Robert Weinberg - A Calculated Magic

“Pleased to meetcha, girls,” said Hugo. Though it was physically impossible for a bird to leer, he leered. “I love your outfits. We spotted a bunch of your associates while flying through the walls, but we were in too much of a hurry to catch more than a quick glimpse of what they were doing. It’s amazing the positions you humans are capable of assuming.”

“Charmed,” said Mongo, as Jack turned beet red.

“I’m a movie actress,” declared Candi. “Maybe you’ve seen some of my films: Hot and Ready, Twice Is Not Enough… ”

“Sure,” said Hugo. “I thought you looked familiar. When things get boring at home, Mongo and me fly over to the local X-rated theater for a few laughs,” The bird cawed. “Now that you mention it, wasn’t that Lola Landru in the garden-five rooms from here? She was doing her special number on this one old guy. His face was so red I thought he’d pop his buttons.”

“Lots of us houris moonlight as adult film stars,” said Candi. “It’s a quick way to make a few bucks.”

“Hold on,” said Jack, sensing that he was swiftly losing control of the conversation. “Let’s start from the beginning. The very beginning.

“Obviously, none of the supernaturals here are really houris. By definition, they live in heaven and this place doesn’t exactly fit that description. Who are you girls?”

“Well,” answered Candi, “for a mortal you seem pretty well informed. There’s nearly seventy of us working here for Mr. Hasan. We’re wood nymphs, sea sprites, and assorted other classical beings with an appetite for uninhibited sex. Most of us drifted to Las Vegas because of its reputation as a wide-open city.

When Mr. Hasan opened this resort, he placed a coded advertisement in the newspaper, specifically looking for women like us.”

“Sure,” added Alis. “The pay’s good, the hours aren’t bad, and we get to indulge in our favorite pastime with a nice variety of partners. Mr. Hasan insists we pretend we’re houris and this facility is Paradise, but the only ones fooled are the dimwits he sends here at night. The rest of our customers don’t mind playing along with the gag. They’re usually occupied with other matters.”

“Where exactly are we?” asked Jack.

“One floor beneath the lower level of the resort,” said Alis. “It was built the same time as the original hotel, supposedly as an underground storage area.

“The long elevator ride is a sham. Most of the time you’re in the car is spent developing the proper mood. It only takes a few seconds to arrive at the gates of Paradise. The doors remain closed until your tour guide finishes her spiel and puts you to sleep. Then the visitors are delivered to chambers like this room throughout the complex. The sleeping gas wears off pretty quick and you awake in heaven. When three hours are up, we spray you with the same formula and you’re returned to the surface. It’s easy and effective.”

“With so many supernaturals working here,” said Jack, “I expect there are other passages to the surface than the elevator.”

“Naturally,” said Candi. “There’s a number of stairways connected to the mausoleum level. That’s how we enter and leave Paradise. The doors are marked No Admittance: Building Personnel Only,” She giggled. “Of course, the doors require a key to use them. Otherwise, we’d be overrun with tourists looking for bathrooms.”

“Incredible,” said Jack, trying to digest everything he had heard. “Hasan’s established this mini-Paradise beneath his own hotel for two purposes. During the day he entertains his wealthiest high rollers with a sexual fantasy playground catering to their wildest dreams.”

“You’d be surprised at the number of repeat visitors,” interrupted Candi. “We’re a popular attraction.”

“I’ll bet,” said Jack. “Then, late at night, he uses the same surroundings and nymphs to brainwash his recruits for the Assassins League. It’s a slick operation.”

“Cost effective, too,” said Mongo. “I’m impressed. Al-Sabbah might be a bloodthirsty, inhuman fiend, but he’s a good businessman.”

“The dollars dropped by the millionaires anxious to visit this spot probably cover the overhead with money to spare,” said Jack. “Which leads me to the question of the day. How much are you ladies paid for working here?”

“A thousand a week,” said Candi. “With two weeks’ paid vacation a year. We’ve got a contract. And a union.”

“Besides,” said Alis, “while the official Paradise guidelines forbid making outside contacts with our visitors, nobody enforces the rules. Lots of the girls moonlight on their days off,” She smiled. “Some of us don’t charge anything for fellows we really find fascinating. Guys like you, for instance.”

“Watch it, sister,” said Hugo, as Jack stammered an unintelligible answer. “He’s taken. His girlfriend has a nasty temper. And her father’s an awfully powerful wizard who does anything she asks.”

“Just making casual conversation,” said Alis, half turning her face so Hugo couldn’t see, and winking at Jack. Though he remained true to his fiancée, his toes still curled.

Commanding his hormones to calm down. Jack asked, “How would you girls like to make twenty-five thousand helping me? It wouldn’t require you to participate in anything dangerous. Merely open a few doors, provide a couple of costumes, things like that. No one would ever learn of your participation.”

“Twenty-five grand,” said Candi. “That’s a half year’s salary. I could finance my own movies with that bankroll.”

“You sure we couldn’t get in trouble with Mr. Hasan?” asked Alis. “I’d hate to lose this gig. And the boss didn’t strike me as the sort of person who forgives and forgets.”

“All I want to do,” said Jack, “is rescue my girlfriend. Supply me with two costumes like the ones you’re wearing and a key to the next floor and I’ll be set. A female friend of mine can dress up in one of the outfits. She and I will sneak down here in the evening and recover Megan. Disguising her in the proper accoutrements, we’ll escape before anyone notices she’s missing.”

“Uh, boss,” said Hugo, “there’s a major flaw in your maneuvers.”

“Which is?” asked Jack.

“Megan’s being held a prisoner on an barren stone island at the center of Paradise,” said Hugo. “The place is surrounded by a moat of burning lava. She’s guarded there by an incredibly ugly creature. It has the head and breasts of a woman, the wings of a bird, the tail of a serpent, and the paws of a lion. It’s not your usual run-of-the-mill warden, Johnnie, This creature means business.”

“The monster was playing Trivial Pursuit with Megan,” added Mongo. “The entire time we were there, it never missed a question. Not one.”

“Now for the really bad news,” said Hugo. “There’s only one bridge across the river of fire. It’s patrolled by a well-known beast from Cassandra’s milieu. We recognized it right away. It looks hungry. Real hungry.”

“A beast,” repeated Jack, his spirits sinking faster than a punctured balloon. He had naturally presumed that Megan was guarded by the Old Man of the Mountain’s Assassins. His background in game theory should have warned him not to make unwarranted assumptions. A monster and a legendary beast introduced unexpected variables into his rescue equation.

“It’s a seven-foot-tall dog with three heads and the tail of a serpent,” said Mongo. “I believe his name is Cerberus, Guardian of the Underworld.”

“Hell,” said Jack.

“Exactly,” said Mongo.

“The creature in the middle of the lake of fire is the sphinx,” said Alis a few minutes later. She dropped down next to Jack. He was sprawled across the cushions, lying on his chest with his hands folded behind his neck, trying to devise an alternative method for rescuing Megan. As he had told Merlin earlier in the day, without Megan free, he dared not risk confronting Hasan al-Sabbah and his genie. But rescuing his girlfriend was not going to be easy.