Demons of the Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  Madam, the clerk said as they waited, we would appreciate it if you would, ah, cover up while in the public areas. The Portside, down at Lake Boulevard and Pier Six, is more, ah, suited to your sort.

  Marge got mad fast. And what exactly is my sort? Do you discriminate against fairies? Are we not good enough for you?

  Oh, of course not! That's not what I meant at all.

  Then make your meaning plain. I am a Kauri, and we have very short tempers.

  Exactly my point. I mean, with the convention coming in, it's very bad for the hotel's image.

  Joe, too, got a little rankled. With what I hear about this convention, you'll be lucky to have a hotel left when it's over. Are you going to be working through the next week?

  Why, uh, I expect to. Whatever do you mean? The clerk was uncomfortable when the topic got personal and forced him to the defensive.

  When the adepts get through with you, you might wish you'd gone on vacation with an attitude like that. Now you've insulted my partner and friend, and we weren't doing anything but following your rules and making no trouble. He put his hand to his sword hilt, but Marge stopped him.

  No, Joe. Just stand to one side for a moment. This is my little problem.

  Curious, the big man moved over and just watched. Marge stared hard at the clerk, then brought her two arms up over her head, fully extending her magnificent, soft wings. The clerk started to say something, then stopped and became suddenly dull and glassy-eyed. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, although Joe was surprised that it didn't crack his face. She rose, floated over the desk, and landed just in front of the transfixed man, whose gaze never left her. Marge nodded, still smiling, put down her arms, and began systematically to undress the clerk. Joe—and, he couldn't help noticing, the bellman and other employees in the lobby area—watched with a mixture of awe and amusement. Within two or three minutes, the clerk was completely nude.

  At that moment, the pixie shot back through the tube, flew up to the clerk, and stopped short, the look on its face one of total incredulousness. Marge reached out and took the small paper from the pixie and glanced at it, then turned and handed it to Joe. It was a scrawled mess, but they recognized Poquah's distinctive calligraphy and guessed what it said. Well, we can go up now, Joe suggested a bit nervously.

  Awww... Marge pouted, sounding disappointed. She leaned over, kissed the clerk lightly, and said, You'll wait right here just like that until I get back, though, won't you?

  The clerk nodded dreamily.

  Marge smiled, floated back to the other side of the desk, and looked at the bellman. Let's go.

  The bellman led them around the big registration area to a hallway and into the main building in back. On one side was an opening in the wall, revealing a small, gondolalike car. They could see a second about halfway down the hall, and guess a third at the end.

  The thing proved to be something like a ferris wheel, but very, very slow and driven, apparently, by the same sort of treadmill-gear-spring device as the escalator from the stables. . They went to the top, then had to transfer to a smaller, similar device and do the whole thing all over again. Uh—you do have stairs, Joe said to the bellman hopefully.

  Oh, sure. This is mostly for the bigwigs and the luggage. The top two floors of each tower are suites only, and the kind of people who have 'em not only usually have tons of baggage but they don't walk no place.

  Um—just out of curiosity, what do you think of that little scene down there? Joe wanted to know as they reached the top floor of the south tower.

  The bellman chuckled. Some people, they run outta town when this convention hits. Me, I love to stick around. I mean, I gotta work under guys like that for most of the year.

  Both Joe and Marge grinned. And you're not scared of something happening to you? she asked him, trying to sound nonthreatening.

  Naw. I been around magicians and stuff a lot, and overall they're a pretty fair lot. Mostly they stick it to people who really need it, and, I mean, most of us can't, right? This convention's the payoff to all them types who do the same to everybody, and I love it.

  They both chuckled and followed the little man to a large and ornately carved set of double doors. The bellman pulled on a satin rope that dangled from a small recess. In a few seconds, the door opened, and the familiar face of the warrior elf Poquah looked out at them. The Imir was as outwardly impassive as always; but when he saw Marge, his thick, ruler straight eyebrows that flanked his cat-shaped eyes at a forty-five-degree angle went up about an inch. It was as much of a rise from him as either of them could remember. He looked at Joe, nodded, then turned back to her. And this is our old Marge?

  She grinned. No, it's the new one. Hello, Imir. Hello, Kauri. Come in, both of you. They entered, and the bellman followed. Marge stopped short when she saw the suite and gave a low gasp.

  It was impressive. The walls were entirely of some sort of tinted glass, apparently going all the way around the top of the tower. There were drapes, controlled by long, thin ropes, that could be lowered from recesses in the ceiling to cover them, but Poquah had left them open in this large parlor.

  It was furnished with thick sofas, ottomans, and luxuriously padded chairs. The tables were of carved and beautifully stained hardwoods, each one a handmade work of an. The entire suite was carpeted in thick, soft wool, dyed in patterns of reds, yellows, blues, and greens. Facing the inside of the parlor, against the wall parallel with the hall, was a huge bar on one side and a mini-kitchen on the other, complete with a small stove, wood for that stove, and a chimney leading up.

  The bellman looked questioningly at Poquah, who simply said, Just set them down here. We will put them away when we arrange who's to go where.

  The bellman did as instructed and turned to go. Joe fished in the pack, brought out a small chunk of Firehills fairy gold left over from their road transactions, and called after him,

  Here—catch!

  The bellman did so and realized almost instantly that he had more than an ounce of fairy gold in his hands. It was certainly a bigger tip than he was used to, but he suppressed his surprise and joy and tucked it in a pocket. Thank you, sir and madam, and if you need anything, just go to the middle of the hall and call the messenger. With that he was gone, shutting the door after him.

  That was an abnormal tip, Poquah noted. It sets a bad precedent.

  Well, it was mine, not Ruddygore's, and I liked that little guy, Joe told him. Besides, he added a little sharply, looking at Marge, he's going to have to clean up a bit after us, isn't he?

  She gave him a Who, me? son of innocent look, and Poquah was quick to sense that there was something he'd better know. What have you two done already? he asked suspiciously.

  We had a little run-in with a stuffed shirt at the front desk, and Marge got mad, Joe told him.

  What did you do?

  He told me to get out of his hotel and go down to the docks, as if I were some kind of tramp, she responded defensively. I just gave his libido a nudge so he only had eyes for me, that's all.

  The Imir sighed. And I suppose he's standing there behind the desk right now, stark naked, just pining for your return.

  Why, yeah. How'd you guess?

  As hard as it might be for even me to believe, the Imir and Kauri are rather closely related, and I have had some experience around you as well. Combining your rather odd sense of humor-with the Kauri's almost total lack of selfcontrol, it was obvious. Is it permanent?

  Oh, no. Oh, he'll still have a thing for me, but he'll snap out of it in an hour or so, get real embarrassed, and put his pants on again.

  The Imir nodded. Ah, yes, you Kauri do have that nice little trick, don't you? He looked over at Joe. You see, her victim will still have 'a thing,' as she put it, for her even after it's over, so he'll take it out on the staff, on everybody else, even on himself, but he'll never be mad at, let atone blame, her. Hmph! Totally useless in a fight, but with those defenses nobody ever lays a glove on them. He thought for a mom
ent. The Master and the others will be in sometime tomorrow. The master bedroom, with the harbor view, is through there, so that will be his. The room on the other side will be shared by myself and Durin, his personal chef. There are two more rooms down the hall that interconnect with each other but not with this apartment, and we have Macore and Tiana to take care of as well as the two of you.

  Macore! It will be good to see him again! Joe cried. But what's he doing here?

  The Master has his reasons, the Imir replied enigmatically.

  And who's Tiana? Marge wanted to know.

  Tiana—oh, yes, you might not have met her. She fled from Morikay and has been under the protection of the Master for years. He sent for her to meet him here. You'll learn more, perhaps, when you see her. He looked thoughtful again. I assume the best course is to put you, Marge, and Tiana in one of the rooms, with Joe and Macore in the other. I regret that, but I do not think Macore is the correct sort of person for many reasons to put in with the young lady.

  Joe looked a little sourly at Marge. Suits me, he said. Why not just give each of us a key now?

  Poquah nodded, walked into his own room by sliding back a door, and soon returned with two large brass keys. Each key had a small leather tag attached with a welded brass ring. If you use any of the hotel's amenities, the key will be all you need for payment, he explained. Outside, use what money you have. From the bellman's tip, I assume you do not require any more at this time.

  I think we're okay for now, Joe told him. At least, I am.

  I have no need of money, Marge said, but I'm going to have problems carrying this key around. I'll leave it either at the desk or with you when I'm going to be gone for any length of time.

  The Imir nodded. Very well, then.'Come over here. He walked to the wide windows that looked out on the town. Below there, and for several square blocks on either side, you see the entertainment district, which usually goes all night. The restaurants and bars are quite expensive, but all of high quality. There are also stage shows, strolling entertainment, and other amusements down there. On the other side, opposite this hotel, is the central market, which is quite extensive and has some of the finest craftspeople in all Husaquahr, and which also has for sale almost anything you might wish. Please keep your expenses down if possible. Prices always double or more when a convention is in town, and our coffers are not unlimited.

  Both of them knew that this was more the Imir's nature speaking than any policy or problem from Ruddygore. The fact was, to somebody on the Council with his own castle and more, wealth was virtually limitless. Poquah, though, was not only the sorcerer's chief bodyguard but also the manager of Castle Terindell, and he took every expense personally. He was also, contrary to the traditions of his race, an accomplished sorcerer himself and, because of that, was somewhat in exile from his own people. Being of faerie, he could never gain the power and control of a human sorcerer, but he was nonetheless a very, very dangerous man in all respects.

  Joe picked up the bags, and he and Marge walked out of the suite and down the hall. Poquah shut the door behind them. Joe realized almost immediately that the Imir had failed to tell him which room was which, and the pictogram on the keys was very little help, so he tried his on the first door they came to; naturally, it didn't work. Marge unlocked the door with hers, and they stepped inside.

  The room was large and comfortable and had a huge bed and a mini-parlor with'sofa, but it was nothing like the master suite. It was still better than either of them had seen in a long, long time, though. Marge turned and looked at Joe questioningly. Sure you don't want to sleep here tonight?

  He sighed. No. Not yet. Let's let things go a bit, huh? Besides, you ought to enjoy a solo room for one night. What do you want from the packs?

  She thought a moment. The glasses, I guess, and my trinkets from the last couple of nights. He put the packs down, and she rummaged through and got the few items. That's it, she told him.

  He shrugged. Okay. Well, let me get settled in next door. After that, I guess I'll find a restaurant and then hit the sack.

  I think I want to move myself back to a little more of a day schedule.

  Suit yourself, she told him. The night's still young. He turned to go, but just as he cleared her door, she called out, Joe?

  He stopped and actually hesitated for a moment, but shook it off. Look—that stuff you did with the clerk. Never do anything like that to me. Never. Promise?

  She nodded, looking suddenly serious. I promise, Joe. You know I'd never do anything like that to you.

  I don't know anything about anything any more, he responded and walked down the hall.

  His room proved to be a mirror image of hers, but with two slightly smaller but still plush beds. He put the packs down and looked around, for the first time noticing a small sink in one comer, with a pipe coming out of the back and angling down like a spigot. Looking a little closer, he discovered a rod and handle on the floor next to the sink that actually went through the floor. Curious, he pushed down on it, finding it something like a bicycle pump. Pumping it a bit harder, he saw water coming out of the spigot and into the basin. He checked and found it cool but not cold and marveled anew at how clever the people who designed and built this place were. The pump took very little effort, so he wasn't bringing water up from anywhere. Probably there were tanks on the roof, he decided, so the pump only opened some sort of valve when it was pushed—it had turned halfway around when he'd pushed it down the first time, and twisted back at rest—and the pump's suction just drew water a short distance into the sink line. It was clever. More than likely there were huge cisterns up there catching rain off the lake, supplemented when necessary by hauling water up to the top.

  The water closets were at either end of the hall, and he was tempted to find out if they had flush toilets, but that would wait. He'd know soon enough.

  Using the water and towels, he gave himself something of a sponge bath and turned two bright white towels almost black doing so, then changed into his last clean breechclout. He reminded himself to find out about laundry services here and that he had to get over to that market the next day and buy a new pair of sandals, or, perhaps, boots. Maybe both, he thought after a moment. After all, he was here on Ruddygore's expense account, and to hell with Poquah.

  Satisfied as he could be, and with his hair combed and fastened by a headband, he left the room and went down the hall, stopping at Marge's room. He knocked. When there was no answer, he tried the door. It opened, and he peered inside, but the room was empty.

  Well, he thought, so much for company for dinner. That brought him up short for a moment, and he frowned. Come to think of it, in the days since she'd come out of that forest with wings, he'd never seen her eat. He wondered if she did, and, if so, what.

  Chapter 7

  ON THE CONVENTIONS OF

  UNCONVENTIONAL CONVENTIONS

  It is permissible for a while magician to buy a black magician a drink, or vice versa, openly at convention, without poisoning it.

  —Rules, VI, 201(b)

  Ruddygore arrived in the middle of the afternoon of the next day, accompanied by Durin and Macore and also by an extremely large retinue. He made a grand sort of entrance, being carried in an ornate, gold-embossed sedan chair on the backs of four dark, burly men wearing loincloths and turbans. They brought him right up in the chair on the lifting stairs from the stables, so that the proper impression was actually enhanced as he rose into view. Besides, the whole thing wouldn't have fitted through the front doors.

  The sedan chair was the immediate object of interest for all in the lobby area, and there was quite a crowd by this time. Joe had been sitting in the lobby bar for about an hour, waiting for this, having been awakened by Poquah, and even he had to admit it was really impressive. The rest of the people checking in had been a pretty weird lot, with robes and strange chants and bizarre animals and birds accompanying the costumed magicians, but this one had real style.

  A clearly prompted
Macore, looking resplendent in scarlet and silver noble's dress and leading the parade, walked solemnly back to the door and opened it. After a dramatic pause, the huge sorcerer got out, looking imperiously neither to the right nor to the left, instead just standing there waiting to be admired. He wore formal opera clothes best suited to the nineteenth century on Joe's own world, including a full opera cape, and carried a brilliantly polished mahogany walking slick with its handle a magnificently carved, solid gold lion's head in full roar. He snapped his fingers and Macore scampered around him, reached inside the sedan chair, and brought out a flat disk which he then shook with his wrist, causing the disk to form into a great top hat matching the formal outfit. The little thief, playing the part to the hilt, handed the hat to Ruddygore, who idly placed it on his head, then snapped his fingers once more.

  Durin, his fairy chef, a very round and cherubic figure, who looked like a five-foot-tall version of a Disney dwarf, was attired in splendid white fur. He walked from behind the sedan chair and around Ruddygore and Macore to the front desk. The uniformed desk crew, already accustomed to serving all manner of humans and creatures, nonetheless was gathered together awaiting what came next. Throckmorton P. Ruddygore, Master of Castle Terindell, Vice Chairman of the Council of Thirteen, Grand Master of the Society of Thaumaturgists, Keeper of the Threshold of Worlds, Th.D., Ph.D.,M.D., and D.O.G. Ruddygore smiled and bowed.

  The desk clerk was not officious but also not all that impressed. A hand went down and he called out, Front, please! Several bellmen engaged in a pushing and tripping contest to see who could make it first to what was obviously a big tipper.

  Show Dr. Ruddygore and his party to the Lake Suite, the clerk instructed the winning bellman.

  That one grinned, went over, and bowed to the master sorcerer. If you will follow me, sir, the bellman intoned and started off with his body militarily erect, aware that he was leading a parade.

  Macore followed, adapting the same manner of walk, then Ruddygore, and finally the little chef, obviously having the time of his considerable fairy life. Joe chugged down the remains of his tankard—it was full of straight hypercaffeinated tea, anyway—and decided he'd take the stairs. Even if he didn't hurry, he knew that, by the time they all took that set of elevator contraptions, he'd be ten minutes ahead of them. As he made for the stairs, he heard the clerk snap, You muscle guys! Get that rig back down where it belongs!