Demons of the Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  Boquillas took them through the meal, from appetizer to salad to soup to main course, which was a whole roast pheasant perfectly done, all accompanied by very fine wine, but the talk they had was mostly small talk. Marge found herself eating ravenously, as much as or more than Joe, and she had to ask about it.

  When Esmerada took your wings, so to speak, she took with them the powers of Kauri, the Count explained. That meant your very unusual biochemistry had to be changed, and this was done. With a structure that is three times as heavy as that of a human or earthbound fairy—about the density of a dwarf or a kobold, actually—you require more to fuel it. You see now why these spells are easier put on than taken off, I think. It is not enough just to change one thing. When you change that, you also change thousands of other things as well by sheer necessity. To put on the spell is easy, as much of this follows automatically. Magic runs by natural laws as fixed as any in the world. But to remove the spell, one must decode it. I must crack Esmerada's personal secret code, then undo the spell in such a way so that you aren't killed in the process of restoration.

  That seemed to make sense. Just how—dense—am I?

  You mean weight? Well, if you were human, someone your size would weigh, perhaps, eighty pounds. She tripled your density without adding to your apparent size, so that would make you about two hundred and forty pounds. It's not as complex as you make it out to be. Just imagine a feather. Light, airy, a floater. Now transmute that feather's atoms by adding a bit here and subtracting a bit there so that those same atoms, the same number, are atoms of lead. That's what was done to you.

  She nodded. But I still feel the same. I still have the same, well, urges and inclinations.

  The sorcerer grinned, and Joe looked at her curiously.

  You are still you, that's why, the Count told her. Why not just relax and take things as they come? It is always best in this crazy world.

  They continued to talk after dinner, this time on more substantive topics. Boquillas wanted to know their basic histories, background, and details on the scheme. They decided to keep as close-mouthed as possible, but he had surmised much.

  Of all the sorcerers of this world, Ruddygore is the most complacent and satisfied with things as they are, he told them. I suspect this comes mostly from his being able to move between the worlds, almost at will. You know—the man who can travel anywhere, see, enjoy, and experience anything he wishes, then comes back to his comfortable, stable home to rest. The trouble is, for the rest of us it's not all that simple. This world is, after, all, comfortable only for those with wealth or magical power that brings such wealth. The vast bulk of the population, both human and fairy, toils under a system where muscle is the only thing that matters. It is their labor that makes the comfortable lives of the few possible, yet they share very little of the rewards. Nor can they—for if they stopped their unceasing toil, the whole world would grind to a halt and collapse. It is not the magicians and kings of this world who are essential to it, though—if we all vanished overnight, this world would probably be the better for it.

  You sound as if you feel guilty for being one of the leaders here, Joe noted. It seems to me that you're talking one side and living the other.

  A fair point, Boquillas conceded, but any social revolution here will never come from below. It can't, as long as magical talent is the measure of authority. It must be imposed from above by ones who are firmly committed to changing things.

  A benevolent despotism, Marge said.

  If you like. The alternative is either a malevolent despotism or a totally amoral one that doesn't care about anybody and has a stake only in keeping things the same. Esmerada is a good example of a malevolent despot, and your friend Ruddygore is the amoral one. In a way, he's worse than the witch queen.

  Huh? they both said at once.

  Yes, I know that's a shocking statement, but consider that even the evil ones are committed to change. Not the kind of change we would want, I grant you, but change all the same. It is Ruddygore who stands against change of any sort. Any society whose intelligentsia knows atomic theory and structure, to name just one example, is one with the potential to grow, to create machines to ease people's labor, to produce, in fact, a system whereby everyone profits from his labors according to his contributions. We have a complex, multiracial society here with everything it needs to become a great civilization, yet we find innovation stilled, invention wiped out. Even in the magical arts, which create the elitism and maintain the feudalism, there is room for expansion. Look at those Books of Rules on the walls around me. Absurd, aren't they?

  From what we've seen, I'll grant you that, Marge admitted.

  With guts, a benevolent Council could eliminate those Rules—wipe 'em out instead of continually adding, deleting, modifying, and changing. That alone would totally liberate society from its stratifications. You could change. Barbarians wouldn't continue to be barbarians unless they wanted to, nor would dwarfs have to toil in the mines, or Bentar be mercenaries. Each might also learn what of the art they could, so that all would have a measure of power, and their collective power would be enormous. The Rules are nothing more than those of the privileged elite keeping things forever static. The steam engine was invented at least eighteen hundred years ago, yet, thanks to one of those Rules, it is nearly instant and horrible death to build one. You see what I mean?

  They thought about it. Finally Joe said, I don't know. I've seen the other side and it's not so great.

  Oh, you've been to Earth, then? Ruddygore must indeed favor you.

  Joe shot a glance at Marge, and she got the look. Yes, we've both been there. Every time they have a revolution with noble goals, it seems to wind up just the same—dictatorship, the workers working just as hard for just as little, while somebody new gives the orders and lives the good life. The only difference is, those new leaders kid themselves that it's okay, that one day it will all be different. But it never is.

  You sound like Ruddygore, which, I suppose, is to be expected. And, in fact, I agree that things usually work out for the worst in such movements. That's why the Council is so important. If, right at the beginning, it writes the new, simpler, more free and democratic rules, progress can work here. I've devoted a good deal of my adult life to determining those ideal rules, and they are very simple and very basic indeed.

  It's an interesting idea, but I'd hate to see all this spoiled if you made one mistake. I guess you've never gotten the rest of the Council to go along?

  Boquillas chuckled. They're all stick-in-the-muds by the time they reach their positions. It takes decades of work, dedication, endless practice, and stress to get to the top in my profession. By the time most of them reach that position, either they're too old and set in their ways or they feel they are getting their just payment for all the agony they went through getting there. It does tend to give you quite an ego.

  Sounds like doctors, Marge muttered, but he didn't hear her.

  Yeah, but what if it's the Baron who gets to rewrite the rules instead of you? Joe asked him. I'm not sure I'd like those rules, considering the company he keeps.

  The sorcerer shrugged. In many long conversations with the Baron, I have never been absolutely clear on what he wants. So far, it's just getting control that matters. It was my hope that I could influence him, should he win.

  Could be, Joe said, yawning. But I doubt it. Sorry about the yawn, but I'm dead tired.

  The Count was suddenly all courtliness. Oh, I beg your pardon! Please—both of you. Go on up and get some rest. Sleep off the whole of your ordeal. Tomorrow we will get down to what happens next.

  As much as Marge wanted to keep talking, she, too, was really feeling the exhaustion of the past few days. With a few more words, they excused themselves and went upstairs.

  Joe looked around the room. Well, what do you think of him?

  I don't really know, she admitted. On the one hand, I like him. He's got tremendous charm and a real sincerity about him. On the other han
d, I don't think I'd trust him too much. I had the feeling he was keeping a lot from us, and I don't like his taking away the transmitters, even if Macore and Ruddygore know where we are.

  We can't worry about it, he told her. Hmmm... Only one bed. I hope we'll both fit on it.

  Oh, we'll fit, she assured him, and they both undressed and got in, after brushing a bit of dust off the sheets. Joe just lay there a moment, thinking, and she knew what the problem was.

  You can't forget Tiana, can you?

  No. I keep thinking of her in the hands of that bastard and I want to go charging off to the rescue.

  Marge sighed. I wish I still had all my powers. I can feel the hurt inside you, Joe, and I wish I could help.

  He turned and pulled her close, then kissed her. Maybe you still can. Want to try?

  She smiled. You know I do. They embraced and kissed.

  Damn!

  She pulled away and stared in confusion at the other in bed with her. Where Joe had been only a moment before, there was now an exact duplicate of herself.

  The duplicate rolled onto her back. Damn! she echoed. It must be sundown.

  Marge sighed, remembering the curse. Well, we might try it anyway. ,

  The transformed Joe shook her head. No, it's no use. When I was a horse last night, I was every inch a horse. It's an exact physical duplication. Exact.

  Huh? You mean...?

  Uh-huh. I want it as much as you. I want it from Joe, though, and, hell, I'm Joe.

  Marge sighed, knowing exactly how Joe felt, and pulled up the sheet. Well, at least we both fit on the bed.

  They awoke at almost the same moment. It was quite dark and all seemed still. Both just lay there, not really aware that the other was awake, lost in thought.

  For Joe, it was an interesting experience. Not merely the physical change, but the change from human to fairy. It felt— well, not better or worse, but different. Without even realizing it, he shifted his Kauri eyes from the regular band, which saw only darkness, to the magic band, and suddenly all was alight with intricate and colorful patterns. It was all over the place, in, around, and through them and all the objects in the room, as well. For the first time he saw as Marge, Ruddygore, and Boquillas could see, and he understood just what this world was really all about.

  He got up from the bed and went to the window, something he couldn't have done under normal circumstances without breaking his neck in the dark, and found it unusual to have to strain on tiptoe to the utmost to see out of it. It had seemed relatively low to him the day before.

  There was a storm off in the distance. He could see the night sky occasionally light up, and every once in a while a distant, jagged pencil stab of lightning. A breeze whipped up by the storm made the lake surface rough and caused breakers to smash themselves against the cliffs far below with repeated dull roars.

  Marge got up and came over next to him, also looking out. It's very pretty, a night like this.

  He nodded. This magic band is kinda wild, though. Jeez! It's all over the place! Even the lake has it!

  Well, it's a little more crowded around here than it is with the usual spells, but, yes, there's magic in everything and everyone here. Both the Laws and the Rules are magic, and they determine just about anything.

  You know, it sort of reminds me of that night in west Texas, except for the water. Same kind of far-off storm, same pitch darkness. We sure have been a long way since that night.

  She took his hand and squeezed it hard. Yeah, we sure have. They both lowered themselves and hugged and kissed each other. You know, it seems that we should have been a pair rather than just a team. Things never worked out the way we figured.

  Joe chuckled. Yeah. Even tonight. Seems as if something's always working against us, doesn't it?

  There was a tremendous rumbling sound echoing outside, and they turned back to the window and again looked out. As the lightning lighted up the southern skies, Joe said, Funny.

  What's funny?

  Those big clouds out there. When the lightning goes off, they almost look like demons' faces.

  Huh? Let's see. She stared out, waiting for the next flash. It seemed as if it would never come, but then it did, and she saw that he was right. Yeah, I see it. Looks almost like that hideous thing we met in the tent just before the battle. She looked again, making adjustments. Joe—I don't think this is imagination. Shift back to the magic band.

  He did, and looked again. It took a while waiting for the next flash, but then he saw just what she meant. When the face in the cloud was illuminated in the magic band, it seemed framed in shades of crimson and lavender, but there was no pattern. All the other magical things had patterns. What's it mean?

  Solid magic, Joe. Pure magic. A pure magical force, not the kind of things we see here. Joe—that isn't a dream. It's real. That is the demon we met. The Baron's demon, coming toward us under cover of that storm.

  Joe frowned. Although frustrated in one respect. Marge found it fascinating to see herself as everyone else saw her, and she liked what she saw. What are you thinking of? she asked.

  Didn't he say the bathroom connected? Want to try a peep and see if he's there?

  He may have a spell on the door, but let's try. You stay here. I'm more used to this than you are and I'll know what to look for. If I can get a peek into his room, it's going to be tremendously crowded with magic.

  He nodded and watched as she entered the bathroom and crept to the door on the other side. After listening for a moment, she tried the door and found to her surprise that it was open. She peered in, then quickly shut the door again and returned. He's not there.

  It doesn't mean anything. He could be downstairs, anywhere.

  I think maybe we ought to find those little transmitters and turn them on, she said. Just in case.

  Joe thought a moment. He had 'em in his hand when we came in, but not when we went upstairs. I don't think he dematerialized them or anything, so they're probably downstairs in the den. That's the one place he could have stopped for a moment before coming up.

  Right. Let's go.

  Joe sighed. I don't know how we're going to explain my looking like this if he catches us.

  If he catches us, that will probably be the least of our problems.

  Good point, he conceded and followed her out into the dark hall. The magic gave enough of a glow to the place to guide them to the stairs. The torches were still burning dully below, enabling them to proceed on normal visuals.

  They crept down the stairs and peered into the den. Several books were open and scattered around the table, but there was no sign of Boquillas. They walked in and started looking carefully for any place that the Count might have put the jewels, but not discovering any likely one. Joe was also finding it hard to adjust to being far shorter than he'd ever been. Things that had been within easy reach of him before now seemed unattainable. He began to understand why Kauri had the ability to fly.

  They looked over the area for the better part of an hour without finding anything. Then the storm hit outside, and Marge turned to him. We'd better give it up and get back upstairs. If the storm is here, he's probably finished.

  Joe nodded, and they scampered quickly upstairs. The rain was blowing through the windows in great sheets, and only by dragging over a stool could Joe get enough height to close the shutters.

  Marge took one of the long sulfur matches from a holder and lighted the lamp, illuminating the room with a ghostly glow.

  Joe got down off the stool and sat on it, oblivious of the wetness. He was wet enough anyway. So what do we do now?

  She shrugged. Wait it out. I just can't believe he's the Baron. If he's the Baron, then what was he doing in Esmerada's prison?

  Joe suddenly felt a burning sensation once again, and knew now just what that meant. How about that? Sunrise, I guess. I'm me again.

  Welcome back, Geronimo. Speaking for myself, I like you this way a lot better. But I still can't figure it all out.

  I agree wi
th you. If he's the Baron, then everything that happened yesterday was a sham. It meant they knew we were coming, what we were there for, and that he planted himself in that cell next to us so we'd fall into his hands.

  Yeah, but even if we buy that, how could he possibly know that Macore would be there and the right man to break us out?

  Joe had an uneasy thought. Maybe it wasn't Macore. Ever think of that? We saw somebody turned into a crazy statue, and I've sure been turned into stuff lately. Even you were turned with a few finger motions, and the Count became a big bird with no trouble. So what's to keep him from turning somebody into an exact copy of Macore, or even Esmerada herself doing it?

  It just could be. But—why? I'm sure neither she nor Boquillas knew about the transmitters. If that's so, then Ruddygore's still going to get in and find her. Certainly the Count didn't have a chance to tell her.

  Joe shook his head sadly. I don't know. Maybe he just didn't need her any more. Maybe she was even in the way.

  Not quite right, my friend, a familiar voice behind them said. She was of great use to me. They whirled and saw Boquillas standing in the door to the bathroom.

  Don't look so shocked, he told them. You think your wanderings of the evening would go undetected here? I left a lot of magical strands to see just where you went. For your information, the transmitters are in a small chest on the top shelf of the den, masked by a few books. If you had had more time, you probably would have discovered them. It was an oversight on my part, but not one that was fatal.

  I have a feeling that the reason you're telling us this is because we won't have a chance to get back- there, right? Marge said uneasily.

  Boquillas grinned. Alas, no. However, as long as those devices remain there, they will give out an all's-well signal to Ruddygore's eagles. Your thief friend, who should arrive nearby in a day or two just on suspicion, will be lulled. I may even trot you out under a spell to tell him how wonderful it is here, if it's still necessary by that time.