casualties, I want the body count to be as low as possible.'
Trent nodded. 'Gotcha. What's the mission objective?'
'Reducing a fortified town near the sea. You won't be able to lay siege immediately, though, because they can field a pretty good army. Once you reduce their numbers, they'll use the town as a redoubt….' Incarnadine smiled. 'Do I detect a note of interest?'
Trent half-smiled, 'Perhaps you do.'
'Well, let's delay the briefing. This is a party, no shoptalk allowed.'
'I still don't quite like the idea of Trent fighting a war,' Sheila said.
'More like a war game,' Trent remarked, 'judging from the sound of it. At least it'll be such to me, sitting in my den with maps and unit markers.'
'Still…' Sheila remained unconvinced.
'Think it over,' Incarnadine said. 'Let me know. We have some time in that theater. In the other one, things are a bit more critical.'
'Oh? What's the milieu there?'
'Muskets and cavalry charges.'
'Sounds more like my line of work.'
'Sorry, that one I have to handle myself. Still interested?'
Trent took a long drink, then said, 'Yes. Yes, I think I am.
'I'll have my operational staff brief you in the morning. Okay?'
'Okay. And thanks, Inky-
'You look like you need something to get the blood rushing. Besides, you're getting a paunch.'
Sheila shook her head. 'You two keep talking as though he's going to be fighting this war.'
Trent pulled his wife closer. 'Woman, you are not to worry, hear? This is strictly a desk job. Right, Inky?'
'Right.'
'Though I might have to pay a few visits to this world to get the feel of things,' Trent dissembled.
'He won't have to go anywhere near the actual fracas,' Incarnadine lied blackly.
'Right.'
'Well, okay,' Sheila said dubiously.
A band struck up a Caribbean beat. Couples took to dancing.
'Let's dance,' Sheila said, dragging her husband away.
'Sure. See you later, Inky.'
'Have a good time.'
The king slurped up the last of his Slammer and turned back to the bar.
'I think I will try a Kamikaze.'
'You're quite sure, my liege lord?'
'Banzai!'
KING'S TOWER — CELLAR
Thorsby took another pull on the bottle of cooking sherry and put a foot up on the old carved table at which he sat. He belched loudly.
Not far away, Fetchen swept the floor desultorily, pushing dust back and forth.
'You missed a spot,' Thorsby told him, pointing.
'Up yours,' Fetchen said pleasantly.
Thorsby laughed. Then he yawned. 'I never seem to get enough sleep,' he complained. 'Think I might bed down on that old settee over there, catch a wink.'
'You could sweep just a little.' Thorsby looked around. 'Well, there's only one broom, isn't there?'
'Now that's a fix.' Fetchen threw the broom at him.
Grinning, Thorsby caught it neatly and laid it aside. 'Sit down,' he said. 'Take a load off.'
Fetchen came over and snagged the bottle from him. 'You've just about drunk the whole bloody thing.'
'Wasn't much left.'
Fetchen guzzled the dregs of the sherry and tossed the bottle among some heaped rags and boxes in a corner.
'Look at him making a filthy mess.'
Fetchen glanced around at the piles of crates, stacks of musty books, battered antique furniture, and other junk. 'What are you puling about?'
Thorsby belched again. Then he farted.
'First intelligent comment we've had out of you all day.'
'Shut your hole. I need a drink.'
'That sherry's bleeding awful.'
'Yes, quite. Let's conjure something.'
'You do awful stuff. Undrinkable.'
'Well, it's alcohol, isn't it?'
'Marsh water.'
'You do it, then.' Fetchen scowled.
Thorsby chuckled. 'Not so easy, eh? Food magic's hard enough, but drink magic-well, now.'
'Wait a minute.' Fetchen got up, crossed the crypt, and began rummaging in a pile of debris. 'Saw something when I moved this stuff… now, where did I-? Oh, here it is.'
He returned bearing a tattered leatherbound book, which he set on the table in front of Thorsby. 'Have a look at that.'
'An old grimoire,' Thorsby said after glancing at it. So?'
'Read the title.'
Thorsby wiped the dust away. 'The Delights of the Flesh.' He sat up. 'Ye gods.'
'There's one the Royal Librarian keeps under lock and key.'
'I should say so.' Thorsby opened the book and began leafing through it.
Fetchen moved his chair. 'A houri.'
'Ah. Two of them.'
'Imagine being crushed between two sets of-'
'Oh, look at her.'
'Gods, look at that one.'
'They have names. Fatima… Jalila… Layla… Safa-'
'Who cares a fig for their names?'
'And here are the spells to conjure 'em with.'
'Dare we? I remember warnings about this book.'
'Can you resist that?'
Fetchen slavered at the full-page engraving. 'Not for long.'
Thorsby flipped more pages. 'There's everything here. Food spells, love charms, all manner of opiates and philtres-'
'Drink. Let's have a drink.'
'All right, then. Where's the incantation?'
'No, you have to do the thing in the front of the book first. The general invocation and pact.'
'Exactly who and what are we invoking? What kind of magic is this?'
'It's ancient, and very tricky.'
'Not the sort of stuff you learn in school, is it?'
'It's on the Index of Proscribed Books. I remember it.'
'Who cares. We can handle it.'
Fetchen made a dubious face.
