Demons of the Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  What do you mean, still necessary? Joe asked. What the hell is going on here, anyway?

  A very complicated plot, or series of plots, I fear. My original plan was already under way, but I still lacked a key element. I had to get Ruddygore out of the north. I had to bring him south, the farther south the better. There were any number of ruses, of course, but when he launched his own little plot against the Barony, it all fell neatly into place. Although I still don't know how you got into the tower, I had no doubt you would. Because I had to know the mechanics of Ruddygore's little plot, I contrived that imprisonment scenario. Thanks to it, you not only came willingly here with me but also told me about those interesting little devices. That was what I needed to know.

  Was that really Macore? Marge wanted to know.

  Oh, yes. It would hardly have the ring of truth, not to mention giving me a nice alibi, if it wasn't. He has quite a— record, I suppose you might say—and is rather well known up and down the rivers of Husaquahr. I had no doubt that he'd come running when he saw Tiana flown off as a prisoner, or that he could pick those locks. If he hadn't, though, I had other rescues arranged. So now, today, Ruddygore enters Witchwood and faces down Esmerada, who is convinced that I will come to her aid. Poor Esmerada. She has style, but she always was a second-rate politician.

  You intend for Ruddygore to kill her, then? Marge responded, somewhat appalled.

  Boquillas shrugged. I have far more vital things to attend to today and tonight as the Baron. Ruddygore is very powerful, as well I know, and I would prefer to face him on my own terms at a later date. That, however, might be rather soon. You see, Ruddygore will attain the seat in Witchwood, but at the expense of Terindell.

  What!

  The Dark Baron grinned at them. For the past few months, in small groups and under civilian cover and disguise, a rather large force has been moving north on riverboats. Even now they are beginning to assemble for their individual marches, closing in on Terindell. Another army is north of Lake Zahias, set to strike at Sachalin. Yet a third will besiege Halakahia at the same time. The Sachalin attack will tie down my only sorcerous threat in the region, while I take the key cities and transportation hubs. I personally will take Terindell, then attend to my brother wizard to the east.

  Big talk, Joe told him. If Ruddygore can't set foot in here, what makes you think you can set foot in Terindell?

  The Baron laughed. Alone I can not, but I have a rather powerful ally. You saw him earlier this morning, I would guess.

  Marge just shook her head. So all that talk about the horrors of war and a great moral crusade was just so much wind for another brutal dictatorship.

  Oh, no! All that I told you last night I fully believe, I assure you. I am bringing revolution to this world and I will -I change it for the better, make it free and great. But I grew | weary of trying. I was a voice crying for sanity against a world [ oppressed by powers who would fight all change. It was obvious that no change was possible except by using the one thing they respect—brute force in all its ways. But come. We must attend to you for a while. He made a few hand gestures, and both Joe and Marge felt their bodies below their necks go completely numb. With no control at all over themselves, they found themselves getting up and walking out into the hall, then down the stairs, the Baron following.

  Their heads were still their own, though, and they continued 'o press the conversation.

  All your allies are evil sorcerers and a demon from Hell, Marge pointed out. I don't think they have the same visions as you do. You've fooled yourself.

  The Dark Baron chuckled. Well, Esmerada's going to be a vacancy soon, and I will appoint the next candidate, one who thinks as I do, because I will control what's left after all this. There will be other vacancies around as well. In fact, I have a number of friends already on the Council who are simply dubious about my chances. It's been figured out pretty well, my friends.

  You mean Kaladon has your idealism? I doubt it, Joe spat.

  No, Kaladon is playing out a very long game of his own, a game that seems to involve your girl friend in an integral way. He will support me as long as it serves his purposes, then try to dispose of me when I win.

  I thought he was the weakest on the Council, Marge said as they walked down to the cold, damp cellar of the castle.

  He is, but he knows it. Magic is a curious blend of art and science, you know. Sort of like mineralogy and a symphonic composition at the same time. Kaladon is very strong on the science, perhaps the most knowledgeable man in the business, but weak in the artistry. As I understand it, years ago he worked out a very strange plot, partly by duping the girl's father. She was in Kaladon's keeping when she was quite young, and he performed some mental games with her, stuff that her father would never notice unless he really suspected something. When her mother died in childbirth, her considerable powers were transmitted to her daughter, and the old boy continued the process, weakening himself in the bargain to where Kaladon, with a little help from Esmerada, could knock him off. So Tiana has more of the artistic side of magic than any other alive, I'd say. She is potentially the most powerful sorceress in the history of the world, from what I've been able to understand—but, thanks to Kaladon, she suffers from a very minor bit of selective brain damage.

  What! Joe roared.

  Yes. All that potential is wasted without the ability to form spacial abstracts and complex mathematical formulae. Poor Tiana couldn't count past her fingers and toes, I fear, nor draw even a cube in perspective. You can see Kaladon's problem, can't you? For twenty years and more, he put together his scheme whereby he'd be the only one able to use and in complete control of the most powerful sorceress the world has ever known. And then she went and escaped from him! Boquillas chuckled. The man's been paranoid for years, afraid he would be deposed before he found her again. He grasped at my offer for protection in exchange for absolute service like a drowning man clutching at a branch.

  Aren't you afraid that, now that he's got her, he'll turn on you? Joe asked. Not that it would be much of an improvement.

  The Dark Baron shook his head. No, Kaladon simply has no idea that there's a demon prince involved in all this, capable of negating the power of three or four Kaladons, even augmented. I intend doing things the same way Ruddygore hit on—one sorcerer at a time, although I must work faster than he. Ah! Here we are!

  In a few moments, deep in the dungeons under the castle, the two captives found themselves actually cooperating in getting into manacles stuck in the wall. Boquillas closed the locks on each of them, then also closed locking waist bars and leg manacles. Both now hung helplessly on a stone wall, about five feet apart. The sorcerer stepped back and looked at them with satisfaction. He then used a small wooden stool to get up next to Marge first, then Joe, and attach something to a small rod which he brought out. In front of each, about two inches from their mouths, hung a loaf of bread and a hunk of smelly cheese.

  I'm sorry. I had hoped this would wait until after breakfast, but at least you won't starve. You can manage the bread and cheese with a little effort and practice. There's a small trough just above you both that's rather sensitive to loud sounds. If you just shout, it will tip over and produce a stream of water for half a minute or so. After the rain last night, it's quite unlikely to run out. Boquillas stepped back, took the stool, and walked to the front of the cell. I'm doing this only because I can't be here for a long period. However, I'm not like the fool in the stories who takes it for granted that he has his enemies trapped and then ignores them. He walked out and clanged the cell door shut, then locked it with a large key which he put in his pocket. He concentrated for a moment and made a few more gestures with his hands.

  There, he said, satisfied. I have transmuted the cell floor so that it is now an iron alloy. So is the ceiling, and so are these bars. There are no windows—you are deep within the rock itself. So, if by some chance you break the control spell on your bodies, you, at least, my lady, will still have to hang around. I susp
ect that this alone will keep our big friend put, but since iron is no problem for him, I'll cast one little insurance spell. Again he flicked his wrist, and Joe yelled.

  Hey! You're not going to leave us in the dark!

  It is no matter, Boquillas responded. You see, you are totally blind until I return. Do hang around and have fun. I have many questions to ask you under less pressing circumstances, and I know that Hiccarph, too, wants to question you on why you don't seem to exist for him. Until happier times, then—bye!

  With that, Esmilio Boquillas walked off, and they could hear him ascending the stone stairs to the cheerier part of the building.

  When all sound of him had faded. Marge called, Joe?

  Yeah?

  Is it true? Can't you see at all?

  Not a thing. It's pitch dark to me. He turned his head toward her. Can you see my eyes?

  She strained to see. There was only one torch, and no certainty of how long it would last. She gasped.

  Bad, huh?

  Joe—all I see are whites. You don't seem to have any pupils at all.

  He sighed. Yeah. He sure wasn't taking any chances, was he?

  There's still tonight, if he's gone long enough.

  Huh? What do you mean?

  The last night of the full moon. Remember last night?

  How could I forget it? he responded grumpily.

  You'll change again. The spells will be off.

  What good's that gonna do? You're the closest living thing to me, so all I'll be is you again, right? Hanging here without any painkiller. Okay, maybe the iron wouldn't kill me, only silver, but what good does that do? Even if I slip out of these bindings by getting smaller, I still am no Macore.

  It's a chance, though. One we must take. This madman is going to destroy the whole world. Our only hope is to get Ruddygore in here before the Baron comes back. Otherwise Ruddygore will have nowhere to hole up, no safe seat of magic. The Baron and Kaladon will pick him off easily, even without their demon.

  Joe sighed. Yeah. Thanks a lot. It seems that an awful lot is hanging on very little here.

  That goes for both of us, she said glumly, looking at the manacles.

  Chapter 14

  OF MICE AND MEN

  Castle dungeons must be dark, damp, and infested.

  —Rules, XVII, 114(d)

  With nothing to do but hang around, they talked.

  Joe, do you think that even Ruddygore could take Boquillas on? With his demon, I mean?

  I don't know. Ruddygore seemed to think so, so we have to go with that. I'm still trying to figure out how the Baron could move several large armies all the way up there without anybody noticing. At least that explains the squad we saw.

  And the missing and pirated boats. I wonder, though, if he really can pull it off.

  He probably can, at least the military part of it. They aren't ready for him with massed armies this time and a couple of weeks' notice on where he'll march. Oh, he'll do it, all right. What he probably can't do is win the peace the way he thinks.

  I wish that demon had brought him over some history books along with that Marx and Hitler stuff.

  That's true. Lenin in particular was a well-meaning visionary with real hopes for the future, but his system gave us Stalin instead. And there were a bunch of Hitler's friends and supporters who thought he was just a social reformer. By the time they found out, it was too late. Boquillas isn't Hitler or Stalin, but there's one around.

  Kaladon? Joe mused. I wonder if that's the plot.

  Maybe. Certainly he would be a better friend to demons than Boquillas in the long run. Do you think Ruddygore knows about Tiana's power?

  I doubt it. If he did, he'd never have let her risk it all by coming with us. Damn! So much depends on your getting out of here! It's the Baron's only real mistake. That and bragging about where the transmitters were hidden. If he wasn't just putting us on. Anybody with his kind of mind can't be trusted to say his own name right.

  Oh, I think he was telling the truth. As he said, he needs to have them on and operating or it will tip everything off. Let's just be thankful he didn't return a few minutes sooner this morning, or we'd have no chance at all. He'd have discovered two of me in that room, and that would have been it.

  Joe sighed. Yeah. But I still wish I knew how to pick locks. How's that torch coming along?

  Still going. I think it will last a while. Marge paused a minute. Say, do you hear something?

  He cocked his head. Water dripping.

  No, a little scratch, scratch, scratch type of sound.

  They both kept silent for a long while, and finally he heard it, too. What the hell is that?

  She thought a moment, then had it. What else? Rats. Ugh! Suddenly it struck her. Joe! Rats! Around here!

  Big deal. So we'll get nibbled to death.

  No, no! If we're very, very lucky, we might be able to attract them by biting off 'some of your cheese and letting it drop to the floor!

  My cheese? Why not yours? At least you can see.

  No, I mean at the proper time.

  He finally got the idea. Fine—if we had a watch or a view of the sun. I don't know if we've been here for ten minutes or ten hours. The odds are just too slim. Besides, becoming a rat might get me out of here and even upstairs, but I couldn't activate the transmitters.

  You wouldn't have to. Just escape, find them, then wait until dawn. When you turn back again, you can use them.

  No good. He sighed. When I turn back again, I'll be paralyzed and blind again, too, remember?

  She thought furiously. Maybe not. At least, not paralyzed. I looked you over. The paralysis is a simple spell analogous to an injury. All your injuries faded, right? I think this will wear off, too.

  And my eyes?

  That's fifty-fifty. It looks like a transmutation spell there, rather than an injury. If he'd just rendered your optic nerves inoperable, that would be one thing, but he took no chances. He changed the composition of your eyes. The curse isn't clear enough to allow me to guess on that one.

  Oh, great. So we have to hope that you're right and that I'll be able to move afterward. Uh-uh. Too risky. I'll try picking the cell door lock. Just as likely to fail, but more of a chance than the other way.

  But as it turned out, he had little choice in the matter. After a while the skittish rats grew bolder, first showing themselves, then scampering about here and there, and finally checking out the leavings that had dropped on the cell floor from the prisoners' attempts to eat.

  It seemed like an unpleasant eternity that they hung there, but finally, when both had more or less lapsed into sleep, sundown arrived.

  The first Joe knew about it was when he was falling. Then he hit the floor with a force that hurt. Dizzily he got up, opened his eyes, and looked around. He was awfully low to the ground. He turned on four legs and saw behind him a long, bare tail; he knew for a fact that he had indeed changed into a rat.

  He looked up at Marge, who seemed incredibly gigantic to him, and saw that she was still sleeping. He decided to leave her that way, since he'd be gone a very long time, anyway, and she would take a lot of comfort from his absence, far more so than from his presence.

  In rat form, he found it absurdly simple to get between the bars and out into the corridor. His rat's eyes were quite good, he discovered, although that stairway was one hell of a gigantic obstacle.

  It took him three hours, stretching and groaning and aching all the way, to manage the climb. He knew, somehow, that there was a far better and easier way, but he decided that the other rats might not take kindly to him, and probably couldn't tell him where it was, anyway.

  Once on the main floor, which was mostly dark now, with only a few isolated torches left going, he made for the main hall and discovered that, while the previous evening he'd been short, now he was in a world where giants loomed.

  Being four foot ten was a hell of a lot easier to live with than being six inches off the floor.

  Disgusted, he re
laxed and let the rat in him dominate. He began exploring, almost without thinking about it, and found a long, tasseled bell rope at one side of the bookcases. Using his handlike clawed feet, he tried several times and finally got a grip, wondering where and what he might be ringing, and started up.

  It was a hairy task, and he fell several times, but eventually he got the hang of it and made it to the top row of shelves. Judging the distance as best he could, he made the leap, grabbed a volume of the Books of Rules, and almost pulled it off the shelf and himself with it. Fortunately, there were so many of the things that they were very tightly shelved, and he managed to pull himself up on top of the books and start to look behind them.

  It didn't take him long to find the small jewelry box, hidden behind a row of the Rules; but after pushing several volumes out from the back and having them fall and crash to the floor, he waited nervously. He'd never really believed the place was deserted; but when a reasonable time had passed, he decided that it might be true.

  He got behind the box now and started pushing it out with his head, using his neck muscles. It was tough going, but finally it reached the edge of the shelf, then dropped to the floor. It somehow managed to miss the pile of books down there and hit on a comer, coming open in the process. Among a lot of junk spilling out, he spotted both the earring and the necklace. Halfway home, he thought to himself.

  It took him a lot longer to get up the guts to climb down, but he finally decided on the rope approach in reverse, and it worked, although he fell the last three feet to the floor. He was by this time one battered and bruised rat.

  He scampered over to the two small pieces of jewelry and, taking them in his teeth one at a time, he arranged them in a clear space, then settled down to wait until dawn. He was determined that, no matter what, he was going to wake up with those pieces near his head.

  Marge heard sounds of somebody coming and moved her head to look. The torch was dying now, but it still gave off enough light for her to see by. She was apprehensive about those sounds, and she had no idea how long she had slept or whether it was night or day. The figure moved with agonizing slowness, closer and closer to the cell, and finally appeared.