Vengeance of the Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  The fact that the apothecary was a small room in the back of the public stables was not encouraging, but Marge looked around anyway in hopes something could be done, at least temporarily. When, after a while, no one seemed to notice her, she called out, "Hello! Anybody here?"

  A strange head suddenly popped up from below the double-doors leading to the apothecary storage room. She jumped, startled, then stared, not sure if she was looking at a fairy or a human face. It was round and rosy-cheeked, surrounded by snow white hair the thickness and consistency of sheep's wool, with a bulbous nose and tiny, squinting eyes. "Yes, my dear?" the stranger asked, in a voice that sounded like a very old man speaking falsetto. He seemed to have difficulty with his vision, and certainly did not see her clearly, judging by where he was looking.

  "Over here," she told him. "You the apothecary?"

  "Oh, my yes! Phineas T. Harbottle, at your service, m'um. What seems to be the problem?"

  "I have a male, six feet six and all muscle, who's been slipped a love potion that apparently also has induced amnesia. He's cavorting around naked in the mud with a mermaid, who got the same stuff."

  "Well, at least it's mutual," Harbottle commented. "Last few times I've had to deal with such potions, the devotion was strictly one-sided. Makes for a messy thing, you know."

  "I've sent off a message for help to Terindell, but I need something to keep them under control until that help arrives."

  "Oh—slip 'em a Mickey, huh?"

  "Well, it worked to get them into this mess. Say! How do you know the term 'Mickey' anyway?"

  "Oh, I know all the great Irishmen, Mr. Michael Finn in particular. We do some business around here with some emigre leprechauns, you see, and they love to tell stories. Unfortunately, they love to tell the same stories. I'm afraid I'm the only one they can pin down who'll still listen to them. Only the Americans believe in 'em anymore, you see—the Irish are far too practical these days—and it's far too fast a culture in America for them. Also, it seems, these Americans who think of themselves as Irish are ten times more Irish than the Irish, so the little people tend to wind up coming over here."

  Marge decided not to go into her own origins right then. "Can you help me?"

  The strange little man scratched his head. "Well, I don't know. You don't happen to know which potion, do you, or have a residual sample from the bottle?"

  "The bottles were gone when the couple was discovered, and with them the brand name."

  "Well, describe the symptoms—fully."

  She did so, sparing no detail.

  Harbottle just listened, and when he was up-to-date he said, "It has to be a very old formula. I haven't heard of this combination in—must be seven, eight hundred years, at least. You've a very old-fashioned wizard here, or he's got one devil of a cellar. Still, wait a few moments and I'll see what I can do."

  He seemed to disappear again behind the dutch door. She wasn't tall enough to see much of what was inside, but he must not have been too tall himself to vanish so completely from sight—from sight, but not hearing; the noises that began coming out of the stall were incredible.

  It began with the simple clinking of glass and then the sound of mortar and pestle, but soon all sorts of things started happening. Once it sounded as if a whole barnyard was in there, and once a huge cloud of foul-smelling purple smoke arose from the floor and she heard Harbottle say, "Oops! Oh, dear!"

  Finally the strange head popped up again, and a chubby arm held up a vial of a swirling orange liquid that seemed to smoke a little. "I had to compromise a few ingredients," he told her, "because some of the better stuff just isn't made anymore. Here—take it."

  She reached up and took it; she found it warm but not too hot to hold. She sniffed it, and turned up her nose. "Phew! Smells awful!"

  "Tastes worse," Harbottle assured her. "That's one of the Rules, you know. Poisons and potions all taste wonderful, while treatments and antidotes taste like mildewed, broiled swampwater. You should feel lucky. Many of them are far fouler than that one, and are nearly impossible to administer."

  "It's going to be a good trick just administering this stuff. How much should I give to them and what will it do?"

  "Damned if I know, actually. I'd say divide it roughly equally and get them each to drink as much of it as possible. The more they get inside them, the more complete the results will be. And because of the substitutions, there may be some odd side effects, or it might not be totally effective. He has a wife and magic sword you say?"

  "Yes. I have the sword, anyway."

  "The wife would also be handy. However, the sword has its own life and identity, and it can aid its owner in many ways. If he takes it, the sword will at least weaken the spells that may go along with the potion. There may also be physical side effects because of the cross-racial nature of the romance, as it were, but most should be temporary."

  "Um—thanks a lot. Any ideas on how I get them to drink this?"

  "You came for a Mickey and I gave you a treatment. I can't be expected to come up with everything."

  She was grateful to the strange little man, no matter what, and she suddenly became acutely aware of just how distant she'd become from the real world. "I—I'm afraid I haven't anything to pay with right now."

  "Oh, that's all right—I'll just put it on Ruddygore's tab. If you see him, however, you might remind him that I haven't seen a payment in almost a hundred and seventy-eight years, and I could use a bit. I've been building a cyclotron in the basement bit by bit by mail order and I'd really like to get module number 1068."

  She stared at him. "I beg your pardon?"

  "A cyclotron. It's a device for shooting atoms—"

  "I know what it is. I just never expected to hear of one in Husaquahr, let alone the power to run it."

  "Oh, one problem at a time. I'll work on the power later. Right now it's so nice and long and complex it's sort of a work of art. Well, good luck."

  Marge was feeling a bit dizzy. "Yeah—thanks." And, with that, she walked back out of the stable and into the morning sun.

  Bly lured the potioned pair onto the ship with an offer of food and a very large bed, which they took. The ratlike captain seemed confident that he and some locals could contain the pair should they emerge, and urged Marge to get some sleep. There was no chance right now to get them to take the potion, nor any plan to do so, so the captain assured her that he and Audra would work on the problem while she slept. If they were lucky, or smart, it was possible they'd come up with something.

  Dead tired and knowing she'd gone about as far as she could. Marge went to the other cabin and went to sleep.

  Marge awoke to the smell of fresh paint and a general quiet, and she didn't know whether this was a good thing or not. She quickly left the stateroom, entered the galley, and found Audra there.

  "Hi!" the nymph greeted her. "Well, things should start popping around here soon, I guess."

  "How's that?"

  "We managed to keep our lovers pretty well happy here, with a few minor incidents—old Ruddygore's not going to like the town's damage bill, I'm afraid—and then this real creepy guy and this strange-looking girl came down a couple of hours ago with a note from Ruddygore. They zinged 'em cold with a wave of the hand and then examined them real careful, you know? Then the guy looked at the stuff you brought and said it might work, might not. Anyway, they're waiting up on deck for you now before trying anything."

  "And our lovers?"

  "Still out cold in the other cabin." She walked out from behind the counter; as she approached the left cabin door, it opened for her. It was pretty clear what parts of the ship were, in a way, parts of Audra.

  With the sun down. Marge's fairy sight and powers were at their full potential. Both Joe and Tura were out cold, as advertised, and kept that way by a strong local spell that was easy to see. Below it, their bodies seemed to have a reddish-brown glow of a kind she had never seen before. This, then, was the potion. Below that, she quickly sorted out
the older spells and Joe's curse and noted, with some amusement, that Tura now had deep and complex black spell bands as well. Sometime during the day, Joe had bitten her for sure.

  Interlaced, though, were newer bands that bore a far different signature than any of the others. These, then, were what the Master of the Dead had added, and what were, in fact, the greatest potential threat to undoing the harm.

  Nodding to herself, she went back out and up on deck.

  Bly was there, looking pretty tired. He'd had a very busy day that had started early, and she felt sorry for him. With him were the pair that Audra had told her about, dressed in long, black cloaks and hoods. For a moment she wondered if she could trust a mere note. The Master of the Dead had been described as looking not too dissimilar to the larger one.

  They turned and put down their hoods when they heard her, and she gasped. "Tiana! Macore!" The larger one she'd thought of as being the Master of the Dead had been Joe's wife.

  Both were grim-faced, but managed smiles at seeing her.

  Marge stared at Macore. "I thought you were stuck in the land of the djinn for the duration."

  "No, the old boy has some other uses for the Lamp," the thief replied. "And some other uses for me, too, I'm afraid. I'm gonna be his meat for a while, until we solve this whole business or I die in the attempt."

  Marge turned to Tiana, who towered over her. "I—I'm sorry this happened."

  "Something like this had to." The big woman sighed. "I am afraid this world is not safe when one goes adventuring. When word came, I could not be restrained."

  "Ruddygore suspects that this is a trap to draw him into a compromising position—a fight on the enemy's timing, terms, and turf," Macore explained. "He'd rather pick his own point for a showdown."

  "I can understand why Tiana's here, but why you?"

  "Because I'm a thief—and a damned good one."

  "How's that again?"

  "Look, the potion's bad enough. Why lay that crap on them as well except to lock them in, antidote or not. This Master of the Dead had to know that a potion's not necessarily permanent, so he tied it to some spells there, and five will get you fifty that what they mean are booby traps. Undo 'em any way but perfect and they'll reach out and get you and maybe everybody else in the immediate vicinity. Tiana's got the power, and I'm pretty good at traps."

  Marge nodded, feeling relieved. At least she wasn't going to have to go through this alone. "So when do we start, and what do we do first?"

  "You do not have to do anything, dear," Tiana told her. "You have been more than enough help this day. It is for me and demon-brain here to take."

  "I'll stay," the Kauri told them. "I've got very good defenses and I'm not as easily affected by spells as humans are; also, this is partly a spell of passion, on which I'm something of an expert."

  "All right, then. On your own head be it," the big woman replied. "Let's go down and take a look at our sleeping beauties."

  Bly opted out of the session, not only because he wasn't being paid to take risks like this, but also because he was too tired to do anyone any good. Still, that left the three of them very crowded in the cabin with the two sleeping beauties.

  "She is quite pretty," Tiana noted. "What sort of person is she—normally?"

  "She seemed nice enough," Marge told her, "but I really didn't have much of a chance to get to know her. There was something inside her, though, something melancholy, that I sensed. She was not happy."

  "I ask because Joe was in fact attracted to her, and without any spells or mermaid tricks. Joe is simply one of those men who loves women. All women. If she also had a sad story to tell, it would get to him. Even as insulated as we have been these past years, I have seen it happen before."

  Marge looked at Tiana strangely. "You mean he cheats? And you know it?"

  Tiana shrugged. "So do I—and he does not know it." She sighed. "Well, let us get to work."

  Like surgeons studying a wound before operating, the three examined all of the newer spells. That was the only real advantage they had—that each spell cast by anyone bore a distinct signature. It could be disguised, but no two wizards' spells were ever exactly alike—like fingerprints. The spells, then, could be sorted out—but not necessarily deciphered.

  It took some time to fix both the start and the end of the complex colored bands of the spells, but this was absolutely necessary to dissolving them. Once the route was traced, they could begin. Fortunately, the wizard had not wanted to spend a great deal of time inside the inn room and had come with the spells prepared. As he could not know who the partner would be, the spells were essentially identical except for sexual identity diacriticals, and this meant that if one were solved, the other could also be. More difficult would be further down, where the spells reached out to both of them with common threads. The spell had to be unraveled in the exact same order as it had been cast. Anything else would do no good and would simply backfire on the unraveler.

  It was easy going at first, but then they ran into a knot of finely woven yellow and red threads crisscrossing in all directions. The first trap. Tiana looked at the little thief. "Macore?"

  "Oh, it's a boomerang spell, all right," the little man responded thoughtfully. He followed beyond the trap to the next junction. "The trouble is that he's got something innocuous running across something nasty, using the same color and pattern. We have to get only the continuing threads of the spell and none of the obscuring one."

  "The progression seems obvious enough. Six to twelve to twenty-four, with the last making a right turn at the junction."

  "Ah, but that's what he wants you to see. But, here— six strands become twelve become seventy-two straight on, then back to twelve beyond the next junction. That's also symmetry. I'd go straight. The odds are he's much more concerned with the spell than the trap. In any event, I'd go for the more complex pattern as being the spell itself in this case."

  "All right. Here goes." Tiana concentrated and dissolved the threads running through the junction and into a braided pattern. Nothing happened, so she continued on to the next junction, then took the turn again to go back to the six.

  Marge could do nothing but watch their operation. She could follow it, but not the complexity of the spell removal that Tiana was doing, and she certainly had a great deal of respect for Macore, who seemed to think like a thief all the time. It took about an hour to follow the pattern all the way down, and then they shifted to Tura. Macore had guessed right on the matching spells as well; this Master of the Dead had been in a hurry. Even so, he was a real pro.

  It was. Marge understood, something like unknitting a complex quilt with little bomb triggers set to go off if you lost the thread. Soon, though, there remained only the simple binding spell connecting the pair, and both Tiana and Macore grew confident and more relaxed. They were almost done when suddenly a snakelike coil of pure energy leaped out and engulfed everyone in the room.

  "We really blew that one," Tiana sang, in a lusty operatic soprano.

  Macore and Marge both looked at her and then at each other.

  "We have a real comedian here," Macore sang, in a low tenor that was slightly off-key.

  "It sounds like grand opera," Marge sang to them.

  Audra suddenly came through the door singing, "Would anyone like some wine—and cheese?"

  "Oh, this is terrible, terrible, terrible!" Tiana sang.

  The others chorused back, "Terrible, terrible, terrible!"

  The spell's simple bands were still connecting them and clearly visible, and Tiana, putting a finger to her lips for silence, proceeded to unravel each of them in turn and roll the thing back to the two unconscious forms. It was not much of a spell as these traps went; more a thumbing of the nose at the one who sought to undo the Master's work.

  Being careful not to make the same mistake twice, since a trap sprung more than once became more and more complex and, after a while, became impossible to unravel, she removed the last of the spell.

&nbs
p; Macore let out a deep breath and turned to Audra. "I'll have that drink now, lass." He beamed. "Ah! No more singing!"

  "I thought you had a lovely voice," the wood nymph told him.

  Macore beamed. "We'll have to talk this over later, my dear. Business first." He turned back to Tiana. "Now we've still got that stupid potion to deal with."

  She nodded, but, before she could say anything else, Marge put in, "The alchemist said that the sword might help, and that each should get an equal dose of the antidote."

  "Let us try it," the big woman said. "Can you get the sword?"

  "I can't touch it. You know that. Macore? It's next door in my cabin."

  Macore nodded, smiled, and blew a kiss to Audra, then went out and was quickly back with the sword. It had begun to hum discordantly when Macore had picked it up, but now, in the room with Joe, it seemed to give off a small but pleasant electronic sort of whine. Tiana took it, placed it in Joe's hand, and closed his hand around the hilt. The sword began to hum a strange tune, which startled them. Marge frowned, then said, "I think it's something by Ferlin Husky."

  "Huh?" Tiana asked her, looking confused.

  "Don't worry about it. It knows it's home."

  Macore looked at them. "Can we force that vile brew down them while they're out without choking them or losing it?"

  "We will see. Bring it here," Tiana commanded. Audra exited and returned with the bottle, which was still smoking slightly. With Macore's help, they propped up Joe's upper torso enough to get his head only slightly leaned back. His mouth, fortunately, was somewhat open. Holding the head and mouth, Tiana poured just a little from the bottle into his mouth and held it closed. Joe coughed, but didn't otherwise react.

  The glow around his body diminished slightly.

  It was a slow and somewhat messy business, using it bit by bit until the glow seemed to vanish completely. The rest they tried with Tura, whose mouth was closed and had to be pried open, but eventually it worked. It was, however, a good thing that Tiana was so big and strong herself. Marge reflected.

  At last, the potion was gone, and they stood back. "Time now to wake them up." Tiana sighed, sounding tired. She removed her spell quickly, and they waited. When nothing happened after a little while, the big woman said, in a loud voice, "Joe! Wake up!"