Pyrrhic Victory

Sir Robert concluded.

  Jade then inserted a couple of fingers into the vagina.

  "Is that necessary?" Sir Robert asked, and even Gerrarde looked uncertain.

  "If a streetwalker expects to be unable to wash, she often inserts a wad of cotton soaked in water or oil to prevent the semen from getting into the womb. And there's nothing here."

  "Still means nothing," Sir Robert reaffirmed.

  But as Jade probed deeper, she frowned in puzzlement. Then she suddenly withdrew her hand in alarm. "Jaim! This woman has no womb."

  I placed my hand on the abdomen and pressed down. "It feels normal."

  She shook her head. "I went in deep enough to touch the base if it was there, and I felt nothing."

  "There's only one way to find out for sure," Gerrarde suggested.

  "Sir Robert, do you have any objections to my performing an ad hoc autopsy?" I asked.

  "Do whatever you need to do." He looked and sounded bored.

  I nodded and took off my frock coat. "Jade, would you get my bag." I removed my waistcoat. "Gerrarde, would you have some towels and water brought in, please." Both hurried to comply as I untied my necktie and undid my collar, then rolled up my sleeves. Jade opened the bag and presented it to me. Reaching in, I removed a scalpel and then approached the body. I waited for Gerrarde to come around the other side before I made a Y-shaped incision in the abdomen. I expected to have to cut through a layer of connective tissue before I could pull the skin flaps away from the underlying muscles, but in fact the outer flesh lifted cleanly, with no resistance. The reason became self-evident:

  "All the internal organs are missing."

  From "A Typical Friday Night"

  Eile and Sunny walked through the open door of the tavern, but hesitated as they looked around the crowded common room. A number of patrons glanced at them as they entered, and Eile noted that more than one pair of eyes lingered as they examined them closely, and probably undressed them. She figured that was to be expected. Though they liked to go pub crawling in their leisure time, they were probably an unexpected sight. The establishment did not look like the kind of place two adorable young girls would frequent, unless they were "working girls".

  Eile glanced at her partner as she searched for a couple of empty seats. Sunny wore a sleeveless doublet over a shirt and trousers, with boots; essentially men's attire, except her ensemble appeared finer, being decorated with brightly colored embroidery, lace, and frills, while the boots had spiked heels. However, her garments possessed more accessories than could be seen: the doublet had mail and metal scales sewn into the lining, and the tight-fitting pants were made of leather reinforced with strips of cuir bouilli stitched into the thighs. She wore the same; it served as their standard casual city dress, giving them freedom of movement and good protection while still looking like haute couture. However, the clothes clung tightly to their bodies, accentuating rather than obscuring their figures, which for Sunny was soft and voluptuous. She doubted her own thinner, tougher, more athletic frame held the same interest for their observers, but she could see how the two of them might resemble hoes looking for customers. Especially since they weren't armed; adventurers bore arms, trollops didn't.

  Sunny interrupted her thoughts by pointing at the trapezoidal bar. "There!"

  Eile followed her direction and saw an open spot along its front face. "Come on, let's grab it before someone else does."

  They hurried over and crowded in between two bruisers. Once they had made room for themselves, Eile looked around some more. "You sure this is the place?"

  Sunny reached down and pulled a folded piece of paper out of her belt. She opened it and flattened it out on the smooth stone countertop, then scanned the text. "It says the Bloody Boar, on Gaedolfen Street."

  She smirked as she took the letter to look at it more closely. "Yeah, well, this seems like a pretty wretched dive ta meet a lady." The paper appeared to be very high quality powder-blue parchment, and the elegant, ornate script flowed smoothly, indicating a woman of breeding, means, and education. The desk clerk at the inn had given it to them, along with a purse of coins, when they returned from their afternoon errands. He described the individual who had dropped them off as being a dandy, but definitely male.

  Sunny shrugged as she traced a finger over the pattern in the counter's tile border. "Maybe she likes slumming, or she's a courtesan. Or, maybe her business is so sensitive she wanted to meet in a place where no one she knew would think to look. You gotta admit, though, ten gold crowns is a pretty generous retainer."

  She handed back the letter. "I know; that's what's bothering me."

  "Huh?" Sunny snapped her head up and raised her finger, her azure-blue eyes wide behind her granny glasses.

  "Well, think about it: it's almost as if she wanted ta make sure we'd show up."

  Sunny nodded, refolding the letter and slipping it back into her belt. "You're probably right, but it won't hurt to hear what she has to say."

  The bartender came up to them, a giant of a man holding a cleaver, with tree-trunk arms covered with deep, parallel scars, a short zebra-striped beard and spiky hair, and a jagged scar across the face through one marled eye. He looked down at them without saying a word, his arms folded across his barrel chest.

  "Ah, my good man," Sunny said in a parody of a high class accent, as she ran a hand through her huge mane of gamboge hair, "I will take a cup of sassafras tea, with a drop of honey, a lemon slice, and a peppermint stick, and a piece of chocolate schnapps cherry torte."

  The bartender raised an eyebrow, but Eile could tell his frown looked displeased rather than puzzled.

  "Put a sock in it, ya ditz."

  Sunny simply crinkled her eyes and giggled.

  She sighed in resignation. Sunny liked to play games, and it sometimes got them into trouble, but, she reflected, she actually enjoyed her antics.

  Addressing the barkeep she said, "Two ales."

  "House brew?" he rumbled.

  She waved a hand in a nonchalant manner. "Yeah, yeah, as long as it's wet."

  He lowered his arms and rested the edge of the cleaver on the counter. "Let's see your money."

  She shrugged and looked at Sunny. As she started to open a purse, a figure walked up between them.

  "Allow me, Edjertan." And he held out a gold crown.

  Eile turned to get a good look at him. He was head and shoulders taller than they were, but thin, though with good muscle tone. He wore an open reddish coat trimmed with white fur at the collar, over an ornate linen and silk tunic incorporating various shades of green. A leather belt banded in metal, hose, and shoes with pointed toes completed the ensemble. A bicorn hat covered his collar-length, stringy brown hair, and he sported a long goatee trimmed with ringlets. What struck Eile as most unusual, however, was that his gray eyes were lined, with vertical stripes painted over the lids from forehead to cheek and thin lines drawn off the corners of his mouth.

  A dandy, she decided, like the one described by the desk clerk.

  As the bartender took the offered coin, Eile gazed past their benefactor at Sunny, who winked. Eile realized she understood that if he was the person who had left the letter and purse, most likely his gesture was no chivalrous act, but an attempt to ingratiate himself.

  Edjertan held the coin between his thumb and forefinger, and flexed, bending it in half. He grunted, slipped it into the pocket of his apron, and headed into a back room at the rear of the bar.

  The dandy stepped back and they turned to face him.

  "Allow me to introduce myself," he said in a sing-song voice, removing his hat and making a short bow, "I am Ravaroc, raconteur and rascal."

  She couldn't help smiling as Sunny grinned. Rascal was right.

  Sunny offered her hand as he replaced his hat. "I'm White-Lion, and this is my partner, Braveheart!"

  Eile smirked as he feigned surprise. He was also a good actor, she'd give him that.

  "Surely not the legendary intrepid and daring Amazons known
as Team Girl!"

  "Yep, that's us!" Sunny squealed.

  He took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he lowered his head and kissed her fingers. Eile noted that the backs of his hands were tattooed, and each finger had a ring.

  "Oh, my!" Sunny tittered, blushing.

  A buxom blonde barmaid, whose bulging bosom threatened to burst out of her low-cut bodice, approached and placed three foaming pewter steins on the counter behind them. As Sunny regained her composure, Eile passed one to Ravaroc, and she and Sunny took the other two.

  "I was not aware you were Dreamers." He absently scratched at his long, pointed nose.

  That caught Eile by surprise. Few people made that connection that fast.

  Sunny snapped her head up, a foam mustache on her upper lip. "How'd you guess?!"

  "From your deportment and manner of speech." He took a sip of his brew as Sunny licked off the foam. "What era are you from?"

  "Early twenty-first century," Eile replied. She wanted to say as little as possible. Unlike in the Dreamlands, where they had allies and protectors, they could be vulnerable to a hostile Dreamer in the Waking World.

  "Are you a Dreamer?" Sunny asked.

  "Alas, no; Dreamworld born and bred. How long have you been coming here?"

  "Huh, it's gotta be, what, sixty days now?" Eile said.

  "This is our sixty-fourth night," Sunny corrected.

  "So that's almost thirty Dream-years, though our accumulated time would only be about ten."

  "Ten years." He