Thorsby winked. 'Come on, then. Just a few of the more innocuous spells. Can't hurt, can it?'
'I dunno.'
'Are you game or are you not, Fetchen?'
Fetchen thought about it, then replied, 'I'm game.'
It took a good hour to clear away debris, sweep the floor clean, and inscribe magical symbols on it. The pattern was a set of interlocking geometric figures. None were traditional pentacles.
'Odd,' Thorsby opined.
'That's it, then. All done.'
'What now? Incantations?'
'None. `Upon the completion of these devices, the pact is sealed thereon.'' Fetchen threw the book down. 'Now we get everything we wish for.'
'Just like that?'
'Just like that.'
'All right, then. Give us a bottle of wine.'
A bottle appeared in the air not far from Thorsby's head, hung for a split second, then dropped.
Delighted, Thorsby caught it. 'That's the ticket! Oh, look, it's bubbly.'
'Let's have two bottles,' Fetchen said, and another instantly appeared.
Thorsby worked the cork up on his and popped it. He upended the bottle and drank deeply. Swallowing, he regarded his partner with a look of disbelief. 'That's… it's delicious! I've never-'
Fetchen drank from his. 'It can't be just wine.'
'Ambrosia!'
'The nectar of the gods!'
'Let's have more!' Thorsby commanded. 'And food. Lots of food. A kingly feast!'
'And the women to serve us.'
'Gods yes, the women,' Thorsby said, rushing to the discarded book. He picked it up and frantically paged. 'This one… and this one. Oh, can't forget her.'
'For you? Three?'
'Why not? You can have four if you want. Five.'
'Three's all I can handle. Until I get drunk.'
'Wait.'
Fetchen stopped short of another swig. 'What?'
'Grosmond. We have to get this room done.'
'Look under `slaves, menial.''
'Oh.' Thorsby flipped a few pages. 'Slaves, factotums. Yes, we need a grunt to do our work. Gods, ugly thing.'
'Homunculus.'
'I suppose we need someone to clean up after us.'
'Right. We need it. Give us this one.'
A gnarled, bent form appeared at the center of the conjuring device. It was vaguely manlike, but had an enormous head. One eye was beside the nose, and the one above the nose was smaller, slitlike. The side of its head bulged a bit. One corner of its wide mouth leaked a rivulet of clear fluid. It was short and vaguely male but more androgynous than anything. Its clothing-blue denim bib overalls-lent an incongruous note. Its small four-toed feet were bare.
'Hideous thing,' Fetchen said.
'You, there,' Thorsby called.
'Yes, master?'
The creature's voice rasped like a saw.
'Take this.'
The homunculus stooped to pick up the thrown broom.
'Clean up a bit, will you? There's a good fellow.'
'Yes, master. What shall I clean, master?'
'This place.'
'All of it, master?'
'Yes, all of it, every last nook and cranny. Straighten it right up. Dust it up good, sort out the junk, and arrange it all on the floor there for inspection. Take care not to cover up the pattern, there.'
'Yes, master. Will there be anything else, master?'
'Just do a good job, whatever it takes. And report when you're done.'
'Whatever it takes. Very good, master.' The creature began to sweep diligently.
'What now?' Fetchen asked.
Thorsby gulped down more sparkling wine and let out a sigh of supreme satisfaction. He looked at Fetchen with a triumphant grin.
'Now, my friend, we throw a right proper party. The biggest, the best party ever. An orgy. A saturnalia.' Fetchen nodded. He stepped forward to command forces unseen.
'All right, then, let's have your best tits and arse!'
CLUB SHEILA
The sun went down, the tide went out. Everyone began to dance and shout.
'Hey, hey,' Gene said, doing the lambada with Linda.
'Ho, ho,' Linda averred. She was a good dancer.
'Shake that thing.'
They danced lewdly. People watched.
Finally Gene said, 'I'm bushed. And this is getting me horny.'
'Yeah. Me, too.'
'Want to take a walk on the beach?'
'Sure,' Linda said.
They walked off the patio and past the pool, into which several people had either fallen, dived, or been pushed. The liquor had been flowing steadily, and things were getting nicely out of hand.
Laughter rang out. The night was festive and gay.
They crossed tennis courts and passed through the frinQe of palm trees that edged the beach. Here the water was close, low breakers washing the slowly eroding sand. Linda took her high-heeled shoes off.
They sat together on the beach, legs crossed, knees touching. The moon was directly above, very high, very large, and full. It had dark markings on it that made it look like another planet. Which in fact it was, though a small one. The tides here were strong, much stronger than on Earth. In the morning, when the tide was at its lowest ebb, the surf would recede almost two hundred yards.
'It's a shame to let that romantic moon go to waste,' Gene said.
'Sure is,' Linda agreed.
She hooked an arm around his neck, drew him close, and kissed him. It wasn't a fooling-around kiss.
They parted and Gene looked at the moon again. 'Now, I wonder what brought that on? The booze?'
Linda shrugged. She was a little high. Not all that much, but a little.
'Maybe,' she said. 'Was I out of line?'
'Not at all. It was just a little surprising. Funny that we've never… well, you know.'
'Yeah. We're good friends. Buddies.'
'That wasn't a buddy kiss.'
'Nope. Did you like it?'
'I certainly did.'
'Good,' Linda said. 'Let's do it again.' They did it again, and took their time about it.
