Must Love Hellhounds

“We withdraw, you give your bodyguards your place of destination, and they fetch the appropriate gear. They meet you here, then you go to the witchwing through that door. The witches and the mechs take over the transportation.” Trovis was bored now, and showing it. He hadn’t found an excuse to provoke anyone into a fight, the client had the money and had paid the asking price, and furthermore Trovis had arranged to rid himself of his most irritating subordinates for at least a few days-possibly permanently. There was nothing more to be wrung from the situation. He took the earliest opportunity to slip out of the room, if a rather solid man six feet tall can “slip” anywhere.

“Where’s he slinking off to?” Clovache muttered.

“Some quiet spot where he can think of some other way to make me miserable,” Batanya answered, and then was sorry she’d spoken. She hoped Flechette hadn’t heard. Going over the head of one’s superior officer to complain to a higher rank was not admired among the members of the Britlingen Collective.

But Flechette seemed intent on observing the courtesies required by her position as commander: she wished the client a successful journey, clapped Clovache on the shoulder and shook Batanya’s hand, and advised them to eat before they left… her standard farewell. Then she drew herself up, gave the Britlingen salute, and said, “What is the law?”

“The client’s word,” Batanya said smartly. Clovache was a beat behind her.

Crick was watching, his eyes intent behind the ridiculous goggles. When Flechette had left, the two bodyguards drew closer to him.

“What temperature should we pack for?” Clovache asked. “What kind of fighting?”

Crick had been listening while the contract was explained, but nonetheless he asked, “You can’t tell anyone what I say; is that right?”

Batanya nodded. Clovache just looked resigned.

“To Hell,” Crick said. “We’re going to Hell.”

After a long moment of silence, Clovache said, “We’ll need our summer armor, then.”

“What happened was this,” Crick said, suddenly chatty. He’d taken a seat at the table, and Clovache and Batanya followed suit. “I obtained a certain item from the King of Hell, and I misplaced it when I had to leave. I definitely didn’t enjoy my stay with the king, and I’m afraid my abrupt departure may have angered him. As you may have deduced, I need to avoid Lucifer. I very much need to avoid him. I must get in and out of Hell as quietly as possible. Since I can’t look in every direction at once, I hired you two to help me watch.”

“So you’re a thief.” Batanya was entering a list of things she needed to take, using her wrist communicator. She glanced up long enough to make sure he was listening.

“Ah, yes. But a thief with a cause,” Crick added brightly.

“Don’t care,” Batanya said. “No matter what you are, no matter what your cause or motivation, we’ll do what we’ve been hired to do.” She looked him square in the eyes.

“Then we’re all fine,” Crick said, in his most foolish voice. One of the castle cats wandered in and leaped into his lap. He stroked its long orange fur. Batanya eyed it indifferently. She’d never been one for pets, though cats were at least preferable to dogs.

Anything was preferable to dogs.

“How long do you expect we’ll be gone?” Clovache asked Crick.

“If we’re not back in two weeks, we’re not coming back,” Crick said with a pleasant smile. “That would be my best evaluation.”

Batanya remembered that Clovache had tickets to a concert in a week’s time.

“Can you turn those tickets in?” Batanya asked. She ran her fingers through her short, inky hair.

“Nonrefundable,” Clovache said gloomily. “Oh, well.” She rose to her feet. “Senior,” she said, her voice formal, “I ask leave to go prepare.”

“I’ll be there in a minute myself,” Batanya said. “Go ahead.” She eyed their client narrowly. As soon as Clovache had gone, Batanya said, “I know there’s much you’re not telling us. No client ever tells us the whole story. You always lie. But if there’s some word you could speak that would help us prepare to guard you, now is the time to speak that word.”

Crick looked down at the table for a long moment. The cat jumped out of his lap and left by a window. “Nothing,” he said. “There’s nothing else I can tell you now that will be of any assistance.”

“All right then,” she said grimly. “You’ve got two of Britlingen’s best protecting you, Crick. I hope you appreciate that.”

“I am paying well for the service,” he said. His voice was cool.

Batanya might have told him that no amount of money could make up for the loss of their lives, but that wouldn’t have been true. The Britlingen Collective had put a price on that, and Crick had paid it.

“I’ll return shortly,” she said, and rose to her feet. “The witches and mechs will be ready by then, too.” She saw, with a grim satisfaction, that the mention of the witches made Crick shiver. Witches gave everyone the creeps.