Wilhelm burst through the door of his small cottage, still flushed from the training session. His wife Anna looked up from the bread dough she was kneading, flour dusting her forearms.

  "You're home early," she said, but the words barely left her mouth before Wilhelm crossed the room in three strides and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the small of her neck.

  She laughed, surprised, leaning into the kiss. "Wilhelm! What's gotten into you?"

  "Missed you." He kissed her neck, her jaw, his hands sliding up her waist.

  Anna pushed the dough aside and turned in his embrace, her own hands over his shoulders so as not to coat his shirt with flour. "Did you now?" Her voice had gone low, teasing. "And what brought this on in the middle of the—"

  "Training," Wilhelm said between kisses. "Had training today. Real hand-to-hand combat techniques. Wrestling maneuvers. Made me think about how much fun it would be wrestling with you…" He pulled her closer.

  Anna laughed and threw her head back, accepting the kisses that he planted on her collarbone. "Training? What training?"

  "The militia. We had someone come show us proper fighting techniques." He tried to kiss her again, but she pulled back slightly.

  "Someone from where? The capital? And it put you in this state?"

  "No, here. From Sir Chuck's household." Wilhelm's hands were still on her hips, trying to guide her back toward the bedroom.

  Anna stepped back completely now. "Sir Chuck sent someone to train you? He doesn't expect you to do something that will get you hurt, does he?"

  "His combat specialist came to the square today. Demonstrated holds, throws, and grappling techniques. Does it matter? Come here."

  "His combat specialist? Is it the scarecrow or the dwarf?" Her voice had gone flat. Had Wilhelm been paying attention, he'd have heard the danger it contained. "What's his name?"

  "Her name is Calista. Hmmm, Calista. You should ask her what she puts in her hair. It smells marvelous."

  The change was immediate. Anna's expression shifted from warm interest to something sharp and cold. "Her."

  "She's outstanding. You should have seen how she flipped Ulrich, and he outweighs her by—"

  "Flipped." Anna pulled entirely out of his embrace now, wiping flour off her hands with sharp, deliberate movements. "She flipped Ulrich?"

  "Oh yes. He tried to hold her down with all his strength, but she just did these moves, and in an instant, he was on his back, and she was straddling him and had his arms pinned to the ground. It was amazing to watch."

  "Amazing to watch? I'm sure. How many other men received this 'training'?"

  Wilhelm felt the first stirrings of unease. "All of us who volunteered. Anna, it was just combat training. She showed us leverage points and how to use body weight effectively—"

  "Did this training involve you putting your hands on her?"

  "Well, yes, to learn the proper positioning, she showed us where to put them. I mean, she had to demonstrate—"

  "And did she put her hands on you?"

  "Anna, it wasn't like that. She was demonstrating grappling moves. Hip throws require getting close to show the proper—"

  "Hip throws." Anna's voice could have cut glass. "You spent the afternoon with some woman grinding her hips against yours, and you come home thinking I'd be pleased about it?"

  "It wasn't grinding! It was combat training!" But even as Wilhelm said it, he felt heat rising in his face. The memory of Calista's body pressed against his as she demonstrated the throw, her hands on his shoulders, his hands on her waist, her scent…

  Anna saw it in his expression. "Oh, you bastard." She grabbed her shawl from the peg by the door.

  "Anna, wait—"

  "No." She yanked the door open. "I'm going to see Marie. We're going to have a very long talk about this 'training' your militia received today."

  "Anna, please—"

  But she was already out the door, leaving it swinging open behind her. Wilhelm stood in the kitchen, the smell of flour in the air, his earlier excitement draining away into something hollow and uncomfortable.

  Through the open door, he could hear Anna's voice calling out to someone down the street. Then another woman's voice answered, sharp with interest.

  Wilhelm closed the door slowly and looked at his hands—the same hands that had gripped Calista's waist during the demonstration.

  He had a sinking feeling that Marie wasn't the only person Anna would be talking to.

  * * *

  Mum adjusted his cravat—slightly askew, as always—and approached the first cottage on his list. His human disguise held firm: tall, lanky, impeccably dressed in his formal coat with too many buttons. He carried his leather satchel bulging with contracts, each one a masterpiece of incomprehensibility.

  The morning sun warmed the back of his neck as he knocked.

  A young woman answered, flour dusting her apron. Her eyes narrowed at the stranger on her doorstep.

  "Good morning, madam!" Mum produced a contract from his satchel with a flourish. "I represent Captain Chuck, Lord Protector—pending formal recognition, of course—of Thornwell. I'm here to offer you personal protection against the demonic incursion threatening your village!"

  The woman's expression shifted from suspicion to alarm. "I heard about that demonic invasion. It’s supposed to happen any day now, right?”

  "Incursion. Invasion. Assault. As I'm sure you've heard by now, a warband of demons is expected to attack within days." Mum unrolled the contract, holding it up so she could see the elaborate calligraphy—reversed letters and all. "Simply sign here, and Captain Chuck is legally obligated to defend you and your household personally!"

  "I... what?"

  "No cost! No obligation!" Mum's enthusiasm grew. This was what he did best. "Simply acknowledge Captain Chuck's authority as your protector, and he assumes full responsibility for your safety!"

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  The woman squinted at the contract, trying to read the garbled text. "What does this say? This part here looks like 'pro-tec-shun' with half the letters backwards."

  "Precisely! Protection agreement!" Mum beamed. "As I said—perfectly straightforward! When the demons come, Sir Chuck will be obligated to protect you, even if the council won’t install him as Lord Protector. That will include any of your neighbors that come to you for shelter as well."

  She looked from the contract to Mum's earnest face and back again. Fear won out over confusion. Her husband had mentioned demons when he left in a hurry to attend some emergency militia training. If this strange man was offering a contract where Sir Chuck would grant them personal protection…

  "Where do I sign?"

  Mum produced a quill and an ink pot from somewhere inside his coat. "Right here, madam. And here. Initial here. Excellent! You and your household are now officially under Captain Chuck's protection!"

  He moved on to the next house, then the next. Some slammed doors in his face. Others listened with growing concern as he described the coming attack. His sincerity was undeniable—he genuinely believed every word he said, genuinely believed his contracts were masterworks of legal precision. Knew with absolute certainty that in exchange for recognition, they received a duty of protection from Chuck.

  In the fields south of the village, Mum found a farmer repairing fence posts.

  "Good sir! Might I have a moment of your time?"

  The farmer straightened, wiping sweat from his brow. "What're you selling?"

  "Protection!" Mum spread his arms wide. "Captain Chuck has authorized me to offer personal protection contracts to all residents of Thornwell!"

  "Protection from what? That demon attack? I hear he had already decided to protect us."

  "Yes, good sir, demons. A warband of considerable size is expected to attack our village within days, and Captain Chuck, paladin of the Light," he almost choked on the word, "defender of the innocent, slayer of the gashadokuro just the other night—wishes to extend his protection personally to all who accept it!"

  The farmer's expression changed. Everyone had heard about the skeleton monster. If this paladin had destroyed that thing...

  "How much?"

  "Nothing! Absolutely free!" Mum pulled out a contract. "Simply acknowledge Captain Chuck's authority to defend you, and he assumes full legal responsibility for your safety and that of your family! This not only binds Sir Chuck, but his liege lord as well."

  "No cost?"

  "None. He can't offer you protection unless he's authorized to do so, and since the council is dragging its feet, the only way he can do so is to have you personally request it. He specifically disclaims all rights to tax, chattel, service, or any and all other obligations from you, other than the ability to cross your land if he needs to run to defend someone else. In fact, we need supplies so he'll even be around to purchase your produce. But he can’t protect you unless you specifically authorize him to do so."

  The farmer took the offered contract, tried to read it, and failed to make sense of the bizarre text. But the stranger's passion was infectious. And the demons really were coming. He’d heard it in the inn the previous night.

  "Alright. Where do I sign?"

  By midday, Mum had collected seventeen signatures. His feet hurt—human disguises didn't eliminate physical discomfort—but his spirits soared. These contracts were legally binding and made a mess of the potential demonic claims to the village. Captain Chuck would protect to the end of his ability; there was no doubt of that. And when he was—if he was killed and the villagers ravaged, well, he'd have discharged his commitments to the best of his ability. It was all correct and all very legally binding.

  Well, legally something. Even Mum wasn't entirely sure what the garbled clauses would enforce. But they were properly signed and witnessed, which was what mattered. And it would take years to work their way through Hell's court system to get unwound, regardless of the impending battle—truly a win-win-win contract.

  He approached another cottage, knocked, and prepared his pitch again.

  The door opened to reveal a young woman with suspicious eyes.

  "Good afternoon, madam! I represent—"

  "I know who you represent." Her voice was cold. "You're with that Amazon who rolled with my man earlier today."

  Mum blinked. "I... What?"

  "Don't play innocent. I know what she's doing. In public, even." The woman crossed her arms. "Training? As if I'm stupid enough to believe that. Has that whore got absolutely no shame?"

  "Madam, I assure you, I'm simply here to offer protection contracts—"

  The door slammed in his face.

  Mum stood there, confused. What did Calista have to do with protection contracts?

  He shook his head and moved on. He still had forty doors to knock on before sunset, and the shadows were getting long.

  * * *

  I leaned against the kitchen counter and stretched my torso until I couldn't take the pain anymore. I'd spent the whole afternoon in bed on Elanthe's orders, and I was sick of it. Busted rib or not, tomorrow I was getting out of the house. Elanthe was tut-tutting me already, and I hadn't even told her I was going out. Mum joined Pemberton and us and excitedly showed off his contracts.

  "These are… remarkable," said Pemberton, reading one over. "How many of these did you say that you obtained?"

  "Twenty-three, in total, though I'm pretty sure I can get more in short order if anything scary happens."

  "You have definitely succeeded in making a mess of the potential claims on the village, my friend. It won't stop Vorghammul and his warband, but you'll have taken him off the board for a few years while things get sorted. You might even get noticed by Lord Vezimer for a move this clever."

  "Speaking of Vorgham, what's the status on Calista and Elanthe's armor, Pemberton?"

  "You got me armor? Really?" Elanthe beamed like a high school girl picking out a prom dress.

  "Oh yes, after the fight in the graveyard the other night, the captain requested that I obtain protection for the two of you. In fact, it arrived earlier. I sent Calista to put your package on your bed. Come to think of it, she hasn't come back." He waddled over to the stairs and called up. "Calista? Are you still up there?"

  "I couldn't wait, Pemby! I just had to try it on and O. M. D. It's awesome! Skeee! I can't tear my eyes off myself in the mirror! I'll be down in a minute."

  Pemberton returned to the kitchen and resumed his place at the table.

  "Pemby?" I asked with a smile.

  "I must ask you, Captain, how much additional paperwork you would like to handle personally?"

  Damn, bureaucratic threats are terrifying. I hid my smile and fear behind my cup and took a drink of the rusty water as Calista's footsteps came down the stairs.

  "See! It's awesome! Completely free range of motion."

  I blew the water clear out of my nose. She appeared before us wearing the skimpiest, swear-to-the-Light chain mail bikini ever conceived. Her breasts threatened to leap free as she demonstrated how free her range of motion was. The triangle at the bottom couldn't have been more than four inches wide at the top, and it swished from side to side as she moved. It did not connect beneath.

  Elanthe grabbed her hand and was dragging her back up the stairs before I could even finish choking. She'd been gone for thirty seconds before Pemberton, Mum, and I traded looks, having reluctantly concluded that the show was indeed over.

  "Pemberton?"

  "Yes, Captain. It would appear that the catalog description is a bit misleading."

  "You didn't know what it looked like before you ordered it?" I ground my knuckle against my nose, trying to deal with the water still dripping out.

  "There are no images in the Succubus Catalog for… reasons."

  "Because they want succubi to order armor before going into battle and get chopped to bits?"

  "Sir, please. There is a good reason. You see, they do have a print catalog with pictures. The sweatshops thought they'd be able to increase orders and thereby punish their workers more by forcing them to work longer hours if the catalog were more widely distributed. So they decided that anyone could order one, not just succubi."

  "What could possibly go wrong with that plan?"

  "Production of the catalog went from a few million to a few billion copies within a month, but sales actually went down. The succubus union was furious as calls for their services cratered, and threatened legal action. The printing costs nearly bankrupted the entire operation. Needless to say, picture catalogs are only available to succubi once again."

  I couldn't help but chuckle as I squeegeed my nose. What a typical, bone-headed management maneuver. "Okay, so can we actually get some useful armor ordered?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine. That… outfit was listed in the 'Armor' category under 'suit of chain mail'. I can try something else, but…" he shrugged.

  We sat there in silence as we tried to come up with a plan to improve our odds.

  "Well," said Mum as he smelled an unlit cigar. "At least we learned one thing today."

  "What's that?" I’d finally recovered from my nasal spit-take sufficiently to take another drink of water.

  "The carpet matches the drapes."