Vengeance of the Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  "Marge?"

  "I'm ready. I was always out of place here, and I'm even more out of place here now. I burned my last bridge on this trip. I'll go tomorrow."

  Ruddygore nodded. "What about you, Joe? And you, Tiana? Neither of you look the way you used to, and you aren't likely to. And, of course, Sugasto is there, and there'll be a big fight."

  Joe squeezed Tiana's hand. "I didn't think we had a choice, but we're certainly going back. Oh, I admit I wouldn't mind a vacation here once in a while, but I kind of like it back there, even with all the crazy stuff. And since Ti and I aren't gods anymore, maybe we can finally get a chance to see some of the place and be ourselves. As for Sugasto—well, we beat the Baron and the demons of Hell, didn't we? Now that I know who I'm facing and just what's what, Sugasto seems like a pantywaist."

  "There is always a Sugasto." Ruddygore sighed. "Always another evil threat, always more evil armies with new variations on the march. Peace is very transitory in either world, but particularly so in Husaquahr." He paused a moment and lighted a cigar. "I'm afraid it's in the Rules."

  "Thanks to Ti's quick thinking, I've still got Irving, and the poor thing hasn't had a whole hell of a lot of use," Joe noted. "Actually, Ti's got more of a change than I have. What about it?"

  She looked at Joe, then at the others. "I admit it is taking some real adjustment being so much smaller, but this body is in excellent shape and is not so bad. I have the power still, and I will be a were again before long, I think."

  "You'll go back under the Rules," the wizard reminded her. "This body is more suited to a courtesan or entertainer or something like that than a barbarian priestess or warrior."

  She shrugged. "I have been that and a mermaid and a goddess. Perhaps it is time for some variety. I am of Husaquahr. I wish to go home."

  Ruddygore sighed again. "Well, that settles it, then. In one week, we'll take one of the company jets from Oakland to Midland, and the next night we'll leave. Poquah will remain here for a while, checking on the Baron's condition and aiding with sorcery if he can, but that will be that. I, of course, must return as soon as we use the Lamp to clear the barrier. Otherwise, I'd have to continue using the inconvenient method to go between, which I would find very irritating. There's still a villain to track down and beat, and I don't think he'll be any easier than this one was." He paused a moment. "I visited Father O'Grady last evening. He was straight and sober, and there was a real fire in his eyes. I'm not sure if he'll ever believe his memories or believe that the fairies helped, but he's got his faith back, that's for sure."

  "He isn't the only one," Marge noted. "I looked at the papers the last couple of days. It's still big news what happened out there, but they're already explaining away its effects. I bet a hundred Ph.D.s in psychiatry, psychology, and sociology will be awarded for explaining away the mass hallucinations and hysteria we caused across the country and proving clearly and scientifically why what they thought they saw, heard, and felt just couldn't be real."

  Ruddygore chuckled. "However, the churches of the nation will have record turnouts this Sunday, I bet. I don't know how many were actually watching the abbreviated broadcast, but I understand the Reverend Pike, who heads the Blessed Art Thou network, is taking a year off and sticking all his money into missions to feed the poor in Latin America. As for the rest—boy! Have they got religion!" He roared with laughter.

  Joe seemed not to hear. "Well, if we've got a week, then I've got one favor to ask you. It's a personal one, but it's important to me. I might need the help of your detectives, though."

  "Ask away, Joe," the wizard replied. "I suspect it's a last bridge of your own, is it not?"

  "More or less," he admitted. "You know I have to go— if I can find him."

  They all looked at the two with puzzled expressions.

  "How old would he be now, Joe?" Ruddygore asked.

  "Eleven—no, twelve. Oh, hell, he probably doesn't even remember me!"

  "Still, I understand what must be done. Okay, Joe. Get a plane and charge it all to the accounts. Just be sure to be back in Midland in a week. I'll give you the name of the hotel. And I've already anticipated you in the other regard. You'll find the report in my briefcase over there." Tiana now understood, as did Marge. "Do you wish me to go with you, Joe?" Ti asked him.

  "No, not this time. This is one thing I have to do myself."

  "I tell you, I am certain," Tiana whispered to Ruddygore. "For five days now we have lived together, and she is not who she says she is. At first I put it down as her odd life or my cultural differences, but any woman her age who has to read the directions in a box of tampons is not someone born and raised in this world. Finally, I could stand it no longer, and I asked her if she was sure she wanted to leave her new lover, Brian, back in California for this new world, because she was hot for him when we spoke back in her temple. She answered that it was only a passing thing. A passing thing! She mentioned no lover by any name to us back there. This whoever or whatever pretending to be Mahalo McMahon is not!"

  "I know," Ruddygore responded softly. "I wasn't— quite—truthful with you all in San Francisco. Poquah removed all the spells from the Baron in order to see to his condition and to see if magical healing could help. It could and it did, but as a side-effect it freed the bound spirit inside. You see, the Baron was always a cautious man, a paranoid with good reason to be. When Joe, Marge, and Dacaro were in his clutches, he sent the demon Hiccarph instead of dealing with them himself. He must have brooded all night about his capture of the lot of you. Too easy, and if you succeeded, too inconsequential to his long-range plans, but he had no real way of finding out what else was going on, because none of you knew. As a cautious man, he would never even consider that I would risk the Lamp, let alone myself." She gasped. "You mean—" "Yes. After leaving Joe over the snake pit—a touch I'm afraid he could not really avoid because he, like us, was still bound by the Rules personally even here—he sought out McMahon and, through this process and probably with the aid of the demon himself, so that not even Dacaro would know, he switched bodies with Mahalo. He even added the Ministering Angel spell, although there was certainly a way to break it. The demon then cast a spell on Mahalo that made her act, and perhaps believe, she was the Baron. It would not have held up in the long term, but for that crowded and confused few hours it was simple. If anything went wrong, Mahalo was commanded to allow herself to be killed. When you couldn't do it, the Baron shot her. He is a very good actor, after all, and I doubt if he counted on this long a delay."

  "Then—Mahalo is the Baron? He expects to be taken back across so he can link up with Sugasto?"

  "That's right. And once we are aboard ship and off across the Sea of Dreams, we will have a little session, the Baron and I, and I will learn what I must, because I've had the time to analyze his protective spells and solve them. He will have no defense. And then I'm going to send him on, with no memory of our little chat and a few additional spells. I'm going to let him lead me right to Sugasto. He will serve a new master, for once, and he will serve me well, until I send him to Hell."

  She stared at Ruddygore, but could find nothing else to say. Her thoughts went to the other victim instead. "Poor Mahalo, then."

  "No, she was lucky. The Baron failed to kill her, although the shot was true, a last little touch of divine Providence, I think. We'll find her a body, perhaps among the evil or condemned, that's twenty years younger and perhaps with more beauty than she had. I can do what they can, even now—just not as quickly or as easily. By the end of the voyage, I'll know their way, and how to undo it as well. Sugasto will not be easy to fell, but he's in for a horrible shock, nevertheless—and a number of conniving and faithless Council members as well, don't you worry. We've beaten the ultimate evil itself this time. The Rules almost mandate a happy ending."

  "I wonder much about that 'almost,'" she said, thinking of Joe.

  It was well after dark, and the neighborhood, so crappy looking by day, looked even more sinister
and fearsome by night. It had the smell of garbage about it mixed with the sulfurous air from the nearby refineries, and there was trash all over the place. Here and there among the blocks of rowhouses, flanking long, narrow streets better suited to horses than cars, were places deserted, abandoned, boarded up, and covered with graffiti.

  The government and the times had changed, but it still looked like home to him. Legions of the unemployed, uneducated, and dispossessed of society, many because of their dark-skinned heritage were locked in ghetto neighborhoods like this, forgotten and ignored except by the dope dealers and the welfare agencies.

  The slum was a self-perpetuating environment, each generation breeding the next at the bottom of the ladder because there was no clear way out for most of them. The environment was in itself an evil as tangible as any bred by sorcery and demons, and it worked its evil well. In its own way, this place, and the places like it in urban centers across America, were also openings to Hell, ones not so easily plugged up by a Seal of Solomon.

  There was no real way to get to the boy at home without all sorts of a fuss, and his mother's current live-in was, according to the reports, a real nasty sort whose business was extortion and whose business associates were always around. He didn't have time to chance seeking him going to and from school; Irving wasn't exactly known for showing up very much in any event. That left now, when he was usually hanging out on the street with a gang of punks who had already gone to hell and were seeking to increase their numbers.

  He turned a comer and saw them, sitting around the front steps, radios blaring, just as the detectives had said they would be. He even knew who they were by name and photograph, and what some of the older ones were as well. The three older teens—Aivy, Clarence, and Charlie—would be the problem, showing off for the younger ones.

  They sat there and eyed his approach as jewelers eyed diamonds at the start of an appraisal. He went up to them, stopped, and eyed them coldly. He was under no illusions, but he'd taken better punks than these.

  "You lookin' for something, Geronimo?" Clarence asked snidely. All three of the bigger ones got up, leaving the younger foursome seated, all eyes and snickering smiles. "Hey, my man! I'm talkin' to you!"

  "I'm looking for a boy named Irving de Oro," he responded, aware that the other two were slowly going to either side of him and slightly in back. The reports said they all carried knives but no guns on the street. He hoped the reports were correct. He looked at one of the younger boys on the steps and pointed. "You him?"

  "What's it to ya, slick?" the boy answered back.

  "We ain't used to suckers comin' by after dark in our territory," Clarence said coldly. "When one do, he dance to our tune and answer our question. You da fuzz or something?"

  "I'm a something," Joe responded coolly. "I'm something that's gonna have to have real self-control to keep from killing all three of you if you don't take off in the next five seconds." He tensed, knowing where each was and judging their relative speed and positions. Out of the comer of one eye he saw Alvy's knife come out, and it was a real pig sticker, too. "Then, again, maybe if I just take that knife away and cut that dude's balls off it'll make you think a little."

  "Kill that sucker!" Clarence ordered, sharp and angry, and they moved, but Joe moved much faster, so fast it was almost a blur. He reeled and grabbed Alvy's knife arm and, as they watched, actually lifted the husky teen by that arm. There was a crack and then Aivy was tossed into Charlie, who was just making his move. The two bodies collided, and Aivy pushed Charlie down and the second boy's head hit the street with a real nasty sound. Clarence was suddenly backed up only by four suddenly scared kids of twelve and under and he looked nervous. He glanced over at the foursome and screamed, "Get 'im! Get 'im!"

  The four froze, mouths open, as they watched the stranger demolish their heroes like some kind of superman.

  Realizing he wasn't going to get much help, Clarence started to back off. "Hey, man! Keep it cool! We just kiddin'!"

  Joe slowly revealed Alvy's knife in his right hand. "I'm not," he responded coldly. Clarence's eyes bugged, and his right hand went into his jacket pocket and there was no mistaking the threat. The leader did in fact have a gun. "Use that—even let that hand get in there, and you'll die here," the big man warned. "You got two choices, punk. You take that jacket off nice and slow and then get out of here or you go for that gun." He heard the four younger boys stir and get ready to run. "You boys stay where you are! I don't want to hurt anybody if I can help it, and not any of you, unless you give me cause!"

  Clarence took that as an opening and went for the gun. The knife seemed to fly from Joe's hand as if launched by a rocket and penetrated the boy's side all the way. He gasped in pain and fell backward, trying to reach the knife and screaming, "You stab me! You stab me, you son of a bitch! Help! Get me a doctor!"

  The kids took that as a cue to run, and in their own territory they would have had no trouble in vanishing, but he had two advantages. He only wanted one of them, and this had been his old neighborhood, too.

  The small boy ducked into a nearly invisible passageway between two blocks of rowhouses and ran down the narrow cement walkway and into the alley behind as if the devil was chasing him. Dogs started barking all over the place, but, true to the neighborhood's nature, nobody came out to interfere or see what the commotion was about. Joe was certain, though, that someone was even now calling the cops.

  The boy made the alleyway and turned right—and suddenly felt himself held in an incredibly strong grip. He struggled in fear but could not break the hold.

  "Irv! Calm down and shut up! I'm your father!" Joe yelled.

  "You ain't! You ain't! My father's dead!"

  "I'm not dead and neither are your friends out there if they get to a hospital! Now stop this and calm down. I been through a lot just to see you and by God I'm gonna see you!"

  The boy stopped struggling and looked up at the stranger. There was suddenly some doubt in his mind, and you could see the wheels turning in his head. "You really my old man?"

  "No, I'm your father. There's more of me in you, it seems, than your mother. Look at me and think of when you look in a mirror." He moved over to where some light from a house shed a little light on the alley.

  "You is him! I seen your picture once."

  They could hear the sound of sirens now. "Let's go where we can talk without company," Joe suggested. The boy looked hesitant, but he was still both too scared and too curious to run now. They made their way to a well lighted street about four blocks back and got into Joe's car. He started it and drove out toward the airport.

  The kid hadn't had much of a life, that was for sure. The bastard his wife had left him for had walked out on her when Joe's payments stopped and it became clear, because no body was found in or near the wrecked truck, that the insurance companies and union weren't going to pay off.

  She had never wanted nor liked the child; she'd kept him only because it would hurt Joe more for her to do so, and because it would bring her in more money in child support. He had vigorously contested custody, of course, but the judge had proclaimed that a child was better off with his mother and particularly if the father was an interstate truck driver. She had denied him any visitation rights, although he was fully entitled to them. Courts didn't do much about enforcing the father's rights in child custody cases, although there were now laws protecting the wife's rights under the same agreement.

  She'd wound up on welfare, taking on menial jobs when she could, and she'd vented her frustrations and hatred of Joe on the kid. Lately he'd been hooking school more than attending it, and taking to the streets with the big guys. Twice the school had flagged him as a potential child abuse victim, but he'd clammed up when pressed; and when they talked to his Mom, she was all sweetness and light—and then she beat the living hell out of him after they were gone.

  She'd taken a succession of men into the house at various times as live-in lovers, but none had been too thrilled about the kid bein
g around, either. Irving was already learning the street business as a lookout for Clarence's robberies of comer stores and other such places across town, and he'd been picked up once and was now on probation.

  She'd told him that his father had deserted them, but he'd always known that it wasn't true. In fact, Irving had a somewhat idealized vision of his father, but his father was dead someplace out west in Texas, and he'd had no hope that the kind, gentle man who'd doted on him and played with him and took him all sorts of places when they lived in a nice neighborhood long ago would ever return.

  "I didn't die, Irv," he said gently. "Your Mom wouldn't let me see you or talk to you. I sent you all sorts of presents and letters, but I guess she never let you see them."

  The boy was close to tears but didn't want to show weakness. "No. She say you never once even asked for me—but I know it was a lie."

  "It was. I thought a lot about you. I hoped, one day, to come back and see you, but until now I haven't been able to. I've been away. Far away in another land. This is the first time, maybe the only time, they let me come back."

  The boy looked at him. "You was somethin' else with them dudes! I never saw nobody could move that fast!"

  "You have to, where I'm living now."

  "You—you ain't stayin', then." The same twelve-year-old who not an hour earlier had been scared to death of this man now already seemed stricken at the thought that this was just a visit. "You say—the only time."

  He nodded. "I'm afraid so." He felt suddenly very angry. Damn it! he told himself. I can't leave him here! I can't consign my only son to Hell! "Irv—this is sudden, and you have to take a lot on trust from me. If you want, you can come with me. Right now—it has to be now. No going home, no saying good-bye, no leaving notes or picking up favorite things. Right now."

  The boy hesitated. "Where?"

  "To someplace far away. Someplace where nobody we know will ever find us. Someplace—magical."