The stuff was smooth but strong going down. He went over and blew out the light and returned to bed. Suddenly, he felt a little dizzy, too.
"Hmph! Must have been a real kick in that," he commented and lay down.
Almost immediately he felt as if he were floating—not awake, but not asleep, either. It was an odd but euphoric dreamlike state and it felt far too good to fight.
Tura, too, lapsed quickly into the same sort of state, and they lay there, eyes closed, hardly aware of anything, and particularly not aware of the door to their room opening and a black shape entering.
The newcomer quickly examined the two of them for spells and curses. Tura had a few minor charms, probably purchased from some river wizard, but was essentially clean. Joe was not quite as clean, however. Not only did he have a lot of strong magical protections bearing Ruddygore's unmistakable stamp, but there was something else there, too, something infinitely complex and dark. The man carried within him an incredibly powerful curse, one that was of the blood. The stranger hadn't expected that, but couldn't divine its exact nature.
He was himself an enormously powerful wizard, but it hardly seemed worth it to undo all of Joe's protections methodically. With the potion they had both taken, it was far easier just to go around them.
He could do little about the Kauri and even less with the nymph, and Bly didn't matter all that much in this, but these two he could affect now. He knew better than to challenge the big man directly with some sort of armed force; he had a charmed sword, and that curse looked as if it gave him some strong measure of protection as well as cursing him. Well, he had lives to spare—when the time came.
For now, a little monkey-wrench was in order, nothing more. Something to keep them off-balance until the time was right.
The potion would do most of the work. All he needed to add were a few more practical "suggestions."
Chapter 7
Memories Are Made Of This
The following shall be taken as the only legitimate purposes for messages from beyond the grave: (a) warnings; (b) prophecies; (c) curses; (d) related grave matters. All other motives should be suspected.
—Rules, CVI, 201(b)
"IT'S A GOOD THING I STAYED UP PAST SUNRISE," MARGE told Bly as they walked back to the inn from the boatyard. "I really can't believe this. How could it have happened?"
"Deliberately, you can be sure," the ratlike creature responded. "It had to be right in the inn. There's no evidence that either of them left that night."
They approached the inn at a brisk clip. "The inn is still closed to the public?"
"Oh, yes. I had enough influence to handle that, which is a very good thing, as you'll see."
They entered through the rear door, walked past the small kitchen and into the main tavern area, and then froze.
Joe had apparently moved all of the furniture back from the center of the serving floor and set up several cushions. He sat there now, stark naked, an equally but more naturally naked Tura on his lap, and the two were alternately laughing, giggling, and making out like newlyweds. They seemed oblivious to the newcomers, occasionally breaking and feeding each other small morsels, mostly bread and fruit bits.
Marge, who did some of this sort of thing as a business, was nonetheless disgusted by the display. She cleared her throat several times, and, when that produced no reaction, she said, rather loudly, "AHEM!"
They both turned, big grins on their faces, and looked at the two interlopers. "Oh, hi!" Tura called with a giggle.
"Joe! What the hell happened to you?" Marge demanded to know.
Joe had a puzzled expression and then looked at Tura. "Who's Joe?" he asked her, and she shrugged.
Marge frowned. "You are! And you're Tura. Don't you remember your own names?"
"I never heard of no Joe," the big man responded. "You?"
The mermaid shook her head. "Nope. And who's that other one you said?"
"See?" Bly whispered. "Bewitched for sure. Both of 'em."
Marge nodded. "I wish I could see the spell, but in daylight and with these glasses on I'm as spell-blind as you are. Joe's pretty well protected against spells, though. I smell a potion in this." She turned her attention back to the unlikely pair. "So if you're not Joe and Tura, what are your names?" she asked them.
"I dunno," Joe responded, then looked at Tura. "You?" The mermaid shook her head, but it was clear that this lack didn't bother them in the least.
It took quite a while for Marge to get the whole story out of them, what there was of it. Clearly neither of them had any memory whatsoever of their past or their identities, nor did they wonder about this or even care about it. They had awakened together upstairs in a bed and it was like being born at that moment. They had no idea where they were, or why, and no interest in such things. They only had eyes for one another. They were passionately, madly in love, and the center of the universe was the other one and absolutely everything else was irrelevant. In point of fact, it hadn't even occurred to them that Tura had a fish-like tail while he had legs; it seemed the most natural thing in the world for them.
"Definitely a whale of a love potion," Marge told Ely. "I'm something of an expert in these things. It's tied to an uninhibitor of some kind. It's a really primal potion, too. Joe doesn't even know he's naked, or care. I doubt if either one of them knows the difference between good or evil, for that matter."
"So they are in some ways like small children," the captain replied. "But what are we going to do? The ship's repairs are minor and will be completed by late this evening. We can sail tomorrow—but with them like this...."
Marge thought a moment. "If they were slipped a Mickey, the odds are it was done here after everybody else left. It would have taken a small gang to have gotten them both upstairs when they were out, and I don't think it's that elaborate, or we'd have noticed something. That leaves the one man who was here for certain last night.
Where's the proprietor?"
"Still asleep, I think. His daughter runs the breakfast part and she was the one who discovered them—like that—and awakened me."
She thought for a moment. "I'm a lot weaker in the day, but I might be able to manage enough for this. Do you have a way to contact Ruddygore in an emergency?"
"I have some pigeons aboard, yes."
"Well, send him a message now—this morning. It shouldn't take more than half a day, considering how little distance we've traveled. Tell him basically what happened and request his help or an antidote, then meet me back here."
"All right, but what then? I mean, he's an awfully big man for us to handle, if he doesn't want to be handled, and Tura's no lightweight—most of that tail is pure muscle."
"I know. We'll cross that bridge later. Get that message off. I'm going to find out why and at whose order this was done and, hopefully, find out the potion."
She left him and walked to the back, meeting up with a thin, nervous-looking girl of sixteen or so. "You the innkeeper's daughter?"
The girl nodded.
"Where is your father now?"
"In back—but he's sleeping. He doesn't like to be disturbed at this hour."
"I think maybe we should wake him, don't you? Or don't you want to open today? Suppose they decide it would be fun to smash chairs and bottles?"
The girl nodded, looking both scared and glum, and led the Kauri back to a large wooden door. Marge looked up at her. "Your mother in there, too?"
"No. My mom died a few years back."
"Uh-huh. No brothers or sisters?"
"No."
"Is this door unlocked?"
"Certainly. Why should it be otherwise?"
"Well, I'll wake up your old man. You just go back and keep our two lovers happy and make sure they stay put inside the inn."
"I don't think he—"
"Just do it, girl!"
This was more than the innkeeper's daughter could handle, and she left.
Marge gently turned the knob and entered a hallway. At the end was
a stairway going down to the cellar, and she realized that they lived down there with the potables and other stored items. That was perfect for her.
She lighted no light, although it was very dark at the bottom. All this suited her just fine. The walls were stone, it was somewhat cool, and there seemed no sign of a window. Taking a chance, she removed the goggles and found, to her relief, that the cellar blocked out the radiation that would affect her. In fact, in a place this dark and this well insulated, it was almost like being in night, and she felt her powers grow to near normal.
Most of the cellar was still devoted to storage, but one area had been divided into three small rooms. It was pretty clear which one held the proprietor; he snored like a dragon.
Although her motivation was different, she automatically drew on her powers as needed, taking in the impressions from the sleeper beyond the wall and using them without even thinking about it.
The Kauri's power over men was great, in part because it drew upon the man to supply what was necessary and most appropriate. She opened the thin door to the proprietor's bedroom and saw him instantly, sleeping sprawled across a bed much like the ones upstairs. He was an unassuming, dark, chubby man with a close-cropped beard and thin mustache.
"Wake up," she said softly, but it was no request or timid attempt. It was a command with fairy power behind it.
The man stirred, shifted, then frowned, and opened his eyes. She reached up and found a candle, then willed the energy to flow from her to it. The candle flickered into life, lighting up the entire small room. He saw her in an instant, and his mouth dropped. "Umora?"
"Yes, my darling," she responded, knowing that he was seeing not a Kauri but the image of his dead wife, not as she was but as he remembered her.
He yawned and sat up. "But—you should be at peace now! I did what you asked of me." He paused a moment. "You are not like you were. You are beautiful and radiant once more."
"I have not returned before, my love, for it is generally forbidden. I was sent back because I was told you had committed a grave evil. Are you saying you did it in my name? For me?"
"But—you were here! Cold from the grave! I saw you!" He shuddered.
So that was it. "Someone made you believe it was me, but it was not. You were fooled by a very evil one, my darling. Who was it?"
He shook his head, trying to take it all in. She could see he was struggling, but she presented the preferable vision of reality, even if the false one. Bit by bit, he told her the tale.
She—or one who'd looked like her—had come to him in the early morning, as she did now. But that one was not beautiful as she now was; no, she'd been only a terrible shadow of her former self, a recognizable but horrible corpse, partly decomposed. She—his wife's corpse—had told him that her soul was trapped and could not go on, held by one who was the Master of the Dead. The Master had sent her to request a small task of any who came, and had agreed that, if he performed that task, she would find eternal peace. Her voice and horrible appearance had haunted him and filled him with pity. When she'd piteously complained of the cold and the worms, he could do no more than follow orders. To free his beloved wife from such a fate, he would have committed mass murder; this was merely to slip a potion, which he'd been assured was not lethal, to a couple of strangers.
"Who gave you the potions?" she asked him.
"You—she—did. Left them here."
"Then you never saw this Master of the Dead?"
"I—well, sort of. He was here, last night. Where I don't know, but he was here. I was to leave the keys available and then come down here. I did, but not all the way. I heard him moving about and heard him mount the stairs. When he came out, I peeked through the eyehole in back—you remember when and why we put that in."
She nodded and let him continue. Best not to get trapped into details she couldn't possibly know. This thing had its limits, and she was no mind reader. Irritated, she realized that she hadn't asked, nor did she know, his name.
"All I can say is that he was a big man, dressed all in black robes. His face I didn't see, or any particular features. Just a large man dressed in full robes and hood of solid black, that's all."
"It was definitely a man, then, my love? No woman or another sort of creature or fairy?"
"No—it was a man. A wizard for sure. He went out the front door, and I checked; all was quiet, so I just came down and went to sleep." He hesitated a moment. "Those two were a strange pair, even for an inn. What did the potion do?"
"You will see. I must go now, but do not feel guilty. You did what you thought you had to do for my sake. Other powers far greater than me will deal with this Master, and I will return to the peace and joy I left. Good- bye, my darling."
The candle winked out, and for a while he just sat there on the side of the bed in the dark shaking his head and looking very guilty indeed. She had become as nothing to him, and she was able to exit and climb back up the stairs without his even noticing that anyone was opening and closing the doors. She hesitated, almost forgetting to replace the goggles, but did so just in time.
The daughter was waiting hesitantly in the hallway near the door.
"Your father was not awakened by me," she told the girl. "Don't worry. He may be up shortly and acting a little strange, but don't be afraid for him." She then walked past the girl and back to the inn proper.
The Master of the Dead.... An animated corpse of the innkeeper's wife.... This was power indeed, but at least the bastard lived up to his name. Her thoughts went back to the male wizards on the Council. She found she wouldn't put it past any one of them, Ruddygore excepted.
One thing was certain, though. She and Joe had certainly underestimated their foe here in Husaquahr, expecting as they did more of a frontal attack or at least a good stab in the back, with her as the more vulnerable target. With this one simple gesture, the enemy had halted this expedition at its beginning, with minimal exposure, and taken out the best sword in the bargain.
The two were still there, but not for long, it appeared.
"I am water," Tura said, "and you are Earth. I feel like an early morning swim."
Joe got up, then scooped up the mermaid as if she were a feather. "Anything you want, you get." He started for the door, which was locked; when it didn't move at his prod, he stood back and kicked it hard. The lock splintered and the double doors swung open, one hanging by only a part of a hinge.
Word, of course, had gotten around the little town already that morning, so they were more curiosities than shocks to those who were already out on the streets. Joe went to the center of the street, looked up and down, and spotted the mast of the ship at the far end, and headed for it. Tura lay in his arms, giggling and laughing all the while.
Marge took flight, knowing she couldn't stop it and just determined to shadow them and, if need be, beat them to the river. There was nothing she could do; anyway, they were going pretty much where she wanted them.
They reached the bank and then went out on a small pier. Joe didn't stop, walking right off the end with Tura still in his arms and hitting the water with a big splash. For a moment Marge felt fear, wondering if Joe could swim; but as she flew over them she found that he seemed to swim quite well, although not nearly as well as Tura.
There was little she could do except hope they'd play and stay nearby. She looked around and saw the eagles circling lazily in the air high above, then headed up toward them. It was quite an ordeal and she was extremely tired and weakened by the sunlight, but she was determined to make it.
Fortunately, one of the eagles noticed her, sensed her weakness, and descended to her level.
"What brings you to us, Kauri?" the eagle asked somewhat menacingly. In many cases, eagles were not adverse to attacking fairies if they appeared weak and out of their element.
She was banking on them being on the same side. "If you please, great lord of the skies, we need to contact the wizard Ruddygore at once and it was hoped by me that one of such grace and maste
ry could aid in this."
"What's the problem? Were you attacked while we roosted?"
Quickly, Marge sketched in the problem and pointed out the swimmers far below.
The eagle snorted. "Surface grubs," it murmured derisively. "Wait here, if you can, on these currents. I'll have to take this to a higher-up."
With that, the eagle climbed. He related the story to the second level above, which in turn relayed it to the third, which finally dispatched someone to the highest eagle in the bureaucratic and physical pyramid. Marge only hoped that the message didn't get garbled in the translation.
Finally the word came back down, and the lowest eagle approached her once more. "You sent the pigeon this morning with this news?"
"As much as we knew at the time. Not the details I gave you."
"Well, we can beat the pigeon if we have to. Get on below, and we'll take it from here. You should hear something in a couple of hours at most. How are you going to keep them handy, though?"
"We'll think of something," Marge replied, more in hope than with any concrete idea. She wearily descended and looked for the pair of potion-induced lovers. They were on the bank, in very shallow water and mud, and both of them were apparently dismembering and eating a live fish.
She found Bly looking over the repair work, which did indeed seem more inconvenient than serious, and sent him to the inn for Joe's sword. She was determined to try every trick available to her to get Joe under control, but she badly needed some rest. It was going to be a busy evening.
Finally, she went down to the galley and saw Audra.
"Have you any booze on board other than the usual ale kegs?" she asked the nymph.
"Yeah, I think we have some." The nymph rummaged around to the resounding sound of hammers and saws, then brought up two bottles of what looked to be decent wine. "This do?"
"Maybe," Marge said hopefully. "Just keep them handy while I make a quick visit to the village apothecary shop."
"Yeah, okay, I—yeow!" The nymph jumped a foot and whirled around, looking very angry. "Those bastards just goosed me in the deck planking!"
Vengeance of the Dancing Gods Page 9
