Free In the Company of Ogres by A. Lee Martinez

unacceptable. It’s a blasphemy, an unforgivable heresy against the Dark Ledger. There was talk, very serious consideration, of dissolving this particular venture and allocating its resources to a more productive end.”
    Ned didn’t consider that a bad thing. If Ogre Company disbanded, he might get sent back to bookkeeping.
    “However, it all comes down to the numbers,” continued the homunculus. “The numbers reveal all. Profit exists throughout the universe. If we cannot find it, then we have let the numbers down, not the other way around. As such, I see no reason to abandon this project just yet.”
    The demon beat his wings and hovered in the air. He snapped his fingers, and a scroll materialized, floating before him. “I’ve drawn up a fiscal battle plan, which I can assure you is spelled out with such thorough magnificence that anyone should be able to follow it.” He pushed his spectacles to the end of his nose and arched his brows in Ned’s direction. “And I do mean anyone.”
    The scroll unfurled. It slithered across the desktop. When Ned reached for it, the parchment slapped at his fingers hard enough to leave a pinkish bruise. The budget shook, drew near Ned’s face, and snarled.
    “Careful,” said the homunculus, “she bites. Perhaps it would be wiser if I explained some of the finer points. Just to be certain you understand.” He snapped his fingers, and the scroll, growling in an obscenely affectionate manner, fell obediently into his grasp. “The plan is simple. It’s broken into seven hundred and seventy-seven subsections.” He cleared his throat. “Which I will now go over in detail.”
    Ned slumped in his chair. He wondered if Ulga would ever get here with that wine.
    The homunculus droned on for hours. His squeaky voice grated on Ned’s ears and stood his hair on end. The demonic bookkeeper chanted his depraved dirge to the powers of infernal accounting, and an evil spell settled on Ned’s office. The scroll unfolded, filling the floor with line after line of cost cutting and expense trimming. The walls melted. Cruel imps cavorted in the shadows. The hourglass on the desk ran backward. And Ned could almost hear the distant howls of the damned.
    The homunculus grew. The demon fed off Ned’s suffering, and his agonizing boredom fed the homunculus well. By the end, he’d grown a foot taller, his skin had turned a brighter shade of red, and his tiny horns had curled into impressive ornaments. Ned hunched in his chair, drooling, with debits and credits poking at his brain with wee pitchforks.
    “In conclusion,” said the homunculus, “I believe this project can be redeemed. Providing Ogre Company can finally be whipped into a functional military unit. But that’s not my end. I’m the accountant, and I can assure you the accounting is flawless.”
    Ned wiped the tears from his face with trembling hands. His flesh felt clammy and cold. The demon’s lecture had leeched Ned’s already diminished will to live. He’d have gladly fallen on his own sword then to end it all. He had no such option. Such were the disadvantages of immortality.
    The ferocious budget slithered around his office, under the desk, across the floor, tightly coiled around his legs, cutting off his circulation. It alternately purred at its creator and grumbled at Ned.
    The homunculus said, “It was my recommendation you be transferred to this post. There was some resistance to the idea. Your military record is nothing exceptional. But I pointed out that all the previous commanders had been fine officers and not one had been able to make anything of Ogre Company. From a logical perspective, it would be a waste of resources to throw another distinguished soldier into the slavering jaws of almost certain death. But here was a man, by which I mean you, who had the necessary bookkeeping experience to understand the situation as most soldiers could not. A man blessed with a curious talent for thwarting death over and over