. She probably compared her accumulating loss against possible profit if a late night rush developed.

"Let's wait and see what happens till one. If we don't get any orders, I'll shut down the phones and you can get started."

I nodded and turned to step back into the doorway--and almost collided with a figure standing right behind me. I didn't hear him come in, which was unusual. I was generally alert enough to know when a customer had entered the store, even while talking to someone else.

"I'm sorry..." I began out of reflex, then I took a closer look.

That night had been too warm to allow a pedestrian to comfortably wear anything other than a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. The person before me, however, had bundled himself up as if for winter. Aside from a pair of rather baggy trousers, he wore a heavy coat that covered him from neck to knees. A wide-brimmed hat sat low over his head, and a meter-long muffler wrapped around his face hid everything beneath the nose. I could see only two, deep-set, and very disturbing, bloodshot eyes. His posture looked stooped and bent, as if he was extremely old or crippled, and he stank of mold and loam.

My first thought was that he might be a robber, trying to hide both his appearance and a weapon, but he simply stood in the doorway, staring at me, with both hands thrust into the coat pockets. I didn't like the look of him (at least, I assumed it was a "him"). Even so, he made no threatening move, so I couldn't just dismiss him without a reason.

Overcoming what I thought was simply my natural paranoia, I asked if I could help him. His only response was to pull his left hand from the pocket and extend it towards me. That hand had tannin-brown skin, with black, stringy hair, and long, pointed nails encrusted with some dark matter. He held a piece of torn newspaper in his grasp.

Taking the scrap, I saw that it had an advertisement from our store offering a special price for two large pizzas. It was still valid, but it was also soiled with food, and other, stains, as if it had been taken from a garbage can.

"I take it you want to place an order." I may have sounded surprised, but he nodded, calm and smooth.

"I'll be just a moment." I stepped behind the front counter and retrieved the order book from underneath. I spent a few minutes filling out the preliminaries, such as the time, date, and my name.

"Let's see now. You want two of our large pizzas--"

A vigorous head shaking interrupted me. He took a few steps closer and pointed at the ad. Looking more closely I saw an "x" followed by the number twelve written below the word two.

"You want twelve orders?"

He nodded his head.

"But that's twenty-four pizzas."

He nodded again, patiently.

I shook my head in disbelief, but recorded the number. "They come with cheese. Would you like any other toppings?"

He stared hard at me for a few seconds, then spoke a single word in a high-pitched voice that meeped the vowels.

"Meat."

If there had been a full moon that night...but I didn't believe in werewolves.

"Um, we have five different kinds of meat..."

I let my voice trail off when he only stared. As I jotted down the details, he placed another piece of torn newsprint on the countertop. It had only a portion of an ad, but I saw an address, and a name, scrawled in a very illegible script, beneath it.

"Elmwood and Charles," I mumbled as I added it to the order. "Is that in Tamarack?"

He nodded once. I should have guessed.

The name proved to be more difficult, but I pronounced it "Caldwell" and he rewarded me with another nod.

"Ah, I don't suppose you have a telephone, do you?"

He gave no answer. Briefly, I felt like a fool.

That left only drinks. He nodded vigorously when I suggested that he add beer to the order, and he indicated the number of bottles by pointing to the number of pizzas.

"Ok, because of the size of this order, we can't guarantee 25 minute delivery. We will, however, get there as fast as we can. Also, I'll have to ask that you pay in advance."

He was way ahead of me. As I spoke he dug into one pocket and tossed me a single coin, about the size of a silver dollar. Surprised, I tried to catch it against my shirt, but I missed and had to scramble for it as it rolled under the counter. For a brief moment I thought I saw the man's feet, but what I saw must have seen his shoes instead. No person could have feet like that.

When I finally caught the coin I discovered that it was encrusted with filth and dirt. I stood up, ready to explain that it wouldn't be acceptable, but the man had vanished. He had left as silently as he had arrived, leaving me dumbfounded.

"Do we have an order?"

Glancing at the office, I spotted Michele looking at me. I signaled for her to come out and waited until she came over before answering.

"We do, though you were close enough to hear."

She flashed a testy expression. "I heard you ask for payment, but I didn't hear if you were paid." She then glanced at the order form.

"Twenty-four pizzas?" Though higher in pitch, she reproduced my original reaction perfectly. "Did he pay?"

I held up the coin. "If you can call this payment."

She took it to examine. "What is this?"

"I would suppose a dollar, assuming, of course, it's not a foreign coin."

She scowled in disappointment. A large order like that one could save a bad night, if it was legitimate. Unfortunately, it looked like it probably wasn't.

"Well, if it's any consolation, at least we didn't waste our time and money making a bunch of pizzas we couldn't sell."

I had tried to cheer her up, but from the look she gave me I wasn't successful.

Then she examined her fingers. They were gray from the filth on the coin. When she scrutinized the now clean surface more closely, a confused look crossed her face.

"I thought dollars were made out of silver."

"I beg your pardon?"

She handed the coin back to me. What I saw left me speechless. Instead, I began to frantically clean the coin with my shirt.

"What's wrong?"

When I had finished, I held up the coin for her to see. The polished yellow metal glinted a dull green in the fluorescent lights. Her eyes grew wide, filling her lenses, as she recognized it.

"It's gold, isn't it?" Her voice cracked on the second word.

"It's more than that." My own voice rose barely above a whisper. "It's an 1850 Double Eagle, and in excellent condition. They weigh a full ounce and contain almost 90% gold. Based on the metal alone, at today's prices, it would be worth maybe $450. But that's not the half of it. To a collector it's worth almost $3000."

"How can you be sure?"

"I used to be one."

Michele said nothing for the longest time; she just stared at the coin. Yet even when she finally could speak, she didn't take her eyes from it. "Do you think he knew what he gave us?"

"I don't know, but no matter how you look at it, he certainly paid for his order." It was a lame statement, I know, but what else could be said at a time like that?

It took us nearly 45 minutes to make all the pizzas. We packed them into insulated boxes to keep them warm, six pizza cartons to a "hot" box. Afterwards, I went next door to a liquor store. (We had an agreement with the proprietor to buy beer at a little more than his wholesale price. In that way, Michele didn't need to have a liquor license.) While we worked, I described the man's manner and appearance. Michele informed me that no customer like him had ever visited the store before, but she seemed to recognize the name Caldwell. She seemed certain he had ordered from her at least once. She just couldn't recall the details.

Since I couldn't handle four hot boxes, plus four six-bottle cartons of beer, all by myself, Michele decided to close up the shop and come with me. We loaded my Dodge four-by-four, and then checked a map of Tamarack to see where we were going. The only place where Elmwood and Charles intersected lay at the east end of Greenwood Cemetery. There were houses along both streets, but the man had not given me a house address, which made Michele suspicious. Yet, he had paid, so we were obligated to try to deliver his order. Even so, Michele decided not to take any chances.

The drive to Tamarack was quiet enough and took only ten minutes. A major state road runs north and west between the village and Delasalle, allowing quick and easy access to the nearby interstate highway. Just west of the road, before one reaches the village proper, is a suburban area with its inexpensive single family homes, parks, and schools. On the east side is the "wealthy quarter", with its beautiful mansions that could rival the best on the East Coast. Beyond it, stretching north and further east, is Maria's Lament, an area of marsh set aside as a nature preserve.

Once into the incorporated town itself, however, things change dramatically. Tamarack is not a prosperous town. Though the sister city of Delasalle, it has never been as successful as its sibling. It is nowhere near as decayed and squalid as Seth's Landing to the south, or even as tired and rundown as Stonefort to the north, but it is nonetheless decadent and decrepit. A visitor once described Tamarack as a has-been whore, passed her prime, but still trying to recapture the golden days of her youth with a thick veneer of cheap makeup, all the while deluding herself that there really had been any gold to recapture.

The central, western, and northern quarters of the village are not too bad, since they cater to students who either cannot afford to live in Delasalle or want to experience an impoverished Bohemian atmosphere, but the eastern section that borders on the marsh is by far the worst part of town. The structures there are all extremely old: none are younger than 150 years and some even date back to the arrival of the first settlers, in the middle nineteenth century. Yet they are in varying states of decay and disrepair, even those still occupied.

Their residents are little better. They are a proud, resourceful, and arrogant people who, by virtue of their direct descent from the founding families, considered themselves superior to the "outlander tribes", the villagers who are their neighbors to the west. They keep to themselves, tending their gardens and tiny plots of land, trading with each other for their meager needs, even preferring to marry within their own families. Many take daily journeys into the marsh to hunt or gather firewood, and more than a few actually live there. In turn, they are avoided by the villagers, who tell strange stories about these "marsh folk", which tend to discourage idle curiosity. This suits the marsh folk just fine, who would prefer never to see an unfamiliar face.

Greenwood Cemetery lies at the border of the eastern and central quarters of Tamarack, but the intersection of Elmwood and Charles lies well inside the marsh quarter, and there is no other way of getting to it except through the quarter itself. It took us a half an hour to negotiate the twisting streets, which were badly in need of repair. The houses were all dark. In the beams of my headlights they appeared skull white, with windows black like huge, empty sockets. They looked as if they had been rotted by the acidic soil of that drained bog-land. Occasionally we saw shadows scuttling away from our lights. Like the homes, they appeared tattered and ancient, crippled in form, but swift in their movements. I wondered if the soil could do to people what it did to the buildings. Or maybe it wasn't the soil. There, at night, it seemed easy to believe the stories told by the villagers, that the marsh was filled with a necrosis that saturated soil and atmosphere, putrefying both the homes and their occupants until they bore only the slightest resemblance to the modern town.

At last we spotted the gates of the cemetery. They stood open, though their quantity of rust suggested that they had not been used in over a hundred years. Beyond them, a thick mist shrouded the graveyard. My headlights bounced off the cloud, making it look like a solid, whitewashed wall; we couldn't even see the nearest headstones. Pulling off to the side of the road, I parked, but left the motor idling. I turned the headlights off so that we could look for our customer, and blackness descended, as if a blanket had been thrown over the jeep.

After a moment, our eyes adjusted to the change, though little more than the gate and the nearer houses could be seen. Unfortunately, there appeared to be no one around to greet us and neither Michele nor I wanted to get out and start knocking on doors. Yet we were not willing to immediately leave. So we simply sat there, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Coming in March.

From "Youthful Indiscretion"

As soon as the block fully reassembled itself, the tolling stopped. Apprehension crept over Henry; he knew something was about to happen, he just didn't know what. Then the room began to grow dark. He looked around at the lights. They didn't appear to grow dim; in fact, they seemed as bright as ever. Rather, the areas over which they cast their luminance shrank as the borders became more distinct and sharp. Beyond them, the room fell into shadow like it would at twilight when the sun had set but the sky was still bright.

In that moment _They_ appeared in his room. It wasn't like how Vlad emerged from shadow, or the affect of Dr. Mabuse's transporter machine. Quite literally one moment the room was empty, and next five beings stood in its center. The thing he noted first was the stench. Though not overpowering, it was enough to turn his stomach, and yet overlaid was the scent of vanilla, which partially mitigated but could not completely cover their foul, rotten odor. At almost the same time he spotted the blue phosphorescent glow that surrounded them like a mist.

Their most horrific feature, however, was that each was deformed or mutilated in some hideous fashion. One was morbidly obese, with its face so swollen with fat that the wrinkles distorted and obscured its features. Another had a flap of skin covering its eyes while its disfigured mouth had the lips pulled back well away from its mouth and the teeth clattered together endlessly like it was chattering. The third was the size of child about his same age, but its flesh had been seared as if in a barbecue while its eyes stared out from their sockets without blinking. Number four looked like a teenage girl, and while bald was otherwise unmarked, except for a gaping wound in her throat held open by small hooks. They all wore clothing that looked like a combination of religious vestments and butchery garments, except they were made from black leather and vinyl. The robes exposed areas of skin on their chests and stomachs, and it was pierced and sliced and coated with fine powder, like talcum, or...ash? The garments themselves were sewn or hooked into the skin, as if that was needed to hold them in place, in the manner of buttons or zippers.

But the fifth and foremost, whom he took to be the leader, was the most compelling. He was hairless, with dead-white skin, and his face and scalp was etched in a grid of lines. At each intersection a large pin or small nail had been driven into the bone below. Unlike the others, who looked vacant or mindless, he seemed intelligent and aware. He stared at him with a sardonic half-smile, as if he alone knew a secret others would give their lives to know. It sent chills down his back even as he felt ill. Yet despite how repulsive they appeared, there was something about them that he found fascinating, even provocative. Even as he feared he would vomit at any moment, he felt enchanted by their presence, even a little bewitched.

But then the nail-headed one frowned, like he realized something was wrong. His companions moved towards the bed, he assumed with the intent to take him, but as they tried to go around their leader, he held up a hand.

"No, he did not summon us."

Summon!? He stared down at the block in horror. That's why it was in the vault! How could I be so stupid!

Vlad appeared in an explosion of shadow, in front of the bed between him and the monsters. "Run, Little Master!"

Whatever spell, psychological or psychic, that held him in that room broke, and his terror galvanized him. He ran for the door to the nurse's room, pulled it open, and made for the opposite side, which led into the nursery. From there he could access the secret stairwell and make his way down to his mother's office. She would protect him.

As he reached the other door, he heard the one to his bedroom slam shut.

Vlad moved to block the door to keep the Cenobites from following his Master's son, but he felt the one called Pinhead extend his power to push it closed.

"Vlad Tepes Drakulya." Pinhead regarded him with what appeared to be an arrogant expression. "Have you finally decided to surrender yourself to us?"

"No. My current existence still satisfies me."

"Then why do you interfere with our actions?"

"I defend the Van Helsing Bloodline. So long as I draw breath, no harm will come to those who possess it."

Pinhead sported a bored expression. "So be it." Even as he spoke, iron hooks at the end of heavy chains flew out of the walls, ceiling, and floor. The chains wrapped around Vlad's body, ensnaring him, as the hooks dug into his flesh, ripping through to the bones. They lifted him off the floor and spread-eagled his limbs even as they pulled him apart.

Through the haze of agony and blood he saw Pinhead scan the room in a slow manner, as if searching for something. "The one who summoned us is not here. Come, we must search for him." They turned as a group and headed for the hall door. As they passed through it, the chains dissolved into thin air and he dropped. Before he hit the ground, he transformed into shadow and flowed under the bed to reform. He had to do so quickly; he knew they would follow Henry for the time being, hoping he would lead them to their victim, and Henry would go to his mother.

Differel and the Girls were in the north stairwell, halfway between the first and ground floors, when her cell phone beeped. She paused and answered it.

"Differel here; report."

"Holt speaking. The Cenobites are in the grand hall, second floor, just outside the matriarch suite."

Too soon; she had hoped for more time. "Fall back. Do not engage; repeat, do not engage! Follow them for now, but keep your distance and do not interfere unless they threaten someone. Understood?"

"Yes, Mum."

"Keep me informed of their progress. What of my son?"

"He is not in his bedroom."

Her heart stuttered as her breath caught in throat. "Start a search for him immediately!"

"Right away, Mum. Holt out."

She passed the phone to Eile. "Take all reports from Holt."

"Sure thing, Diff."

"You want us to help with the search?" Sunny asked.

"Not yet. Stay with me for now."

They continued on. They got off at the ground floor, Differel used her pass card to open the security gate and the door to her office, and then she went to the room safe. She unlocked it and pulled it open with Eile's help. Sunny entered first and switched on the light; she and Eile followed and went to the weapons locker. She pressed a thumb against the reader and heard the metal doors unlock. Opening the cabinet, she removed and passed to Eile a British Army L128A1 semi-automatic shotgun with a bandolier of 12-gauge shells, followed by an FN AR-57 semi-automatic carbine which she passed to Sunny along with a bandolier of 50-round magazines, and finally a Parker Hale submachine gun with a 180-round drum magazine for herself.

While she waited for them to lock and load, she heard the kick panel that led to the secret stairwell open in the back. She aimed the PH as a box of files was moved aside, but relaxed when she saw Henry crawl through the shelves.

"What are you doing here?"

He stood up and sprinted over to her. "Five monsters appeared in my bedroom. Vlad told me to run, so I came down here to find you."

Her gut seized as the nickel dropped. The cube he mentioned; its description matched that of the Lament Configuration. _He must have taken it and solved it! Bloody hell, I've been so stupid!_

But she couldn't worry about that yet. She had to get him to safety.

She held out her hand. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

He took it and she led him out as the Girls followed. As she entered the office, however, she spotted the Cenobites standing just in front of the door.

Read the rest of the story [http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/336465-youthful-indiscretion].

Back to TOC
