Castle Spellbound

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.

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!"