“You pus-bucket,” Lord Ermenwyr growled.
“Midget.”
“Imbecile!”
“Dwarf.”
“You big walking string of shapeless snot from the nose of a diseased—”
“I know you are, but what am I?”
“You—!” Lord Ermenwyr was on the point of launching himself across the table at his brother when Smith rose in his seat, and thundered, “Shut up, both of you!”
The brothers sat back abruptly and stared at him, shocked.
“You can’t tell us to shut up,” said Lord Eyrdway in wonderment. “We’re demons.”
“Quarter demons,” Willowspear corrected him.
“But I killed three men for you, so you owe me,” said Smith. “Don’t you? No more fighting as long as you’re both here.”
“Whatever you like,” said Lord Eyrdway amiably enough, taking a sip of his wine. “I always honor a debt of blood.”
“I still want to know what you’re doing off the mountain,” said Lord Ermenwyr sullenly. “To say nothing of why you chose to bolt into my favorite hotel.”
“Oh,” said Eyrdway, looking uneasy. “That. Well, I made a little mistake. It wasn’t my fault.”
“Really?” Lord Ermenwyr smiled at him, narrowing his eyes. “Whatever did you do, might one ask?”
“I just raided a caravan,” said Lord Eyrdway.
“Hmmm. And?” Lord Ermenwyr’s smile showed a few sharp teeth.
“Well—you know, when caravans are insured, they really ought to be required to carry signs or something saying who insured them, so everybody will know,” said Lord Eyrdway self-righteously.
Lord Ermenwyr began to snicker.
“You raided a caravan that was insured by Daddy’s company,” he stated gleefully. “And Daddy had to pay the claim?”
“Your father runs an insurance company?” Smith inquired.
“And makes a lot more money than by being a brigand,” Lord Ermenwyr replied. “There are only so many ways you can keep your self-respect as a Lord of Evil when you can’t break any laws.”
“And there wasn’t even any nice loot,” complained Lord Eyrdway. “Nothing but a lot of stupid bags of flour. So I cut them all open in case there was anything valuable inside, which there wasn’t, so we just threw the stuff around and danced in it and came home white as ghosts, and then it turned out the flour had been going to a village where the people were starving, so that got Mother mad at me too.”
“You sublime blockhead!” Lord Ermenwyr rocked to and fro, hugging himself.
“So Daddy told me I was banished until I could repay him the value of the caravan,” said Lord Eyrdway. “And Mother reproached me.”
“Ooh.” Lord Ermenwyr winced. “That’s serious. And you haven’t a clue how to get money, have you?”
“I do so!” snarled Lord Eyrdway. “I stole some from a traveler when I was coming down the mountain. But he didn’t have nearly enough, so I asked the next traveler I robbed where there was a good gambling house, and he said there were a lot of them in Salesh-by-the-Sea.”
“Oh, gods.”
“Well, you’re always on about how much fun you have here! So I got over the city wall and found a nice gambling house, and at first I won lots of money,” Lord Eyrdway said. “And they served me a lot of free drinks. So I drank a little more than I should have, maybe. So some of what happened I don’t remember too well. But there was a lot of shouting.”
“You must have killed somebody,” said Smith.
“Yes, I think I did,” Lord Eyrdway agreed. “Not only did I not win any more money, they wanted money from me! And so I left, and changed into a few things to throw them off the chase. But they figured out I was changing, somehow, and kept after me. So I ran down to the harbor and turned myself into a seagull. Wasn’t that clever of me?” He turned to his brother, bright-eyed. “Nobody can pick one seagull out of a crowd!”
“You’re brilliant,” drawled Lord Ermenwyr. “Go on.”
“So I spent the night like that, and all the lady seagulls fell in love with me. But I was thirsty by this morning, so I turned back into me and went walking along the harbor looking for a place to get a drink. Then I heard a yell, and when I turned around, there were those people again, and they had other people with them, and they were all coming after me with weapons drawn.”
“You booby, they’d had time to circulate your description,” Lord Ermenwyr told him.
“Really?” Lord Eyrdway looked dismayed. “What are they so upset about? I thought nothing was forbidden in Salesh in Festival time.”
“They’re talking about sins of the flesh, not manslaughter,” Smith pointed out.
“Oh. Well, it ought to say so on those brochures, then! Anyway I remembered you had a safe house somewhere hereabouts, so I went looking for it, but—”
“You were coming to me for protection?” Lord Ermenwyr smiled, showing all his teeth.
“No, I wasn’t!” said Lord Eyrdway at once. “I don’t need your protection! I just thought, you know…” He opened and shut his mouth a few times, seeking words.
“Well, that’s done it; his brain’s seized up with the effort,” Lord Ermenwyr said to Smith. “While we’re waiting, let me apologize for this unsightly complication. As for you, brother dearest, I shall be happy to offer you refuge. It’s what Mother would want me to do, I’m sure.”
“Go explode yourself,” said Lord Eyrdway pettishly. “I just thought I could borrow enough money from you to pay Daddy back.”
“Ah, but then you’d miss the instructive discipline Daddy was meting out by your temporary banishment, wouldn’t you?” said Lord Ermenwyr. “And I’m certain Mother was hoping you’d learn some sort of moral lesson from the experience, as well.”
“Does that mean you won’t lend me the money?”
“You fool, it’s ridiculously easy to get money from mortals without stealing it from them,” Lord Ermenwyr said.
“It is?” Large brass wheels and gears appeared in the air above Lord Eyrdway’s head, turning slowly. “People do that, don’t they?”
“Quite. For example, Smith, here, used to kill people for money,” said Lord Ermenwyr.
“Used to,” Smith said. “I keep a hotel now. I don’t recommend the assassin game, lord. It’s a lot harder than it sounds.”
“Well, I don’t want to do anything hard,” said Lord Eyrdway, frowning. The gears above his head metamorphosed into a glowing lamp, and he turned to his brother. “I know! Haven’t you been peddling your ass to the mortals?”
“I’m a junior gigolo,” Lord Ermenwyr corrected him. “And it’s much more subtle than mere peddling. You have to romance them. You have to wheedle presents. You have to know the best places to unload presents for cash. But, yes, you can get mortals to pay you ever so much for having sex with them, if you’re young and beautiful.”
“How’d you manage it, then?” Lord Eyrdway chortled.
“Smith, shall I tell you about the time Eyrdway here was beaten up by our sister?”
“Don’t tell him that story!”
“Then watch your mouth, you oaf. A male prostitute has to be charming.” Lord Ermenwyr stroked his beard and considered his brother through half-closed eyes. “There are certain streets where one goes to linger. You make yourself look young and vulnerable, and I always found it helped to let a little of my glamour down, so mortals could just get the tiniest glimpse of my true form.”
“I can do that,” Lord Eyrdway decided.
“Then you wait for someone to notice you. You want somebody older, somebody well dressed. Usually they offer to buy you a drink.”
“Got it.”
“And then you go to bed with them and make them as happy as you possibly can. The customer is always right, remember.”