Pyrrhic Victory

managed to sound marveled. "You two must have had many bold adventures."

  She exchanged grins with Sunny. "We've had a few," Sunny remarked in a coy fashion, after which she took a long 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 "A Deliberation of Morality"

  A pop startled her, and when she opened her eyes and slipped her glasses back on she saw a small column of fire and smoke standing in the middle of the report she had been writing, accompanied by a deep, resonant bass organ chord. Alarmed, she half rose out of her chair when it disappeared. In its place stood a feminine anthropomorphic figure inside a ring of char. It was no more than six inches high, dressed in an erotic bodice with a cross in the cleavage lacings, a pair of belted panties, fishnet stockings, and stiletto-heeled shoes, with a garter on her left thigh, two more on her upper arms, and a spiked collar around her neck. The clothes were fiery red while the collar, belt, garters, and shoes were night-black, and the spikes, buckles, and cross coin-silver. It took her a moment to realize the tiny woman looked exactly like her, even down to the glasses, except for the two red horns sprouting from either side of her head, and the long, sinuous barbed tail that emerged from her backside.

  She looked up at Differel with a sly, devilish expression as the aristocrat stood up, but as soon as she saw who it was, she jumped, a shocked look on her face.

  "Good God!" Despite her size, her voice sounded normal, and identical to her own. "Whatever I did, it couldn't have been bad enough to deserve this!"

  "Who, or what, the bloody hell are you!?" Differel leaned over the desk, her hands braced against the top.

  Recovering quickly, the diminutive Differel gave her a look admonishing her not to be daft. "That should be obvious. I'm your shoulder devil."

  "My...what?!"

  The devil-doll sighed in frustration and shook her head. "Do you have a hearing problem? Shoul--der--de--vil!"

  "And just what is that supposed to be, exactly?"

  She threw up her hands and looked towards the ceiling. "Oh for the love of Evil! How dense can you possibly be? I'm one of the two personifications that sit on your shoulders and offer advice on moral dilemmas. In my case, I personify temptation, and appeal to your selfish motivations."

  Differel felt faint for a moment and resumed sitting. "I must be dreaming," she half-whispered, leaning forward. She held her head in her hands with her elbows resting on the desktop. "Yes, of course, I've fallen asleep over my work and I'm having a guilt-ridden nightmare."

  "I wish!" The devilish-Differel sounded peeved as she placed her hands on her hips and turned away. "Being
assigned to you is hardly what you would call a plum assignment. In fact, it's usually reserved either as a way to haze rookie tempters, or as a form of punishment."

  Differel looked up and crossed her arms over the desk. "I beg your pardon?"

  She spared her an exasperated glance over her shoulder. "Being a shoulder devil is an occupation, not a vocation. It's usually a devil's first job after graduating from the tempters training academy. However, it can be assigned to retirees who wish to keep their hands in the business, or to incompetents or malcontents as a way to teach them humility and the error of their ways. Haven't you ever read C. S. Lewis? The Screwtape Letters?"

  That did seem rather familiar. "Alright, I see what you're getting at."

  The devil-doll nodded her head and turned to face her again. "Finally! Now we can get down to business. Oh, by the way, the name's Differel Diabolique, but you can call me DeeDee. I prefer informality among friends."

  Differel frowned. Her attitude was getting on her nerves. "Just a moment. If what you say is true, then there should be a 'shoulder angel', correct?"

  "Exactly. She personifies your conscience and appeals to your altruistic motivations."

  "Shouldn't she be here as well?"

  Her face split into silly grin. "Are you kidding? You don't need her, you're a bigger stiff than she is."

  Differel felt her anger flare as she sat upright. "Now just a bloody minute--!"

  DeeDee's own face turned fiery red as she became upset. "I meant it as a compliment!