"How is it coming along?" Sir Arivole asked the workers. Two old women were shaping the hedges he had transplanted from his old estate. The two of them just looked at him with adjutancy . Sir Arivole nodded at them and walked away. He hoped they would finish soon; he wasn't a patient man and the project he had them working on was taking forever.

He went back to the book he was reading titled Euli Deus Magickal Sume' and he still wondered if the title meant something like: 'read all about the magic onion god' or somesuch bizarre translation. The book was written by an occultist about a hundred years before, but often mentioned concepts from the modern culture. Concepts like yoga, blue jeans and gluten-free foodstuffs. Sir Arivole was not a well-read man and to him yoga and gluten-allergies were purely modern, decades old only. Blue Jeans were, of course, invented by cowboys or perhaps Abraham Lincoln. He read on and became drowsy and fell asleep with the strange book on his lap.

"Sir Arivole?" one of the workers asked him. He awoke at the sound of her voice.

"Oh yes? I was just reading." He responded. The book formed a tent-shaped letter on his lap. She looked at that and he followed her eyes and blushed slightly. "What do you need?"

"The hedges are done. Is there, something else you want me to do for you before I go?" she asked with an odd mixture of politeness and mirth.

"What? What do you mean?" Sir Arivole rejected the lascivious old woman with a little too much force in his tone. She looked dejected somehow and decided to go.

Sir Arivole told his butler to give his workers their pay and show them away, get their number for future trimmings, although he had made up his mind to hire some of those Americans (Mexicans) he wasn't sure how it worked but he knew that only Mexicans could get the job done in a timely manner. Only Mexicans were professional and hard-working enough to trim his hedges. Damn British bitches and their weird sense-of-humor.

Sir Arivole poured brandy for himself and wandered towards the balcony to get a good view of his gardens below.

The party would be starting in just a few hours. He went out to inspect the hedges with a glass of brandy in his hand and spewed the substance from his lips, choking and coughing from surprise at the work they had done. The silent harridans had carved his beautiful hedges into mockeries of impotency: circumcised phallic members stood erect all over his garden in glorious green daylight. Sir Arivole felt some of the brandy dripping from his chin and wiped it away with his sleeve. He had asked for modern shapes, and he had meant geometric ones, not...not these!

It was too late to cancel the party or have the hedges cut differently. Sir Arivole made a rash decision. He was going to burn them all up. He rushed through his mansion to the shed of the gardener, a position he had not hired anyone to fill yet, having just moved here. There was a metal gas can with flecking red paint that held two gallons of gas and had about half a gallon still in it. He took it to his gardens and was about to raze his hedges when the first guest arrived:

The Archduchess of Dunwich. Damn.

"Your grace, so nice of you to arrive early. I have just come down here to inspect the work of my relieved gardeners." Sir Arivole stood unshaved in his bathrobe with a can of gas in his hands.

The Archduchess was a very beautiful and stern looking woman, and she was dressed for the party. Somehow, she had arrived and found him without getting announced. Or his absence had prompted her to seek him out.

"These are magnificent." She cooed at the work of the perverted old women. "The modesty and vitality of the artists that cut these inspires me."

"It does?" Sir Arivole looked again at the green sculptures, unable to see whatever she was seeing. He stood there and some of the gas dripped from the open spout of the metal gas can as his arms relaxed.

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"Yes. Since I am early, perhaps you will entertain me personally." she stepped towards him, almost predatory. Sir Arivole stepped back instinctively but then held his footing as the taller woman approached him.

Then she was kissing him, and he dropped the gas can. Moments later his bathrobe was off, and they were frolicking in his garden most inappropriately. The Archduchess straightened out her dress when they were done and left him there, heading for the manor.

Sir Arivole left the gas can sitting on the ground and put his robe back on. He needed a shower and to get cleaned up before more guests could arrive.

His butler was in his chambers suddenly and said:

"Sir would know that the other guests are arriving."

"Yes, yes. Thank you." He spoke directly to his gentleman. "Did you save the number of those two old ladies?"

"Sir has no contact information for today's gardeners. They said their names were Janice and Ermin and they would return when it was time to trim the hedges again."

"Very good. How do I look?" Sir Arivole asked.

"Sir looks ready to receive guests and has a regal countenance." the butler said almost too quietly. Sir Arivole felt a little playful and replied:

"That is the afterglow of some angelic company." Sir Arivole smiled. The butler couldn't hide his thoughts on his face at this and frowned strangely. Calling the old, warty and obese Archduchess 'angelic company' was just a little weird. He accepted the dismissive gesture and went back to his duties supervising the caterers.

As the party went off, Sir Arivole was again alone in his garden with two more women that night, each more hideous and spoiled than the last. The next morning, the Archduchess of Dunwich called again for seconds. Sir Arivole was earning a reputation for an appetite for ugly women.

A few weeks went by, and a steady stream of lady callers arrived at Sir Arivole's manor. He could not believe his fortunes at having such a variety of lovers that held no jealousy or presumptions except to visit. It was as if these noble ladies felt they had no claim to him and just wanted a small amount of his attention.

Then the gardeners returned, or at least, their granddaughters. He asked them where Janice and Ermin were, and they claimed to be those two. Slightly confused, he went back inside. It was then that he noticed the book he had read while he had his gardens trimmed that first time. He opened it and started reading further, paying closer attention to the text.

'Fertility magic must essentially be an awakening of the body's natural healing and life-giving powers. It is different from the clarity that sex magic normally provides in that is instead causes the illusions needed to satisfy the ego. The ego is the dam that keeps back the reservoirs of loving creative energies...'

"What the hell is this?" Sir Arivole asked out loud. He had always found the answers in life to be like roadsigns, plain as day but easy to ignore.

Sir Arivole wondered if this sort of enchantment were already upon him. He went and watched their work and when they were done, he felt it was true. They accepted their pay and left without interacting with their employer. The gas can had not moved one inch from where he had left it.

With a smoldering cigar he went out and doused one of the hedges and lit it ablaze. As it burned his memory of the first of his lovers became clearer. He had done it with a gross creature on the grass. He went and found a scythe and cut down the remaining hedges until he perspired. When all the green was in ruins it all became as clear as day.

He had slept with all of the ugliest and most rejected women of his class. Sir Arivole's plumage fell from him, and he lost his sense of humor. His eyes took on a humiliated and resentful glare.

"Will sir be available to talk to the Archduchess of Dunwich on the telephone? She has called from an appointment with her doctor, there is an urgent matter to discuss." the butler spoke from behind Sir Arivole.

"I should have just imported some Mexicans. Hard working...honest..." Sir Arivole was muttering with growing anger that threatened to explode. His hands that held the scythe trembled.

"Sir?" the messenger prodded.

"What is it? Let me guess...the bitch is pregnant..."

"Sir?"

Then without warning Sir Arivole let out a frustrated scream. Somehow, he knew they were all pregnant. He would be ruined! He spun around on his heel in the fine white gravel.

Then with horror he looked at the dripping red, the lifeblood running down the blade of the scythe. The butler collapsed.

"Good show, sir, excellent form..." the butler complimented in shock. Then he died.

Sir Arivole stood alone near the smoldering hedge; the others chopped to pieces. The dream was over, the work was done. Now he awoke to the nightmare reality. The body of his trusted man lay at his feet, and he still held the bloody scythe.

"Tell her I will call her back." he told the corpse. He started walking with the scythe dripping over his shoulder, walking he knew not where. He just left, wishing for oblivion. He was muttering in temporary insanity, over and over as he walked:

"Should have just hired Mexicans...decent, honest people..."