'Iced Tea.'
'You on the wagon?'
'It's a drink. Rum, vodka, gin, Triple Sec, sour mix… and, uh… '
'Orange juice and cola, sir,' the bartender supplied.
'Right.'
'Heavens, that sounds dangerous,' Linda said, wide-eyed. 'Rum and vodka and gin?'
'Oh, my.'
'His Majesty, the king!'
All eyes swiveled to the French doors on the patio. Through them strode Incarnadine, Lord of the Western Pale, and by the grace of the gods, King of the Realms Perilous. His yellow T-shirt bore magenta lettering that read: DEATH'S A BITCH-THEN YOU'RE REINCARNATED. He wore mirror shades, electric-green Bermudas, pink-accented LA Gears, and a big Panama hat with a purple hatband. 'Hey, gang, I'm ready to howl.'
Women curtsied, men bowed.
'Tut, tut.' He waved his indulgence. 'Where can I get a drink? Oh, there.' He went straight to the bar.
'What will it be, Your Majesty?'
'Ahhh… recommend something.'
'Planter's Punch?'
'Nah.'
'Rum Runner?'
'Nope.'
'Perhaps a Kamikaze?'
'What's in it?'
'Vodka, gin, sake, peach schnapps, and lime juice.'
'Sounds suicidal, all right. Can you make an Alabama Slammer?'
'Uh, Southern Comfort, orange juice… and-?'
'Amaretto and sloe gin.'
'Right, sir. Yes, sir, coming right up.'
The king turned his head. 'Trent!'
His brother stepped up to the bar. Incarnadine took his outstretched hand.
'Your Majesty. Happy birthday.'
'Thank you muchly. Sheila. Long time no see.'
'Welcome!' Sheila said as she gave the king a hug. 'You haven't been here in so long!'
'The press of business. I do need a vacation. Maybe I'll stay on a few days.'
'The royal suite is always ready.'
'Some deep-sea fishing, maybe.'
'We have a fleet of boats that sits around.'
'There's a funny kind of, sort of, marlin out there,' Trent told him. 'A real terror to land.'
'Oh? sounds interesting.'
'Poisonous spines.'
'Sounds like fun.'
'I'll take you out.'
'It's a date. Tomorrow.'
'Great,' Trent said. 'How's Zafra and the kids?'
'Wonderful, wonderful. You two seem to be doing fine. All sun-bronzed and healthy.'
'Oh, this climate agrees with me, all right,' Sheila said. 'but I still get burned a lot. Even my spells don't keep the sun off.'
Squinting one eye. Incarnadine held up his right hand and slowly waved two-fingers. 'Hmmm. Strange magic.'
'Only Sheila's been able to deal with it so far,' Trent said. 'I have a devil of a time.'
'I suspect I would, too. But maybe a simple forfending spell would take care of the sunburn?'
'Tried it,' Sheila said. 'It kept up a shield all right, but it kept air out, too.'
'Hardly practical. Let me see…'
'It's tricky, Inky.'
Incarnadine nodded. 'I see what you mean. Spells here tend to have unexpected consequences.'
'All spells spin off unwanted side-effects,' Trent said, but here they sometimes run rampant.'
'Take this hotel, for instance,' Sheila said. 'All I wanted to conjure was a hut. And look what I got.'
The three of them took in the rococo elegance of Hotel Sheila.
'Remarkable,' Incarnadine said. 'I don't think I could do as good a job.'
'It's not me, it's the magic here.'
'It's you,' Trent assured her. 'You're a sorceress of the first magnitude.'
'Well, maybe here I am.'
Incarnadine asked, 'What've you been up to, Trent?'
Trent accepted a Singapore Sling from one of the bartenders and shrugged. 'Not much. Just running this place.'
'Like it?'
'Like it fine.'
'Don't have a hankering to get back to Earth?'
Trent shook his head. 'No. Still have the estate on Long Island, but I've put it in mothballs, pretty much.'
'Going to retire here?'
'Hell, I'm only three hundred forty-six years old. Give me a break.'
Sheila rolled her eyes. 'Only three hundred forty-six, he says. And he doesn't look a day over forty.'
'Really?' Trent said, feigning pique. 'And here thought I could pass for thirty-five on a good day.'
'A young forty,' Sheila amended.
Incarnadine persisted. 'So what do you want to do with the rest of your allotted three score years and five hundred?'
Trent jerked one shoulder. 'Who knows. I'll find something to arouse my interest.'
'Want to fight a war?'
'Eh?'
'I'm serious, I've got two on my hands. And although I could contrive, by magical means, of course, to be two places at once, you can't really divide your attentions that way. I need a good strategist, and you're one of the best I know of.'
'I don't think I like this,' Sheila said.
Incarnadine laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. 'Don't worry, my dear. He'll be well behind the front lines. In fact, he can do all his operational planning here and messenger orders to the front, through the castle. He'll be quiet safe.',
'Oh,' Sheila said. 'Well, in that case…'
'In other words, I wouldn't have actual command,' Trent said.
'I need a plan for a lightning offensive. I want to get the war over quick, very quick. Minimum casualties.'
'What's the milieu?'
'Late Bronze Age.'
Trent laughed. 'Good luck. And here I was thinking laser-guided missiles.'
'I'm of a mind that it can be done at any level of technological development.'
'Well, I'm of a mind to agree with you, but the strategic situation has to be just right.'
'This one is near perfect. We have naval superiority, slightly superior numbers, and better-trained soldiers.'
Trent asked, 'Then why do you need me, particularly?'
'As I said, I want minimum casualties. What this world lacks is superior military science. Things are fairly primitive on that score. Wars tend to be long and bloody. I want this one to be short and, while I can't hope for zero
