Free Castle for Rent by John Dechancie

She looked back over her shoulder to see Gene Ferraro crossing swords with one of the creatures, while the big white beast karate-fought with another. The Blueface who had done all the talking was sprawled on the floor with purple gunk running out of its mouth. Sheila suddenly got very sick, and very afraid.
    Gene swung his weapon and lopped off the sword-arm of his opponent. Sheila saw the severed blue member splat to the floor. She thought she would throw up then and there, but when Gene's next stroke clove the creature's skull in two, spraying purple liquid all over the place, she was too shocked to react. Meanwhile, Snowclaw had lifted his adversary over his head; he threw the creature against the stone wall. The Blueface hit with a bone-pulping thud, hung against the wall for an impossible instant, then clattered to the floor.
    Gene ran for the door. “Come on, Snowy, there's too many of them!"
    Snowclaw batted at one of the new intruders and sent the creature flying, but when he saw more reinforcements streaming through the main entrance, he broke for the back door.
    Sheila had been watching all this, half hypnotized by the savagery of it, half paralyzed with fear. Linda yanked her back through the door as Gene came charging through.
    Linda, Sheila, Gene, and Snowclaw raced through the cluttered, now deserted kitchen and banged out through the opposite door. They were followed by three survivors of the group who had joined the fight. The woman was not with them.
    Once outside the kitchen, they pushed a huge sideboard against the door to block it. Immediately grunts and crashing sounds issued from the other side.
    â€œThey killed Morgana,” one of the men told Gene. “She chopped up one of them before getting it from behind."
    â€œI saw,” Gene said. “We'd better split up."
    The other nodded. “My favorite aspect is down this way."
    â€œMaybe not such a good idea,” Gene said. “Better to get off into the remote parts of the castle. Of course, that's just a guess. You make your own decision."
    â€œGood luck."
    â€œSame to you.” Gene turned to Linda. “You and Sheila coming with us?"
    â€œOf course. Gene, you were marvelous. I can't believe how good a swordfighter you are. Maybe you really are Cyrano de Bergerac."
    â€œNo, I just have a nose for trouble."
    Sheila hoped he was Cyrano, Duke Wayne, and Sylvester Stallone all rolled into one.
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    164 East 64TH Street
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    He sat hunched over, his forehead in one palm, elbow on the desk, peering down at a sheet of paper that crawled with arcane mathematical symbols. A high pile of crumpled sheets lay to his right. Stacks of books lay about the desk, interspersed with pencils and other writing implements, three or four different types of electronic calculator, several empty aluminum soda cans, and a cup and saucer holding the dregs of two-day-old coffee.
    He threw down his pencil, a weary scowl on his face. “Dung of a thousand kine!"
    There was not much enthusiasm in the curse. “Shit,” he added, with not much more.
    He exhaled and peered into the coffee cup. He yecched silently, got up, and carried it into the kitchen, where he set about inducing Mr. Coffee to do its job. He spooned grounds into a fresh paper filter and slid me little drawer holding the filter into the machine, then poured cold water into the top of the device.
    In the living room, the computer beeped a warning. He rushed directly to it and sat at the terminal.
    He typed, NATURE OF EMERGENCY?
    The disk drive rumbled. Then the screen displayed: DANGER .
    RANGE AND DIRECTION? he queried.
    NEARBY AND CLOSING FROM WEST.
    GROUND OR AIRBORNE?
    GROUND.
    NATURE OR EMBODIMENT OF DANGER?
    UNABLE TO DETERMINE.
    â€œThat's a fine how-do-you-do,” he muttered. CAN PINPOINT PROXIMITY?
    NEAR was all it answered.
    â€œDamn program is full of bugs! Full of them!"
    He halted waving his arms and considered his outburst. “I'm losing