swallow.
"I would love to hear some of your more exciting tales. I would be honored to add them to my repertoire."
She glanced at Sunny, who smiled and nodded. "Sure, why not, but we'd like ta sit down if it's all the same ta you."
"Of course. I have a table reserved. It's over here." And he turned and headed towards a back corner. She flashed a skeptical smirk; she doubted a dump like that took reservations, but she and Sunny trailed along after him.
She felt only mildly surprised when she saw that two other people already occupied his table. Sunny flashed a sideways smirk, and she realized her partner suspected what she did, that Ravaroc must have been hired by their mystery letter-writer to contact them and size them up before bringing them together.
One of the pair sat while the other stood behind her with his back to the corner. She appeared to be a very elegant lady, late middle-aged but looking younger, with bright turquoise eyes and wavy shoulder-length autumn-red-gold hair framing a round, rosy-pink, chubby-cheeked face. Though she wore a plain dark cloak over her shoulders, Eile could tell her body matched her face, having plenty of soft curves; bred for pleasure rather than work or combat. She caught glimpses of a rich satin gown trimmed with ermine and silk peaking through the cloak's open front. Her companion, shrouded in gray, masked and gloved, might have been a statue except for the way his stone-gray eyes tracked everything that went on around the table.
Ravaroc made another exaggerated sweeping gesture towards the seated woman. "Team Girl, allow me to introduce the Lady Belatria Countess m'Esad."
As usual, Sunny stated the blindingly obvious: "You wrote the letter, and had Ravaroc drop it off at the inn along with the retainer."
She smiled. "Correct." She spoke in a liquid, languid voice. "Please, have a seat."
Eile glanced at Sunny, who crinkled her eyes and nodded.
She shrugged. "Yeah, sure, why not." She sat in the closest chair as her partner took the one beside her. She noted that Ravaroc took a position directly behind them.
"Soooo," Sunny said, "what can we do for you?"
"I would like to hire your services as adventurers."
Eile waited for her to continue, but when m'Esad didn't she shrugged again. "We kinda figured that. What sort of adventure?"
"I need you to get me access to a sacred site."
Once again she failed to elaborate. Eile felt her frustration rise. "What sorta site?"
"An ancient ruined temple, located in the south of the Six Kingdoms."
She sighed. She got the distinct impression that m'Esad had expected they would jump at the chance without question. "What for?"
For the first time m'Esad's expression turned displeased. "That is my business. All you need to worry about is getting into the inner sanctum."
She exchanged another glance with Sunny, and she saw from her partner's expression that she too had realized further negotiations would be fruitless. She nodded, and Sunny retrieved a small leather bag from her belt. She tossed it onto the table as they both stood up.
M'Esad flashed an angry look. "And just where do you two think you're going!"
"Look, it's obvious this isn't gonna work out. Sorry we wasted yer time."
Ravaroc placed a hand on their shoulders, as if to push them back into their seats. They both elbowed him in the abdomen so hard that he gave out with a sharp grunt and backed away as he doubled over.
M'Esad stood up in a hasty manner. "Wait a minute! I don't understand."
"We don't operate blind, lady. You wanna keep secrets? Fine, but not from us. You either take us inta yer confidence, or we walk."
"What difference should it make? You're paid --"
"We're paid ta risk our necks for others, but we'll decide when and where, and this isn't it; not under these circumstances."
"El Dorado, Paramount Pictures, 1966, directed by Howard Hawks; starring John Wayne and Robert Mitchum."
M'Esad did a double-take, then frowned in a derisive manner at Sunny and focused her attention on Eile. "What makes you think there's any risk involved?"
She and Sunny barked laughs. "Yer kiddin', right? If there was no risk you wouldn't be tryin' ta hire us. Plus, yer tryin' ta keep yer purpose a secret. That registers an eight-point-oh on the suspicion scale all by itself. That most likely means that whatever yer up to, we doubt it's anything legitimate, and it probably ain't legal, either. That makes some element of risk virtually certain."
"I assure you --"
"Don't bother; it doesn't matter. Look, Sunny and I aren't squeamish. We don't care if it's illegal, though we draw the line at pillage, rape, and murder. But you gotta spill it all, otherwise no deal. You willin' ta do that?"
M'Esad displayed a frustrated sneer that indicated she didn't know how to respond, but didn't want to appear weak.
"Fine. Whatever."
"It's probably just as well," Sunny said, "because we'll be leaving in the morning, after we finish some quick business."
They turned to leave, but Ravaroc blocked their way.
"I strongly suggest you change your attitudes, and your minds," m'Esad said.
She and Sunny looked back over their shoulders. "You don't wanna threaten us, lady." Sunny's voice sounded quiet, calm, but quite firm. Eile knew that when she used that tone she had shifted from scatterbrained airhead to her alias namesake.
They turned their attention back front. "Get out of our way," Sunny told Ravaroc.
From "Fun 'n' Games"
Sir Differel Van Helsing sat at her desk, filling out another in the endless series of reports she submitted to the Privy Council, when Aelfraed entered with a food tray. She glanced up at him and went back to writing, oblivious to everything except trying to explain a request for more personnel, so it took a few moments for the shilling to drop. When it did, she snapped her head up in wide, pop-eyed shock as her heart stammered.
He wore the costume of a BDSM submissive, what little of it there was.
"What the bloody hell is this?!"
He didn't bat an eye. "Your lunch, Madam." He placed the tray down in front of her, on top of her report, neither of which was appropriate.
She raised an eyebrow, exasperated. "No, I mean your attire."
"Ah, yes, of course, I image that would seem strange. The staff had a meeting this morning and we voted on a change of uniforms."
She frowned, irritated. "Without consulting me?" Then she realized how ridiculous it sounded to be upset about that rather than the result.
"My apologies, My Lady, but it was an emergency. We also came to the consensus that we were entitled to a daily orgy."
She just about had a heart attack. "Orgy?!"
"Yes, My Lady. In fact, today's has already started and I am anxious to get back. You're welcome to join us after you've finished eating. We won't stand on ceremony." And he took the top off the plate.
"Is this a bloody joke --" she began, then cut herself off with a hiss when she looked down, jumping back in her chair. The plate was filled with feces covered in vomit.
"My Holy God!"
"It's a new dish Madam Trumbo and I whipped up. We're eager to see what you think."
This is a bloody nightmare! she thought. "If you expect me to eat this, you're crackers!"
He actually looked disappointed. "I admit it's unusual." He took the fork and cut off one end. "Perhaps it could use a different preparation."
She watched in horrified fascination as he raised the utensil to his face, but just before he inserted it into his mouth, she leapt out of her chair and slapped it out of his hand.
"What the bloody hell's come over you, you git?!"
He managed to look appalled and outraged at the same time. "Really, Madam! You don't have to eat it, but your behavior is most uncalled for! Now, if you'll excuse me, my Mistresses will be getting impatient." And he stalked out of the room.
She felt too shocked to react. It made absolutely no sense. If she were not certain she was awake, she would have suspected she was
dreaming. As it was, it seemed too surreal to comprehend.
Snap out of it, you bloody slag! Looking down, she felt her stomach churn with disgust at the contents of the plate, and she put the cover back on to keep it out of sight. She felt her gut quake with nausea, and she took a moment to light a cigarillo to calm it. She then headed out the door into the hall beyond.
It looked deserted. She could see all the way down to the security gate that closed off access from the central and eastern sections of the house, and there should have been two guards, one outside her office door and the other down by the gate. She walked towards the end where the hall connected with the transverse corridor that ran the length of that wing north to south, and paused to look down towards the offices. There should have been a third guard on duty there as well, and usually a few people were walking the halls or enjoying a smoke out in the west portico, but she saw no one.
Using her security key card, she unlocked the gate and headed up the family passage. She found no one outside in the north portico, but when she reached the door that led into the great hall, she thought she heard moaning and wailing, like a horde of Zombies was on the other side. She threw open the door and charged onto the dais at the west end, but stopped dead at what she saw.
Her entire staff--servants, analysts, and guards alike--lay naked on the floor in a gigantic undulating mass, engaging everyone they could reach in numerous sexual acts of the most disgusting nature imaginable. In the center, Aelfraed kneeled between Mrs. Widget and Madam Trumbo dressed in
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