Castle War! by John Dechancie

have a feeling this is the golf world, but changed.”  
    â€œHope you're right. But what if it changes back while we're out hacking?”  
    â€œThen we carry on hacking, I guess. We can't go back now.”  
    â€œRight.” Thaxton downed his wine and poured more.  
    Dalton's gryphon soup came. He sampled it and smiled. “A little salty but good.”  
    â€œI wonder if they bagged that gryphon out on the links.”  
    â€œI wonder what hero bagged the basilisk. You look one of those in the eye and you're dead.”  
    â€œReally? Not up on my classical lore.”  
    The waiter brought Thaxton's hamburger. It was large and rested inside a sliced pita loaf. Thaxton lifted the top slice and sniffed. The waiter set down a bottle in front of him.  
    â€œAh. Steak sauce.” Thaxton applied a liberal dose.  
    â€œWill that be all, sir?”  
    â€œYes, thank you.”  
    Thaxton lifted the huge thing and examined it.  
    â€œNo onions or tomatoes?” Dalton asked.  
    â€œI'm a purist.” He took a bite and chewed. “Tastes a bit gamey.”  
    â€œProbably ground salamander or something.”  
    â€œIt's good enough.” Thaxton set the hamburger down. “Still thinking about getting back to the castle. Something's up, I just have a feeling.”  
    â€œWell, I get that feeling, too, but I can't think of what to do except retrace our steps.”  
    â€œWe can't very well do that. Those holes are as good as under Vesuvius now.”  
    â€œI suppose we could just come out and ask.”  
    â€œCapital idea.”  
    Thaxton lifted an arm and called the waiter over.  
    â€œYes, sir?”  
    â€œTell me ... how do I phrase this? Know of any—well, castles in the area?”  
    â€œCastles, sir?”  
    â€œUm, yes. Castles.”  
    Gamalkon scrunched up his face in thought. “Sir, I don't recall ever seeing any castles around here.”  
    â€œAny ... sort of floating doorways into castles? I suppose not.”  
    Gamalkon shook his horned head. “Sorry, sir.”  
    â€œQuite all right. Thank you. Uh, I think we need another bottle of wine. I do, anyway.”  
    â€œRight away, sir.”  
    Thaxton gave Dalton a forlorn look. “I suppose it's hopeless.”  
    â€œLooks like. Don't worry about it. We'll find our way back eventually. After the eighteenth hole. I think fate has decreed that we play this course through.”  
    â€œFate, eh? Bloody bad luck, I call it.”  
    â€œThaxton, old boy, you just won't admit that you're having the time of your life.”  
    Thaxton poured himself more wine. “A spot more of this and I will be having a good time.”  
    Dalton laughed.  
    Two strange-looking creatures were shown to the next table. They looked like gargoyles come to life. One of them looked over and squawked something that sounded friendly.  
    â€œGood afternoon! Nice to see you,” Dalton answered brightly.  
    Thaxton managed a thin smile. “NOSD, those two,” he murmured.  
    â€œEh?”  
    â€œ'Not Our Species, Dear.'”  
    â€œI wonder if they'd be up for a foursome.”  
    â€œWith my luck, they're probably both scratch players.”  
    â€œMy handicap is nothing to write home about, either, but it might be interesting.”  
    Dalton's entrée was served.  
    â€œVery good indeed,” he pronounced. “These wild mushrooms provide just the right accent.”  
    The meal progressed. The wine flowed; the second bottle emptied. More Château Avernus was ordered.  
    A while later the room began to shake. Wine bottles fell over and the windows rattled. A piece of ceiling fell to the floor very near.  
    Glassy-eyed and smiling, Thaxton looked around. “If I weren't so drunk I'd be frightened out of my wits.”