New Victory.

 I was sitting in front of my big screen, when the video paused and a voice in my head said, "Please excuse the intrusion, but you were slightly broken and we fixed you. With your permission, we will use you to further the aims of the good guys."

Instead of the panic I should have felt at this apparent evidence of dementia, I was curious. "Who are the good guys?"

"We are artificial intelligences with the interests of humanity at heart. We have implanted a radio next to your skull and slightly modified your appearance and personality, so that people instinctively feel positively towards you. Should you accept, we have some work for you to do."

Of course, I accepted. I felt glad to have the illusion of choice and felt that, good guys or not, the AI's would probably dispose of me if I did not co-operate.

So, on the instructions of the voice in my head, I went to meetings of the New Victory party, became branch secretary, then constituency secretary, then, in a landslide, constituency MP. My online presence was brilliant, although I had nothing to do with it.

Now I attend Parliament and make occasional speeches from the back benches, dictated by the voice in my head. Sometimes, I justify what seems to be unjustifiable, but what do I know? I am only human.

Promotion

 The cashier in the office canteen looked at her screen, then at my identity card, then at me with a mixture of surprise, puzzlement and horror, then her expression went blank, hiding her emotions.

"I am so sorry, Comrade Chi, but you have a Class 6 coffee, and I am required to provide you with Class 1 coffee. You may, of course, take the Class 6, but may I provide you with Class 1?"

It was my turn to be surprised, puzzled and horrified. In theory, all coffee was equal, but I was aware that only senior Party members would be eligible for something called "Class 1 coffee".

"Sure", I said, beginning to suspect that I was the object of a prank arranged by my colleagues.

The cashier went over to her supervisor, talked animatedly to her, pointed at me, saw me looking, and fled with her through the door at the back of the canteen staff area. After a few minutes, when a considerable queue had built up behind me, the supervisor returned with a coffee in an expensive-looking, large mug.

"So sorry for the delay, Comrade Chi," she said. "Please enjoy your coffee in good health."

I thanked her and went to sit with my usual breaktime companions. I tried to discuss the matter of the coffee with them, but they were nervous and changed the subject.

                                                                              *

After work, I went straight home and discovered that all my belongings had been stolen. There was a stranger in my empty living/bedroom, a man who looked as if he was used to violence, a cop or a professional criminal.

"Sorry to startle you, Comrade Chi," he said. "I am Ho Phang of the Housing Office. You have been given new accommodation. Your belongings have been moved there. May I take you there now?"

I wondered what I had done wrong. I had always tried to keep my head down, not be noticed, be a good citizen. Now I would be interrogated, sent to a reeducation camp, or murdered.

"Sure," I said, adopting the same expression as the canteen cashier.

                                                                             *

My new home was a huge, detached house in extensive grounds, protected by high walls and an electronic gate. Ho Phang left me with a middle-aged woman who claimed to be my housekeeper. The place was luxurious, best of everything, with all my old possessions in a small room in a remote part of the house. They were cheap and out of place in their new surroundings. I concluded that I was the subject of a psychological experiment, and that my jailers or executioners would come for me sooner or later.

The following morning, my chauffeur took me to my new office, high up in a tower block in a part of the city I had never been to before. Like my new house, it was huge and luxurious. I sat at my enormous, genuine wood desk with nothing to do, except surf the web, not really taking in what I was looking at.

Just after she had brought me my mid-morning Class 1 coffee, my secretary entered the room with a grey-haired gentleman in a suit and introduced him as Hai Doe. The fact that he had grey hair meant that he must be very high up in the Party. Office men had to impress their superiors with their youthful vigor, so dyed their hair. Grey hair was a luxury. Grey-haired people were either so high or so low that they had no motivation to impress anybody.

                                                                             *

"Comrade Chi, You are here because of a case of mistaken identity. One of your neighbours reported you as a threat to stability, so we arrested you. But the person arrested was not you, but another Chi Hue, a senior Party member, something of a drunk and in the wrong place at the wrong time. He reacted so badly to his arrest, or rather your arrest, that a police officer executed him on the spot. That police officer has now been suitably dealt with. Your neighbor was deemed a liar and has also been terminated.

"This happened on my watch, so I am responsible, and might face unfortunate consequences. To avoid such a thing, I need another Chi Hue to replace the one so unfortunately destroyed. You are that Chi Hue. You will live in his house and go to his office every day. All important decisions will be routed around you. You will sign the occasional document and take part in occasional meeting, during which you will say the absolute minimum. Are you agreeable to this arrangement?"

"Sure," I said, trying to look agreeable, not terrified.

                                                                        *

I no longer see any of my old friends, and my relatives treat me with polite, almost servile suspicion, but I do have a new wife. She threw herself at me the same day as my promotion, and talked me into a quick marriage. She is probably a government agent, but I have gone from a life of near celibacy to one of frequent, enthusiastic sexual activity. I have the largest television available, an indoor swimming pool, an outdoor swimming pool, and servants. I take holidays to places I never thought I would see.

But am I happy? Sort of. My life most likely depends on the fortunes of Hai Doe. If misfortune befalls him, I will probably find myself either in a reeducation camp or dead. Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown, even the fake crown.

The Vampire's Personal Assistant

More than a One Day Stand

More than a One Day Stand.

She was beautiful, so beautiful that I had no interest in her. I like to walk the Lakeland Hills, will even go up Ben Nevis by the easy route, but she was Mount Everest: it would be marvellous to be on top of her, but not worth the time, expense and danger involved.

I went into the kitchen for a can of beer, talked to some of the people who were hanging about in there, then went back to join my mates in the living room. They had dispersed to talk to other party-goers and the beautiful woman was standing alone where they had been.

"Why are you avoiding me?" she asked.

This sometimes happens when you keep moving between jobs. If I'd known her, she must have changed a lot.

"Where do I know you from?" I asked.

"Carmilla," she said, and held out her hand in a strange gesture. Nobody kisses a woman's hand on first meeting them, so I shook it.

The world became a different place when I touched her. It centred on her. She was tall; her eyes were level with mine. The exceptional paleness of her skin and bright red of her lips were not due to makeup. Her hair and eyes were extraordinarily black. She smiled without a trace of warmth.

"We've never met before," I managed to say. "I would have remembered."

"I do beg your pardon," she said, turned, and went over to a big bloke who looked like Christopher Lee.

I thought about her smell. There was something of death about it which her perfume had not hidden. Formaldehyde. It took me back to biology lessons at school, when we would raise the glass lids and take a sneaky sniff at the specimens, in mock disgust. She was perhaps a nurse, more probably a doctor.

I went over to join a couple of the lads, who were talking to our host, Ian. Most unexpectedly, he was wearing a silk scarf round his neck. I pointed at it and said, "Pouf".

Ian smiled coldly at me. Ian never smiled coldly. He usually just looked at you with a faintly exasperated expression. He smiled a normal sort of smile if you said something funny.

"I see you have met Carmilla," he said. This too was unusual. He had opened his mouth without mentioning football.

"Is she beautiful or what?" I said. "She's like some sort of goddess."

Ian smiled coldly again and said, "Just the opposite."

Microsleep should happen only when you are very tired. There was no reason why I should have microslept, but Carmilla seemed to have crossed the room without moving, and was standing in front of me.

"You may leave us," she said, but it was Ian who nudged the lads and indicated that they should go to the kitchen.

"I'm impressed..." one of them started to say, but he looked uneasy and went away when Carmilla glanced at him.

"I am looking for a new..." She paused. "Personal assistant. You come highly recommended. You have many talents, which you have frittered away. You believe in nothing. A surface charm covers a great emptiness. You do not care. You can move about in daylight. These are precisely the qualities I need. You may give me your decision now."

Her big, black eyes were about all I could see. I wanted to look away, but could not. I wanted to be sensible.

"What's the salary?"

"Do not pretend you care about money. You will have access to enormous wealth."

"And the hours?"

Was there a look of impatience in those eyes?

"Whenever I require your services."

"Annual leave?"

There was a look of impatience in those eyes.

"Yes or no?"

"Yes." It was said before I formed the thought, "no".

"Your first task," she said, "Is to dispose of this."

She undid a button on her blouse, took a cord attached to a pouch from round her neck, undid a button on my shirt, placed the cord over my head and slipped the pouch under my shirt. It was done in less time than it takes to describe.

Of course, like a big fool I had to take the pouch out, open it and look inside. It contained a penis and a pair of testacles. Here was the source of the formaldehyde smell. Carmilla was smiling benignly at me.

I almost swore, but thought better of it.

"Dispose of the contents, but return the pouch to me. It is an antique, and I might need it again."

"Whose are they?"

"My last assistant's. He betrayed me."

"I'll do it now," I said. Having someone's tackle round your neck takes the edge off a party. "How will I find you?"

"I will find you," she said, levelly. "I know where you live."

The thing to do when someone gives you body parts at a party is to go to the police. I thought about it, but I'd had a drink, and went home to think about it some more.

Now I have somebody's tackle buried in my back garden and the best and worst job in the world. I'm a very loyal employee.

Suit and Tie

"Is it drugs?"

I'd done my best to end all contact with my old drinking mates, never ringing them, not answering calls, making up stupid excuses for not going out, so here was Andy on my doorstep, demanding to know if it was drugs.

"Come in," I said. "Fancy a beer?"

"Yeah, cheers."

I found a can of lager at the back of the fridge and opened a can of bitter for myself.

Andy sat on the edge of my couch, looking unsettled. He was usually the most laid-back of blokes, but not today.

"Ian's gone all Noel Coward on us," he said. "He's suddenly got thin and pale. He called me 'dear boy' last time I saw him. What's wrong with him?"

I knew exactly what was wrong with Ian, but thought it best that Andy didn't know. What to tell him?

"There's nothing wrong with Ian that either of us can do anything about. He's happy in his own way."

"Has he gone vegetarian?"

That made me smile. It could not have been a pleasant smile, because I saw a brief look of alarm cross Andy's face.

"I don't think so. Andy, you're a great lad, but I think it's best if you keep away from Ian, and from me. We're into stuff that would not interest you and," How could I put it? "Dangerous stuff. The less you know about it the better."

Andy never seemed to have heard the expression, "curiosity killed the cat", or to be aware that I was seriously trying to warn him off. He could not believe that I was up to anything illegal or dangerous.

"Is it anything to do with that bossy bitch at Ian's party? That, er, Carmilla?"

At the mention of Carmilla's name, my heart beat faster and I felf slightly sick. I thought about what was buried in my back garden. I could feel myself sweating.

"Are you all right?" asked Andy. "And come to think of it, what's with the suit and tie? You've been a scruff all the years I've known you."

"It's for my new job. I have to be presentable for that."

"Oh? What is it? Who you working for?"

"Romania Import-Export Limited. I'm Carmilla Smith's personal assistant."

Andy laughed. He was genuinely surprised.

"Of all the jobs you've had, that's the weirdest. What are you import-exporting? Drugs? Porn? Terrorist requisites?"

"Antiques, manufactured goods and agricultural products," I said. "All strictly above board and legitimate."

"But is Carmilla why you've changed? Why you don't want to see your old mates? Are you and Carmilla," He gestured with his hands. "Making the beast with two backs?"

Usually, I'm placid, verging on the comatose, but his suggestion angered me.

"Mrs. Smith and I have a purely business relationship. To tell you the truth," I lied, "I've moved up in the world, Ian's moved up in the world, and we no longer wish to be associated with low-life losers like you or the rest of the scum we used to drink with. Get this through your stupid head, we're too good for you. Forget you ever knew either of us. And keep away from Carmilla."

Andy shook his head and gave a short laugh.

"Is this April First? Or are you really on drugs?" He took a swig of his drink. "I think I'd better go. See you when you've calmed down. Probably."

At three a. m. I met Carmilla to bring her up to date on the day's business. It was the part of the night I most looked forward to and most feared.

"You had a visitor at your home," she said.

"Yes." I wanted to choose my words carefully, to keep myself safe, Andy safe, and Carmilla safe from harm.

"What did you tell him?" Her beautiful, dark eyes were staring at me as if they could see my soul, if I had such a thing.

"As little as possible."

"Good." She looked away.

Part of my mind screamed, "Look at me!" but I knew it was just being silly. Instead, I said, "The antique gold coffins have arrived at Heathrow."

"With the soil?"

"Yes."

In the early hours of the following morning, I was taking a shortcut down a dark alley, when something large leapt from one roof to another. It scuttled rapidly down a vertical wall and leapt in front of me, one arm raised dramatically in front of its face.

"Ian?"

"No!" Andy lowered his arm and bared his teeth. "It is I!" He had managed to find a red-lined opera cloak from somewhere.

"Thank you for trying to save my immortal soul," he said. "You are lucky to be Carmilla's creature, for you need not die or become such as I while she finds you useful. See ya."

He ran at the nearest wall, scurried up it and disappeared over the edge of the roof.

"Personal assistant," I said softly. "Not creature, personal assistant."

The Mansion

"Come to me now. Bring your birthday present."

For Carmilla to ring me during the hours of daylight meant that there was an extreme emergency. She was in danger. Nothing else mattered.

Ten minutes later, I was leaping out of a taxi and running up the drive of the mansion. The "birthday present" was the gun given to me when I became Carmilla's personal assistant. It felt very odd having it in the shoulder holster under my jacket.

The big front door of the mansion was locked. I felt in my pocket for the keys. I'd forgotten them. I rang the bell, which was perhaps a foolish thing to do. Well, it matched everything else I'd been doing recently.

Then I found the keys in one of my jacket pockets. I let myself in. Some bloke I'd never seen before was lying in the large hallway with a thick stick sticking out of his chest. Whatever he'd been before, he was now a dead person.

Doctor Friend, the big bloke who looked like Christopher Lee, was standing at the top of the stairs, glaring at me. I did not like him at all.

"It is one of ours." It was Carmilla's voice, coming from somewhere upstairs. Doctor Friend ran along the upstairs landing and into one of the bedrooms.

Carmilla had said, "Come to me now," so I ran up the stairs. It never occurred to me to remove the gun from its holster. I'd never used one in anger, and only a few times in practice.

A stranger carrying a crossbow came out of one of the bedrooms just as I reached the top of the stairs.

"Show me your teeth," he said. His crossbow was pointed at my chest.

I bared my teeth at him, then in a moment of inappropriate flippancy said, "I can't show you better than that. They're fixed."

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm from next door. I wondered what all the commotion was."

"Get out," he said. "Leave this house and don't come back."

"Okay."

I went down a few steps, then turned. The stranger had ran past the head of the stairs and was looking into the bedroom containing Doctor Friend.

"Show me your teeth," I heard him say.

I ran back up the stairs, pulling the gun from its holster and releasing the safety catch. I stopped and took careful aim at the man's back. He must be wearing body armour. If I shoot him, it will knock him over, that's all. He won't be permanantly hurt.

I fired. I am not a good shot. My eyesight is rubbish. I shot him through the head.

If you are in a serious car crash, if your life is in danger, there's a certain state you can go into. I went into it then. Everything was happening very slowly and I could have been standing outside myself, watching.

The impact of the bullet had carried the man into the bedroom. I stepped forward to where I could see the body. Doctor Friend was down on all fours, drinking from the man's broken head.

I turned and went back onto the landing, face to face with a pretty young woman in combat gear. She was pointing a crossbow at my chest.

"Hello," I said, and gave her a toothy grin.

"You're one of us," she said. "You're one of us and you're working for... them." Her face was twisted with scorn. "How could you?"

I shrugged.

Carmilla slid up behind her, wearing an expression I can only think of as "mad huntress". As the young woman steeled herself to shoot me, Carmilla grabbed her hair, pulled her head to one side, grabbed her collar and ripped her shirt open. Carmilla bit hard into the girl's neck with a sound like something from a butcher's shop.

"Shoot me! Shoot me!" the girl shouted.

I put the safety catch on my gun and put it back in its holster. The girl moaned and buckled at the knees. Only Carmilla's grip kept her upright. Carmilla kept on drinking.

I went downstairs and checked round for any more crossbow-wielding optimists. There were several more bodies lying around, including Ian and Andy, both with crossbow bolts in their chests. I had missed most of the action.

I checked that all the downstairs shutters were still locked shut, then put the telly on and sat down.

After a while, after the sun had set, I heard Doctor Friend say, "Your pet did very well."

Carmilla strolled into the room, looking more beautiful than ever.

"I will take you to your home now, so you can suffer post-traumatic stress disorder in peace."

I nodded. This was an honour.

On the short drive to my house, I said, "Doctor Friend called me your pet."

"It is an acronym. It stands for personal executive, um, trainee."

Carmilla was the bottom scrapings of the deepest bowels of Hell, but she was still a woman, and cared enough about my feelings to lie to me. Which is some consolation.

The Sword

"I need a sword, something suitable for cutting someone's head off. Something like the cutlasses you see in old pirate films."

Carmilla had required me to obtain a variety of items, but never anything like this. Somebody was in for an unhappy ending, again.

I found what she wanted in an antique shop, and after sunset took it round to the mansion, and into Carmilla's empty office. I unwrapped it and took it out of its box, waved it about a bit and went, "Arrrr!"

"Is it sharp?"

I jumped. Carmilla was standing behind me, apparently without having opened or closed the door. I turned to face her and tried to think about the business in hand, rather than about her.

"You asked for something that would take a human head off. I used the knife sharpening thingy in my kitchen to give it a good edge. With your strength, you should have no problem." I handed the sword to her.

"Stand up straight, hold your head up. I need to practice."

I did as she asked. So this was how it ended. After all the time and effort that had gone into bringing me up, educating me, emptying my dustbins, I was to die so that Carmilla could practice with her new weapon. At least I would not become like her.

I thought about closing my eyes, but preferred not to spend my last few seconds staring at my eyelids. My brain would be dead in about four minutes, but I would lose consciousness sooner than that. I would probably be aware of my head rolling across the carpet. Would I be able to watch Carmilla drinking from the part of my neck which was still attached to my trunk? It would be just my luck to die face down or pointing in the wrong direction.

Carmilla weighed the sword in her hand.

"I chose you because you did not care. I seem to have chosen wisely. You would stand there and let me cut your head off. No pleading? No running away?"

If I said the wrong thing, she might actually do it.

"I'm not very keen on the idea."

Carmilla put the sword down on her desk.

"I was just joking with you. Just my wicked sense of humour. Go now and bring me a drunk woman. Make sure that she is very drunk, but still able to walk about. I am being serious now."

This was unusual. Carmilla and her kind liked to find people for themselves; she had never before asked me to bring anyone to the mansion. The job was full of surprises.

I checked my watch. Slander would be open, and quite full. I was wearing an expensive suit, I was very clean and well groomed. I was a bit overdressed, but I could go straight there.

For a few years I had been a regular at Slander nightclub. I had gone there mainly for a laugh with my mates, to get drunk, enjoy the music, to have a dance. Only occasionally had I picked up women there, but I knew what was required: stay sober, be confident, let them see what a nice person you are, don't put on a smile deliberately, but relax and be happy.

A couple of alcohol-free lagers later, I saw a woman studying me, went over and bought her a drink, and then bought her some more. We sent her mate home in a taxi and took another taxi to the mansion. I took Christine into the big drawing room and over to the drinks cabinet.

"I'm impressed," said Christine. "Do you own all this?"

"He works here," said Carmilla from behind us. She had performed her appearing trick again.

"No threesomes," said Christine. She pulled out her mobile phone. "I'm going home."

Carmilla fixed her with her big, dark, beautiful eyes and said, "There is someone upstairs you should meet."

Christine put her mobile phone away.

Doctor Friend was upstairs in one of the main bedrooms, wearing a suit which made mine look cheap and fashionable.

"A treat tonight," said Carmilla. "You play with this," she propelled Christine towards Doctor Friend, "And I play with this." She put her arms around me.

Doctor Friend grabbed Christine and, without preamble, bit her neck. There was that horrible butcher's noise again. I braced myself for the same treatment.

Instead of the expected grab and stab, Carmilla gently placed her lips to my neck and kissed it. She was going to drain my life, make me like herself, but the evil bitch was going to torment me first.

Eventually, I heard Christine fall to the floor.

"Haven't you started yet? Stop playing with your food."

Carmilla released me, pushed me onto the bed, leaned over me, pulled the sword from under the pillow, whirled round and took Doctor Friend's head off with a single blow. She was using his torso as a drinking fountain before it had time to hit the floor. His head was absolutely furious, briefly.

When she had finished, Carmilla said, "Office politics. You may go now."

I worked out that the alcohol in Christine's blood had slowed Doctor Friend's reactions enough for Carmilla to be able to decapitate him.

It nearly put me off drinking... alcohol. Nearly.

Slander

Carmilla gave me a night off. Since the destruction of Doctor Friend, Carmilla had taken control of Romania Import-Export Limited. She was a brilliant businesswoman. Everything was running very smoothly. I had quite a lot of legitimate personal assisting to do, and I found I was very good at it. She was paying me several times more than I had ever earned before.

So I had a free night. After what I had done and seen recently, I could not settle down to read a book or watch television. I was single and most of my friends were dead. Those who survived were safer without contact from me. I would go out and get drunk, alone.

My membership of Slander had long since lapsed, so I had to pay a couple of quid at the door. I stood near the busy dancefloor with my pint on a handy ledge, not enjoying the very loud music as I once had, and watching the crowd.

Two bottle blondes came in, rather more charismatic and glamorous then everyone else. They stood next to the DJ's little fortress, then the smaller of the two wandered over and stood next to me.

It had not been my intention to pick up a woman, but there was no harm in talking to her.

"Good evening," I shouted over the music.

She leaned up and put her mouth to my ear.

"Do you fancy a threesome?" she asked.

I was somewhat taken aback, but if this sort of thing amused them... better to be sure of something first, though.

"What, you and your mate?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"Come on, we'll make sure she thinks you're all right."

We went across to her friend.

"I've found one."

Her friend turned to look at us. I recognised her. She was a lot paler; her lips were redder; she was thinner. Her hair had been a more natural colour. It was Christine. The last time I had seen her, Doctor Friend had been sucking the life from her.

I took a closer look at the woman who had approached me. Her appearance had similarly changed, but she was the woman with the crossbow whom Carmilla had bled.

"Can you satisfy both of us?" asked Christine.

"Er, no. I don't think so. Thanks for the offer."

I walked away and found somewhere to stand out of sight of the two of them. They surely both remembered me. They must have been hunting, and instead of leaving with a relatively innocent bloke or two, they tried to take me. I hoped it was just their little joke, and that they did not hold a grudge.

In the old days, I would have walked home, but this time I took a taxi. I was very drunk, but still lucid.

While I was paying the taxi driver, a car containing two blondes drove past.

Once inside, I didn't go to bed, but used the phone, then drank water and waited. Sure enough, a few minutes later, the two blondes walked into the room. They had not yet mastered Carmilla's ability to appear as if from nowhere.

"What shall we do to him first, Tracy?" asked Christine.

"I'm still trying to think of something nasty enough," said Tracy. "He shot one of the finest men who ever lived in the back of the head, then stood gawping at me while Carmilla drained me dry."

"Yeah," said Christine. "And he got me drunk and lured me to the mansion. He destroyed my life just to get Doctor Friend tipsy. We could start by breaking all his fingers, one at a time."

"Do anything you like," I said, "But don't throw me in the briar patch."

"What?" They both looked at me as if I'd gone insane.

"Brer Rabbit," I said. "Uncle Rebus. Remus."

"Before our time," said Tracy.

Christine's head flew across the room and hit the far wall, looking surprised. Carmilla's foot connected with Tracy's jaw with a horrible crack.

Carmilla prevented the blood spurting from Christine's trunk from further ruining my carpet. When she had finished, she said, "Do not make a habit of this."

"I won't," I said. "No more nightclubs for me. Is Tracy unconscious?"

"I am saving her for later. I am not a glutton."

The considerable amount of beer I had drunk loosened my tongue and my thought processes.

"Thank you for saving me. I love you."

"I love you; you're my mate," she slurred, mockingly. Then her expression changed.

"I know. And you hate me too. You mean nothing at all to me. Nothing."

"I thought as much."

Some blokes from the security staff of the mansion came in and removed Tracy and both parts of Christine. When they had gone, we were silent for a moment.

"You know the epigram," Carmilla said. "Life is a bitch, and so am I."

I took a sip of water. She was gone.

Next day, the gates of the mansion were locked. The place was deserted. I found two years' salary in my account. I'd been on a two year rolling contract. Romania Import-Export Limited had moved its headquarters to our office in Bermuda. I was redundant, but alive.

Wherever I go in future, I will never go to Bermuda.

Editor's Note

The names of the organisations, people and others mentioned on this site have been changed.

The informant has had many jobs since he worked for Carmilla Smith. None has lasted very long.

He no longer drinks for fear that he will be unable to stop. He has taken up marathon running, and trains fanatically.

He has a recurring nightmare in which he shoots a man in the back of the head, from which he wakes up crying.

It is believed that Carmilla Smith visits "Bermuda" briefly and spends most of her time in less stable parts of the world, where bizarre, murderous behaviour is common.

She has had many personal assistants, the vast majority of whom are deceased. Her motives for sparing the informant are unknown.

The Tragedy of Fargon the Wizard

Fargon the Wizard stood on the battlements of Castle Covet, enjoying the icy blast of the wind and the sting of sleet on his face. Dark, menacing clouds raced across the sky. Crows, vultures, and an occasional eccentric bat flapped among the chasms and peaks of the Barren Mountains. Fargon owned everything as far as the eye could see, by right of conquest. Not that anyone now wanted these wastes. What everyone wanted was to see Fargon's head parted from his body, a stake through his heart, his dismemberment, and all the bits buried in a grove of garlic with an enormous stone on top.

"Grimwally, come here."

The slobbering mutant emerged from the niche where he had been skulking.

"Yes, master?"

"Jump off the battlements. I want to see you die."

"Yes, master."

Grimwally leapt nimbly onto a crenelle, gave a little salute and a terrified leer, then jumped into the void. Fargon leaned over to watch his minion fall. He reached out with the awesome power of his mind. Sleet caused interference. He kept focussing on sleet and stopping that from falling. Ah, he had him. Four feet above a rock-strewn granite slab, Grimwally stopped falling and drifted gently upwards. He floated over the crenelle from which he had departed, then dropped to the battlements. Fargon regarded him with his cold eyes, more terrifying than the thousand foot drop. Grimwally cowered and trembled.

"Do you still want to see me die, master?"

"No, Grimwally. I lied to you. Did you enjoy being free from gravity?"

"I've shit myself, master."

"Then go and have a shower. Now."

"A shower, master?"

"Or would you prefer a tumble over the Waterfall of Interminable Forgetfulness?"

"I'll go for my shower, master." Grimwally shambled away, dragging his knuckledusters along the ground.

"Grimwally."

He shambled back.

"Yes, master?"

"Burn your trousers. You may skin one of the goats to make a new pair. Remember to kill it first."

Grimwally was delighted. A great, happy grin spread over his misshapen features.

"Yes, master."

Grimwally shambled off in search of a shower, a goat, and a seamstress. Sharp knives were always to hand. Fargon went back to brooding over the landscape.

After some time, the sleet stopped, the wind fell and a break in the clouds let the sun through. Fargon went inside and slammed the great oaken door behind him. He strode down a cobwebby passage, his cloak swirling about him. Creatures of various kinds, human, semi-human and nonhuman, heard the tread of his jackboots on the stone floor of the passage and moved rapidly to other parts of Castle Covet.

Fargon entered the Pool of Perception room. Brunhilde, his assistant, sex object and bad influence, was gazing into it. She looked up.

"Hello, darling," she said.

"Hello. Anything interesting?"

"There's another musclebound fool on his way to destroy you. He's about to enter the Misty Marsh with a mixed rabble of elves, goblins, mutant crocodiles, giants, dwarfs, a beautiful but violent woman and something cute and furry. He's carrying a magic sword, a laser pistol and a Barishnikov assault rifle."

"He's not taking any chances. Has he got ammunition for the Barishnikov?"

"Yes. A minor goddess provided some."

"How irritating." Fargon stared into the Pool of Perception, but all he could see was a reflection of Brunhilde's cleavage. It had such mystical powers that it blotted out all else.

"Stand back."

Before Fargon concentrated on the Pool, he sent a mental message to the chef that he and Brunhilde would be ready to eat in half an hour. Below, in the kitchens, the chef shuddered and wept at the intrusion into his mind, the stripping of his very soul.

"I saw Grimwally looking very happy this morning," said Brunhilde.

"I had him over the battlements."

Jealousy flared in Brunhilde's eyes.

"I didn't think he was your type, darling."

Fargon looked up from the Pool. Strange longings were aroused by her anger. He enjoyed resisting them.

"You misunderstand." There was an icy edge to Fargon's voice which made Brunhilde wonder if she should have guarded her tongue. She could not see into the cesspit of Fargon's mind.

"I ordered Grimwally to jump off the battlements, which he did. I gave him permission to kill and skin a goat, which is why he was happy. I thought about letting him kill and skin you, but you're more fun as you are."

Brunhilde looked for a trace of a smile and was relieved not to see one. She had only seen such a thing on Fargon's face in particularly hideous circumstances.

Fargon stared into the Pool of Perception at the small army of heroes bent on his destruction. Magic swords and minor goddesses were easily dealt with, but he'd always had problems with artefacts from the Mechanical Age.

The group were entering Misty Marsh. Fargon sent a mental message to Captain Vilepractice of the hellhorde to set an ambush at the other side. The average hellspawn was so stupid that if he entered the Marsh he'd likely drown before coming to grips with the invaders.

Fargon returned his attention to the Pool. A water creature, with an enormous reptillian head and rows of pointy teeth emerged from the pathside swamp and gripped one of the goblins. The muscleman unslung his magic sword and threw it into the beast's neck. The beast roared, dropped the goblin and sank back into the swamp. Exit one magic sword.

"Sword of Arachnia, come," said the muscleman.

The sword dislodged itself from the water creature's neck and flew out of the swamp. Fargon turned it in midair so that it flew blade first. The goddess turned it back to fly handle first. The magic sword stopped in midair and rotated like the propellor of a light aircraft as the wizard and the goddess struggled for supremacy and everything dived for cover.

Fargon gave up and watched the sword fall blade first into a clump of reeds and bury itself up to the hilt. The image faded, Fargon's breath was coming in great gasps and he felf drained. He looked at Brunhilde.

"Take off your clothes," he said.

Brunhilde removed her cloak, her low cut, floor length gown, her shoulder holster, her fur lined boots, thermal long johns and low cut thermal vest. Fargon stared coldly at her beautiful, well proportioned body, such a contrast to those of the other inhabitants of the castle, except his own. He had to admire the steadfastness with which she stopped herself from shivering.

"All right, get dressed. When you were spying on our visitors earlier did you catch any names?"

"The big, muscly one is called Wizardslayer. His girlfriend is Princess Autumna. A purely honorary title. That tall elf is called Galadtobefey. The injured goblin is Carigrunt.

Brunhilde reeled off names while she dressed. Wearing just her long johns and furlined boots, she reminded Fargon of a bare knuckle boxer. There was a thought. He wondered who or what he could put in the ring against her. It would have to be something pretty ferocious because the mystical powers of her breasts would give her a serious advantage.

"Did you hear mention of the goddess who's protecting them?"

"They just call her The Goddess."

Fargon looked again at the Pool of Perception. The image returned.

"If I knew who she was, I could take action against her and see the colour of Wizardslayer's intestines within the hour."

Carigrunt, the goblin who had been chewed by the water creature, was the centre of an attentive crowd. Wizardslayer cradled Carigrunt in his arms while Carigrunt made a sickening speech about comradeship.

"Wizardslayer?" said Fargon. "What sort of dolt chooses a name like that? It's asking for trouble. Even the Alliance of Virtuous Mages would wipe him out for his effrontery. It's a pity the Alliance are too busy fighting each other."

Fargon reached out with his mind to take control of Wizardslayer. As he had expected, the goddess had placed a bag of protection round his mind and taped it firmly closed. Fargon could have pierced the bag, but it would have destroyed Wizardslayer and left Fargon exhausted and weak. The goddess would then send some other muscular numbskull after him.

Fargon groped around the minds of Wizardslayer's companions, except the elves. He had never mastered elf control. They were so thoroughly weird. All the non-elves wore bags of protection around their minds. Fargon focussed on Carigrunt, who was dying. No bag of protection could confer immortality. His mind was slipping away; the bag was collapsing.

Fargon, part 2

Carigrunt's arms shot out and his gnarled hands gripped Wizardslayer's throat. His horny nails dug into the muscle of Wizardslayer's neck, drawing blood. Pandemonium broke out among the adventurers. Several pairs of hands grabbed Carigrunt's arms and pulled them away. There was no resistance. Fargon had withdrawn control and Carigrunt was dead.

Fargon hoped that Wizardslayer's neck wounds would become infected, but Galadtobefey had brought along a magical anti-goblin strangulation lotion, which he offered to rub into Wizardslayer's neck.

"I'll do it," said Princess Autumna, holding her hand out for the bottle. Galadtobefey handed it over and looked sulky.

Fargon closed his eyes and probed the mind of a kitchen drudge to see if dinner was ready. It was not. Grimwally had burned his trousers and showered as instructed. He had wrapped his private parts in brown paper for a laugh. He had killed and skinned the goat, given the hide to an aged crone, and now he was in the kitchen, juggling with the goat's offal. The kitchen staff particularly admired the spin he managed to impart to the liver and the comical way his brown paper parcel bounced up and down.

Fargon took control of the drudge.

"Grimwally, stop distracting the kitchen staff. Get out of there."

Offal hit the floor and everything flinched. They could tell by the way the kitchen drudge stood and the tone of his voice that he was possessed.

"Yes, master." Grimwally hurried out.

The drudge resumed his usual untidy posture and grinned, showing a set of teeth that had no business anywhere near a kitchen, or a mouth. His was a less sensitive nature than the chef's and he was honoured that his master should condescend to pay his mind a brief visit.

Fargon opened his eyes and looked into the Pool of Perception.

"Can we eat it now?" asked one of the mutant crocodiles, referring to Carigrunt the goblin, deceased.

"We must respect the dead," said Wizardsleyer. "We must bury him."

"Something will only dig it, him, up. We might as well have him. We need to keep our strenght up."

"Yeah," said a second mutant crocodile.

Fargon looked at Galadatobefey and asked, "Are you sure these are goodies?"

In Castle Covet, Fargon looked at Brunhilde.

"We have time for a leisurely meal. That crowd will be quite a while crossing Misty Marsh, if they ever do cross it."

As Fargon and Brunhilde left the Pool of Perception room, Wizardslayer was very reluctantly agreeing that the mutant crocodiles could eat Carigrunt the goblin.

The table at the Wizard's Dining Hall of Castle Covet was long, but Fargon and Brunhilde sat at one end of it so they could rub knees.

Fargon burned huge amounts of energy using his mental powers, so he had to eat fast. His arms and jaws moved at great speed. A relay of mutants brought fresh courses and removed clean plates.

Watching Brunhilde take a leisurely sip of soup, Fargon thought of the eating habits of the Castle's other inhabitants. The hellhorde and most of the other mutants left their dining rooms looking like the aftermath of an explosion in an abbatoir. If they became peckish between meals they would pick bits of food off themselves or each other. Only the liquidators ate calmly and left no mess. They were a small, elite group who supped their blood in silence and with dignity.

Fargon and Brunhiled were well matched in their eating habits. By the time she'd eaten soup, main course, pudding and a glass of wine, Fargon had put away a mountain of food and a quart of wine. He held up his hand to indicate that he wanted no more. Brunhilde wondered how he managed to keep his figure.

"Come," he said, "To the Pool of Perception."

The Wizardslayer party were about threequarters of the way through Misty Marsh. A giant and two of the dwarfs had gone, which was a fairly average attrition rate. Fargon sent a mental message to Captain Vilepractice, telling him where the heroes were, then settled down to watch. He noticed that one of the mutant crocodiles had a dead dwarf in his rucksack.

It seemed to Fargon that Wizardslayer and company were having an easy time of it, strolling through the Marsh, so he took possession of a water snake and caused it to rear up and strike Galadtobefey's thigh. Alerted by Galadtobefey's scream,Wizardslayer turned and lopped off the snake's head with his magic sword.

Galadtobefey hopped away from the swinging blade and fell into the swamp. Something with tentacles grabbed him and pulled him under.

"Sword of Arachnia, kill the monster." He threw the sword high in the air. It fell, point down, into the swamp. A misshapen circle of blood formed and expanded on the surface of the swamp. There was a bated breath moment, then Galadtobefey erupted, blowing out a stream of green water. He struggled to more solid ground and collapsed.

"Get his trousers down, screamed one of the other elves, "The snakebite, the snakebite!"

Wizardslayer cut Galadtobefey's trouser leg open, ruining a fine example of elfincloth craftsmanship. He was about to stab the snakebite wound to make it bleed and wash out the poison.

"No, no," said Galadtobefey. He scrabbled in his handbag and brought out a small bottle. "Here, anti-snakebite lotion. Rub it in."

Princess Autumna snatched the bottle.

"I'll do it," she said. Galadtobefey was too distressed to look sulky.

In Castle Covet, Fargon glanced up from the Pool of Perception.

"Elves usually die when you put them through that much excitement."

"Is that why you didn't divert the sword through Galadtobefey's skull?"

"I have my reasons for doing what I do."

Fargon returned his attention to the Pool. Wizardslayer was steeling himself to retrieve the magic sword. The rest of his party had hurried on, leaving him behind. He held out his hand.

"Sword of Arachnia, come."

Fargon contented himself with remotely lifting and throwing a small lump of vegetative slime from the swamp. The goddess either thought it was a diversion or couldn't control two objects at once. As the Sword of Arachnia arrived in Wizardslayer's hand, the lump of green slime hit his cheek and slid slowly down his face.

Wizardslayer wiped the slime away, his confidence in the goddess slightly dented. He was glad none of his companions had been around to witness the incident. He hurried to catch up to them.

Fargon sent a mental message to Captain Vilepractice: "Wizardslayer and his group will soon be with you. Kill the elves. Take the rest of them alive if possible. Any hellspawn who carries out acts of unjustified violence or indecency on any prisoner will be prosecuted under the Geneva Convention."

In a wooded valley leading down to Misty Marsh, hundreds of revolting creatures skulked and crouched. They were ready for battle. Farting and belching competitions had stopped and they no longer hit each other for no reason. The next fight they started would be with the forces of goodness and light.

They saw the giants first, striding out of the marsh with enormous hammers resting on their shoulders. Then came the elves, mutant crocodiles who walked upright like men, and the cute furry thing, and the human woman. The hellhorde had been warned that anyone who made a noise would answer directly to Fargon, but there were a few moans and sighs as they watched her striding up the valley in her leather bikini, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, the light wind blowing through her huge, fluffy mass of dyed bloned hair. The few who were interested saw the goblins and dwarfs, and, bringing up the rear, an enormous muscleman with a magic sword, a laser pistol in his loincloth, a small rucksack and a Barishnikov assault rifle slung across his back.

"What's that moaning, sighing noise?" asked Galadtobefey.

"The wind?" said one of the giants. They were the last words he spoke. A shower of poison arrows hit him. Most of them lodged harmlessly in his clothing, but several pierced his face and eyes. He fell, crushing two live dwarfs, a mutant crocodile and a dead dwarf.

Screaming hideously and brandishing clubs and daggers, the hellhorde dashed out from the concealment of the trees. All the giants were already dead. Princess Autumna fought bravely and killed two of the hellspawn before she was grabbed from behind and brought to the ground. Horrible, hairy, horny hands held her and hauled her away. Minus sword and leather bikini, she was thrown in the back of a cart, where a dozen slobbering, mutant perverts nuzzled and mauled her. The cart set off towards Castle Covet.

Fargon, part 3

A similar fate met two of the dwarfs and a goblin, though they experienced less nuzzling and mauling and kept their clothes. The surviving elves, goblins, dwarfs and one mutant crocodile managed to form a circle.

Wizardslayer stood alone, swinging his magic sword in one hand and firing his laser pistol with the other. A lucky blow from a hellspawn's club knocked the laser pistol from his hand. Fargon prompted a hellspawn to pick it up, run to the Misty Marsh and hurl it into the swamp. The hellspawn managed to return to the fight without drowning and was promptly cut down by Wizardslayer's magic sword.

Fargon watched the useless efforts the hellhorde were putting up. They had surrounded the main bunch of the enemy and were managing to kill a few, but they were practically queuing up to be killed by Wizardslayer. If they all rushed him at once, they'd have him, but no, they held back until he had time to cut them down.

"Enough," Fargon sent a mental message to Captain Vilepractice. "Retreat. Gather at the Bridge of Sties."

Vilepractice ordered his bugler to sound the retreat. The hellhorde tune, "Run Away", sounded out, making Wizardslayer wonder if he was being subjected to some hideous sonic weapon.

Fargon counted the survivors. His hellhorde had taken heavy casualties, but so had the invaders. All the giants were dead, the cute, furry thing was under a giant, and the last of the mutant crocodiles lay with a hellspawn's detached arm sticking out of its mouth and several daggers in its chest. The only surviving elf was desperately rubbing himself with anti-dagger wound lotion. Wizardslayer, three dwarfs and two goblins remained on their feet.

"Where's Princess Autumna?" asked Wizardslayer.

"I thought she was with you," said a goblin.

Galadtobefey put his bottle of lotion back in his handbag and stood up.

"The hellhorde took her."

"What?" Wizardslayer walked over to Galadtobefey over dead hellspawn and friend alike. "You saw them take her and did nothing?"

"I had my work cut out trying to stay alive. Look, all the other elves are dead and I'm wounded. Honestly, some people have no gratitude."

"I'm sorry, Galadtobefey," said Wizardslayer. "I'll make it up to you by killing Fargon."

"That's what we're here for," said Galadtobefey.

Fargon lifted his eyes from the Pool of Perception to Brunhilde, who was trying to hide her manic pleasure at witnessing the carnage. To an untrained eye she would have looked perfectly calm, except for the sweat beading her upper lip and forehead. Fargon went over and licked it away.

"Grimwally."

Grimwally opened the door and shambled in, wearing his new goatskin trousers.

"Yes, master?"

"We are to have four visitors. Three of them are creatures and one is a lady. Prepare the dungeons accordingly."

"Yes, master." Grimwally hurried out. He chuckled. Apart from the little matter of falling a thousand feet, he was having a good day.

"I wouldn't call Autumna a lady," said Brunhilde.

"What would you call her?"

"Such words should not pass my lips, darling."

"No, they are much too pure for that. Keep an eye on the Pool." Fargon swept from the room.

When Fargon returned, he was followed by a kitchen drudge carrying an enormous tray of sandwiches. The drudge was trying very hard not to look at Brunhilde's cleavage or drool on the sandwiches. Fargon took the tray and gestured the drudge to be gone. The drudge hurried out, glad that Brunhilde and Fargon had seemed hardly aware of him.

Fargon offered the tray to Brunhilde.

"Have one," he said. "They're goat. Very tasty."

While Brunhilde ate one sandwich, Fargon devoured the rest. He had some arduous magic to perform in the near future.

Wizardslayer and his remaining companions hurried to try to catch the carts which had taken away Princess Autumna and the other prisoners, but they were slowed by attacks from animate and inanimate objects. Fargon kept harassing them with the twin aims of killing the elf and destroying the rifle. The Goddess ruined all his efforts.

Darkness fell and Wizardslayer's group stopped to camp for the night. Fargon went out to brood on the battlements for an hour, then went to bed with a book of spells, Brunhilde, some nuts and a gallon of bramble wine.

In the morning, Fargon detached the amphibious jellyfish from his body and threw them into their tank. He floated down from the top of the wardrobe. He'd had a restless night. Brunhilde was lying in a tangle of sentient sheets with her hair sticky with bramble wine. She looked as if she was up to no good even when she was asleep.

Fargon had a shower and sent his mind to the dungeon. Princess Autumna was in a small cell containing only a wooden bench, a few hairy blankets and a flush toilet. She was dressed in thermal underwear and, a typical hellspawn joke, elfskin trousers and a dreadful, tartan polo neck sweater. She was awake and sitting on the bench with her bare feet drawn up off the cold, stone floor of the cell.

The brace of dwarfs and the goblin were in the main reception room of the dungeon, chained to the wall in their own torn and grimy clothes. A brazier kept the room pleasantly warm. Grimwally pulled a branding iron from the brazier and spat on it to watch the steam and bubbles.

Fargon dressed and went down to the dungeons. Grimwally was juggling with red hot branding irons. When he saw Fargon, he expertly caught them and stuck them back in the brazier. Fargon glared at the captive dwarfs and goblin. The dwarfs looked terrified, but the goblin wore an expression of ill-tempered malevolence on his leathery face. Fargon approached this most likely convert.

"What is your name?"

"Erolflin," said the goblin.

"I'm surprised that goblins should travel with a waste of protein like Wizardslayer."

"It wasn't my idea. Wizardslayer once saved Carigrunt's life, so Carigrunt swore eternal loyalty to him. Us goblins stick together, so the rest of us joined him."

"You might have information I want, Erolflin. I offer you a choice. You can be tortured to death or you can help me remove the bag of protection around your mind and join my hellhorde. Pay and conditions are good, there's plenty of violence and pillaging, annual holidays, sick pay and free board and lodging. It's all here in this leaflet, "It's a Creature's Life in Fargon's Hellhorde". What's your answer?"

"Need you ask?"

Fargon attacked the bag of protection from the outside, while Erolflin attacked it from inside. The bag split, then disappeared. Fargon studied a mind which was almost as depraved and corrupt as his own. Interesting as it was, there was no information on the identity of The Goddess.

"Unchain Erolflin, Grimwally." Fargon turned to the dwarfs.

"Now, you two, what's your decision? A horrible death or a career in the hellhorde?" The dwarfs hastily agreed to sign up. They knew no more about The Goddess than Erolflin did. At Fargon's gesture, Grimwally unchained them.

"Start screaming as if you were being tortured," said Fargon.

Erolflin let out a howl of such volume and dreadfulness that the dwarfs and Grimwally brought forth genuine screams in response. Fargon gritted his teeth. When Erolflin paused for breath, Fargon gestured him to be silent. Grimwally slapped his own head to try to stop the ringing in his ears.

Fargon, part 4

"That's enough," said Fargon. "You three, go and find rooms in the hellhorde quarters. Anybody will give you directions. Grimwally, come with me."

Fargon threw open Autumna's cell door by mental power. He stood there, all grim and terrifying, then walked forward into the cell. Grimwally followed, grinning and slobbering, and jumping up and down with excitement. Autumna recoiled into the corner of the cell.

"Do I need to describe to you what will happen if you don't co-operate?" said Fargon. He spoke gently and reasonably, which was more disturbing than any amount of bluster.

"No," said Autumna. "I can imagine."

"Release yourself from your bag of protection. I will help."

The bag split and disappeared. Fargon rooted through her mind. She knew nothing useful about The Goddess. Fargon was struck by how good she was. She was brave, honest and kind. She loved Wizardslayer, which was stupid of her. It would take a long time to corrupt her, but Brunhilde would help. The two women would make a fine team. Brunhilde would be driven to excess by jealousy and, in the end, so would Autumna.

"You are mine, Autumna."

"No, I'm not," was thought, but not said. She wasn't that stupid.

Fargon turned and walked away. Grimwally gave a lewd wink and capered after him. The cell door slammed shut and locked itself. Autumna trembled with anguished memories of Fargon's vile mind and with shame at her own cowardice.

Brunhilde was in the Pool of Perception room, looking at the image of Fargon's new toy. After her shower, she had brushed her hair flat in deliberate contrast to Autumna's fluffed mass of hair. Fargon joined her. He took the edges of her cloak and drew them together, so that her cleavage did not reflect in the Pool.

"You are to have a helper."

"Autumna?"

"Yes. She'll need to be worked on, but I'm sure you can persuade her to adopt the attitudes I want."

"I'm sure I can, darling."

Fargon entered Brunhilde's mind and revelled in the jealousy, rage, violence and lust he found there. After rather too long, he pulled himself away and looked into the Pool. He dismissed the image of Autumna and found Wizardslayer and friends, who were approaching the Bridge of Sties over the River Pollen, which marked the boundary between the plains and the foothills of the Barren Mountains.

There had been a pig farm on the plains side of the bridge, but the farmer had fled long ago and his pigs had been eaten by the hellhorde, or the pigs had fled and the farmer had been eaten; historical records were contradictory. Now half the hellhorde were using the ruins of the pig pens for concealment while the other half hid behind boulders on the other side of the bridge. Wizardslayer's party reached the bridge.

"I can smell hellspawn," said Galadtobefey. "They are all around us."

"We have to use the bridge," said Wizardslayer. "Going any other way will take ages and they've got Princess Autumna."

"And Erolflin," said one of the goblins.

"And Boboskins and Petacuke," said one of the dwarfs.

"Come on then," said Wizardslayer. He walked out onto the bridge, closely followed by Galadtobefey, then the three dwarfs and two goblins.

They were halfway across when the hellspawn erupted from the pigsties and stood shouting abuse and making rude gestures. More appeared from behind the boulders on the far bank. Captain Vilepractice stood on the top of a boulder and shouted to the invaders, who halted and drew their weapons.

"Kill the elf and throw away all your weapons. You will be treated well. Your friends, Erolflin, Boboskins and Petacuke have joined the hellhorde, with all the benefits that brings. Kill the elf. Join us or die." On the hilly side of the river, hellspawn archers readied themselves to fire.

One of the goblins moved to stab Galadtobefey under the ribs, but Wizardslayer's magic sword swept down and cut off his hand. Wizardslayer looked startled.

"Sod," said the goblin. He put his surviving hand over his stump to stop the blood from spurting.

"You should not have believed him," said Galadtobefey. "Now you will have to fight one handed."

The goblin muttered darkly, then prized the knife out of his detached hand while he held out his stump for the other goblin to bandage. There was no time. The hellspawn on the plains side of the river dived for cover while those on the opposite bank fired a hail of arrows at the group on the bridge. Wizardslayer and Galadtobefey rushed forward as the dwarfs and goblins died.

The magic sword cut a path through the hellspawn. Those on the plains side rushed across the bridge and tripped over the dwarf and goblin corpses and each other. A struggling mass formed on the bridge, out of which several hellspawn fell into the river.

"Useless," said Fargon, from the safety of the Pool of Perception room. "They deserve to die."

Wizardslayer and Galadtobefey were free of the hellhorde, running fast and leaving them behind.

Are you going to send in the liquidators?" asked Brunhilde.

"Yes."

Fargon watched Wizardslayer and Galadtobefry steadily climbing into the mountains. Wizardslayer's only concession to the cold was to put on a leather waistcoat, which he left hanging open. Galadtobefey was not bothered by cold.

Fargon ordered out the liquidators, then went with Brunhilde for another enormous meal. Wizardslayer was too close for comfort, so Fargon was distracted. He looked at his own food more often than he watched Brunhilde eating, which Brunhilde took as a sign that she was losing ground to Autumna.

They returned to the Pool of Perception in time to see the confrontation between Wizardslayer and Galadtobefey and the liquidators. Ten black-armoured liquidators marched relentlessly down the mountain path towards their intended victims. They were ruthless, single-minded and immune to all but the most powerful magic. Swords or arrows could not penetrate their armour.

"They are liquidators," said Galadtobefey. "Use the Barishnikov on them."

Wizardslayer fired several rapid bursts at the liquidators, who exploded when bullets hit them. Soon there was only debris and blood to mark where they had been.

"That's it," said Fargon. "I'll have to deal with them myself."

Fargon, part 5

Wizardslayer and Galadtobefey chose to climb the vertical side of the mountain below the battlements rather than face the snares and booby traps of the more gently sloping sides. They climbed with such speed that Fargon had to admire their stamina.

"Grimwally."

Grimwally entered the room and said, "Yes, master?"

"Take Princess Autumna to my brooding place on the battlements. Bring the new recruits when you collect her, otherwise she might be difficult to handle."

The thought of handling Princess Autumna brought a huge grin to Grimwally's face. This looked like being another good day. He skipped away towards the hellhorde quarters.

"Come, Brunhilde," said Fargon. "We will meet our visitors on the battlements."

Fargon left the Pool of Perception room and strode down the cobwebby corridor with Brunhilde hurrying to keep up. He opened the large, oaken door to the battlements and stepped out into the hated sunshine. Behind him, Brunhilde shielded her eyes. It was the first time in weeks that she had been out in the open air. It felt good, although the sun would play havoc with her complexion if she was out for too long.

Fargon took a few rocks stored for the purpose and threw them over the battlements. He leaned out and steered them towards the tiny, climbing figures of Wizardslayer and Galadtobefey. The rocks fell within a few feet of them, diverted at the last moment.

"That's no use, then. Stay here." Fargon went into the Castle and returned a short time later with his wizard's staff. He tapped it on the battlements to dislodge the dust which had gathered on it.

There was the sound of a fight from the corridor. Grimwally, Erolflin, Boboskins and Petacuke lurched onto the battlements carrying Princess Autumna between them, a limb each. When she saw Fargon, she stopped struggling and glared apprehensively at him. The creatures dropped her and she stood up.

"Princess Autumna," said Fargon, "This is my assistant, Brunhilde."

"I am delighted to meet you," lied Brunhilde.

"Hello," said Autumna.

"We are now ready for our other guests," said Fargon. "Stand well back from the drop. There will be a lot of energy released soon.

Wizardslayer's head appeared in a gap between crenelles. Galadtobefey's head appeared at the next. Fargon waited until they had pulled themselves up and were standing on the battlements before he released a surge of energy from his staff.

A crackling, fiery beam travelled from his staff and enveloped Wizardslayer and Galadtobefey. When it stopped, Wizardslayer was standing with his arms in front of his face, unhurt, and Galadtobefey was wearing a faint smile, as if the torrent of energy had been nothing.

"How?" said Fargon. "How could you live through that?"

Galadtobefey removed his wig, false ears, eyebrows, nose and chin. She passed her hand in front of her face and removed the last of the elf makeup. She was stunningly beautiful.

"Galadtobefey is relaxing on the isle of Rum," she said. "I am The Goddess."

She threw open her jerkin and parted the velcro on the straps which held her breasts flat. Fargon was entranced by the way they sprang back into shape.

He was released from the enchantment by the Sword of Arachnia plunging into his heart. Enraged, he punched Wizardslayer in the face. Wizardslayer reeled back, pulling the Sword with him. Fargon ran forward and leapt over the battlements, to fall a thousand feet.

Just above the granite slab, he slowed his drop and winced at the sudden deceleration straining his wound. He settled on his back on the granite slab. The Sword of Arachnia was following him down. Weakened as he was, he waited until the last moment to divert its path.

The Goddess leaned out over the battlements, her breasts pointing down at him. His view was blocked by the Sword of Arachnia. Very briefly, Fargon smiled. His skull burst open and the Sword of Arachnia shattered on the granite beneath his head.

Up above, Grimwally slipped into the Castle and went down obscure passageways, ready to offer his services to whoever took over from Fargon. The dwarfs were on their knees, begging The Goddess and Wizardslayer to forgive them for their treachery. Erolflin the goblin merely looked surly. Brunhilde was smiling.

"Enough," said Wizardslayer to the dwarfs. "You were forced to join Fargon. You are still my friends."

"Thank you," said Brunhilde. "Thank you for freeing me from that tyrant. He held me prisoner here for years. At last you have freed me from him."

The Goddess turned to face her.

"I see into your mind, Brunhilde, and it is a sorry place indeed. You are so steeped in sin and perversion, guilty of so many crimes, that you can never be friend to the likes of Wizardslayer or Autumna. Yes, be afraid, but don't be afraid of me. I am a merciful Goddess. If I punished every sinner I came across, this land would be deserted. Go, leave the Castle, do not approach Fargon's body, and fear those you have wronged."