Count Esmilio Boquillas screamed and fell back against the battlements. Again back in his own world, under a starry, moonlighted night sky, he was not alone. The poor beggar child was still there, still approaching, those sad eyes boring down upon him. And now the child spoke, a halting, hurt sort of tone. Please, my lord, why do you wish to kill me?
Only a child, only a little child now. He could reach out, crush that child, beat in his brains, and toss him from the battlements to the cold waters below. He could, he could...
I cannot! Boquillas sobbed. Hiccarph! Save me! Save me from the child!
Behind the child, abruptly, a ghastly shape formed, towering over both child and man, a rotting, stench-filled body filling out a grand costume of crimson and lavender, its eyes consumed with hatred and contempt. A gnarled, clawed hand reached out for the boy, then picked him up. The boy screamed as he was pulled into the air and mercilessly crushed in the foul hand of the demon, his body quickly limp and then reduced to a bloody mass of tissue which the demon contemptuously discarded. Then the demon stood there, looking down on Boquillas, and shook his head from side to side.
Well, Hiccarph said casually, he certainly had your number.
The Count, breathing heavily, pulled himself weakly to a sitting position and for a moment just buried his face in his hands. Finally he looked up at the demon and sighed. It—it was horrible! Horrible! If he was that strong, why did he not take me in the Valley months ago?
Because he cheated, the demon told him. First of all, he knew you very well indeed, while out there he was fighting an unknown enemy. But, most of all, he cheated. He brought in the weapons of Earth to face the magic of Husaquahr, and that was something he could never do in public, where all could see or feel or sense it. There would be those who would get - ideas, and others who would like what they saw. Out here, it was a safer bet. Now, though, his soul is lost to the world. A pity, for I'd hoped to have him myself.
Boquillas looked up at his demon general. He is dead, then?
I search high and low and cannot find him in the world. He is vanquished by his very trap that really won him the contest. He knew you well, knew that you were powerless to face down someone totally vulnerable, innocent, and defenseless. But when he chose that path for the coup de grace, he also was most vulnerable to outside forces not so easily swayed.
Boquillas tried to get to his feet, failed, then tried again, clutching the battlement stones for support, and finally made it. He gasped and coughed as he did so. After a few seconds, he got some strength and took in several deep breaths. Finally he said, Then we've won.
Yes. We've won, the demon agreed.
Well, not exactly, came a voice from the window nearest them. They both turned. Sitting in the window, looking fairly relaxed, was Joe de Oro, clean and rested, dressed in a breechclout and sandals, and wearing his great sword.
Chapter 16
WHEN THE HURLY-BURLY'S DONE...
A woman has no fury like Hell scorned.
—Old Husaquahrian Saying
Both the Baron and the General were startled, but not particularly worried. Hiccarph reached out a long arm to Joe and swiped at him as if swatting at a fly. Joe flinched, but the demonic hand passed right through him without effect, and he relaxed and smiled. Having problems, fish-breath?
You're the one from the tent back in the Valley, the demon recalled. I understand it all now. You're from Earth, aren't you?
Give that devil a cigar, Joe responded, gaining a little confidence.
You are subject to the magic of Husaquahr, so I wouldn't feel so confident. You have no one left to protect either you or your female companion, who, I assume, is also from Earth.
You're right on that, the swordsman conceded, but not on the other. Ruddygore didn't think that a battle between two such illustrious sorcerers should go unappreciated by all except vagrant travelers from Earth and a notorious thief. He issued some invitations, and, what do you know, everybody accepted. You see, he sort of made a bet with each one, and even though you did him in, for which I will cheerfully see you in a worse hell than the one from which you came, he still won the bet. He was very busy at that convention making deals, you see.
Both the exhausted Boquillas and the demon were fascinated but hardly worried. Indeed? Hiccarph responded. And what sort of petty magics can you find against me.”
Just one, came a thin, nasal voice from behind the demon. The two on the battlement turned. While Boquillas simply frowned in puzzlement, the expression on the demon's face was terrible indeed to behold, and he uttered a groan that sounded like the death cries of a million damned souls.
The object of this was a small, pudgy little man in monk's robes, clean-shaven even to his very smooth scalp. He looked quite cherubic, but his expression was anything but amused.
Mephistopheles, Hiccarph whimpered. Wait! I can explain. ..
Explain what? the little monk asked. That you, a minor nothing over here in the backwaters, could unilaterally break the Compact and risk Armageddon without even his Majesty knowing of it? Well, he knows now, Hiccarph!
No! the demon wailed. How—how did you find out... ?
Ruddygore does a fair amount of business our way, usually with the minor elementals, of course, but enough to get messages where he needs to. He's been complaining about this for years, but we never believed him. We never believed that anyone in the demonic hierarchy could be both so clever and so utterly stupid at one and the same time. Finally, he offered a wager to us. Himself, his soul, all that he had, to the total and complete service of Hell, if he couldn't prove it to my satisfaction tonight. It had the approval of the Old Man himself, in fact. We usually get the average soul without bargains, as you know, but one of Ruddygore's caliber, right away and now, is very rare. The Old Man's going to be as pissed by missing that as he is with your rampant and reckless risk of the status quo.
But I could have delivered this whole world to Hell! Hiccarph whimpered.
Bah! You idiot! We're winning now! We could lose the whole thing if we're forced into a premature Armageddon. Well, you'll spoil things no more, now or in the future, until Armageddon truly comes. An example will be made of you, Hiccarph, and a most terrible one indeed, I promise you, by the Old Man himself. Let's see how you like an eternity stoking fires in the dung pits we reserve for the religious zealots! And not as supervisor, either—as a common demon ninth class! And when Armageddon arrives, guess who's going to be right out front leading the first charge into Heaven!
No! Wait! I— the demon screamed, but there was a sudden, near-blinding flash of light and both figures were gone, leaving only a very slight smell of sulfur behind that the wind quickly carried away. Again there was silence.
The silence, though, was broken by a low chuckling. Joe turned and saw Boquillas sitting on the battlement wall, looking highly amused. Finally the sorcerer said, Well, that's that. Actually, I have to thank old Ruddygore, wherever he may be. Now the Dark Baron will put his plans into action without the meddlings of any Hellish princes—or ex-princes. Yes, indeed, it was quite a favor you just did me, and I appreciate it.
Don't appreciate it too much, Joe cautioned him. Old monkey wasn't the only onlooker, and I think it's time you met the rest.
Marge appeared now, looking every bit the Kauri once more, grand with her wings of power, flitting along the stones in true fairy fashion. Behind her came a rather large assemblage of people, all wearing varicolored robes that were made of fine materials and beautifully tailored.
Marge went over to Joe as Boquillas gaped. You know the folks, she said lightly. Fajera, Docondian, Sargash, Mathala, Brosnial, Careska, Jorgasnovara, Yiknudssun, O'Fleherity, Kaladon, and Esmerada?
The Baron gasped. Esmerada! But I thought Ruddygore had killed you!
Joe looked at Marge quizzically. O'Fleherity?
Darling Esmilio! Esmerada oozed. You know me better than that! I mean, given a choice between a fight to the death you might not win and a partnership, w
hich would you choose?
So that's why he was so well rested, the Baron muttered. You traitorous bitch!
She laughed at him. Oh, darling, you say the sweetest things!
To business! I have already delayed my departure from this rotten continent long enough, snarled a huge and powerful-looking black man in robes of red and yellow. Although, I admit, the show was more than worth waiting for.
Boquillas was frankly too tired to care. So what happens now, my fellow members of the Council?
You've been a baad boy, Essie, Esmerada scolded playfully. Got to pay the piper. Playing with real demons in the real world is a no-no, and you know that.
You and Kaladon in particular didn't seem so upset at the Barony when it was going your way, he noted sourly. And you, Careska, surely didn't mind when we handed you Leander on a platter. Fajera, you weren't exactly turning the other cheek when you helped recruit the Bentar mercenaries. A fine lot you are! Most of you are blacker than I am!
Which is precisely the point, Fajera, the big black man, shot back. You heard Mephistopheles. We've a long way yet to Armageddon, but you provoked it prematurely. At least half the Council is on the dark end of the art, and the other half doesn't know which way they'll finally go, but has some idea that you don't get this far and receive wings, a harp, and eternal thanks. Maybe Ruddygore got away with it because he was willing to give his life to stop you, but that's too high a price for me. You and your damned visionary dreaming almost got us screwed for eternity! Now you have to pay.
Boquillas sighed. Yes, I bet Kaladon and the rest of you love that. Two vacancies to fill on the Council, and Husaquahr is yours with its armies in place. You like that idea, Sargash?
Enough. Temporal problems are for temporal resolution, a distinguished-looking woman in silver robes said. The vote has been taken after evidence was presented on a proper complaint by a member of this Council, now deceased. Shall we agree on the sentence?
We are agreed, the rest chanted.
Very well, then. Esmilio Boquillas, the problems of the world and how much or how little each of us gets involved in them are none of the affair of the Council as a whole. The Council is agreed that you have made a most grievous breach of the ethics of the art and hereby expels you from the Council, with loss of all rank and privileges, and from the Society, whose covenant you so violated. So say we all, and so do we all act in concert.
Boquillas just sighed and nodded.
The Council was quiet for a moment, each member's head bowed as if in prayer. Then they looked up again at the man who had been the Dark Baron.
It is done, the woman in silver intoned. Let us leave this place.
With that, they all turned and walked back along the wall, chatting pleasantly, and disappeared into the castle below.
Joe was disappointed. That's all7 They cashier him and that's that?
You don't understand, Joe, Marge told him. They did the worst thing they could do to him.
Joe looked over at the man, who was still sitting on the stone wall. He looks pretty good to me for a guy who just got scolded.
Not just scolded, Joe. They took away his power. All of it! He has no more magical power than you do. Less, in fact. I doubt if he's even able to do a sleight-of-hand magic trick. They cut him off from the magic, you see. He's just an ordinary, totally human, totally nonmagical mortal now.
Joe brightened. You mean I can bash him?
You could, Boquillas agreed, but why bother? If you wish to kill me, then do so now. Otherwise, I am going inside and going to bed. With that he got up, then walked away from them down the battlement walkway to the small door, through it, and back Into the castle.
Damn! Joe swore. He kills the best man in this crazy world and gets away with it! And I don't have the heart to take him on, not when he's that beat.
Marge grinned. Well, we could always do likewise, you know.
Huh?
There's still the bedroom in there, and we're still here. It will be a while before Macore gets back with a longboat to take you off, probably tomorrow sometime. In the meantime, Boquillas can't get off the island any more than you can, and all the others have already gone.
But it's still the middle of the night! he protested. You're not sleepy and I'm not tired.
And there's no full moon, either, she pointed out.
Oh—I see...
Together they went in by way of the window.
The weather turned bad the next day-, delaying Macore's rescue boat. Ruddygore had sent the little thief back to the mainland before the battle between the two sorcerers because he feared too many people would be noticed and because Macore had no demonic immunities.
Boquillas slept solidly for more than fourteen hours, but Marge and Joe finally heard him moving about upstairs as he breakfasted on leftover pastries from Ruddygore's last meal. Both Joe and Marge felt pretty good, their only dark clouds the knowledge that Ruddygore was gone and that Tiana was still in the hands of Kaladon. That last seemed more unassailable an obstacle than ever; although Marge could ease some of the ache, she wasn't able to remove the problem from Joe's mind.
When Boquillas finally came down, he looked years older than he had looked the night before—just a tired old man. Joe reached for his sword, but Boquillas raised his hand wearily.
Must we still continue to go through this? he asked. Please understand that now I am as much on your side as Ruddygore would have been, although, alas, without his power.
Joe frowned. What do you mean?
I may have done all the dark things that you say, and I will surely roast in that pit for it, but what I did, I did for the most idealistic of reasons. With what happened last night, things have turned upside down. Is there still a pastry, by the way?
Marge, who no longer felt human hunger, passed him a gooey one. What do you suggest, then? she asked.
I know Kaladon and some of his plans. I know Morikay, too, and what's involved there. More than that, I still know more magic than practically anyone else alive.
But what good does that do you now? Marge asked him. I mean, you can't use it, you can't practice it, and you can't even see it or protect against it.
Quite true, he admitted, but beside the point. Kaladon really isn't very good, either. Esmerada helped him rig his contest for the seat he holds because she wanted a share in the take, you might say. She's now been badly burned. Ruddygore had to get a sacred oath out of her to stop the fight, and that oath certainly removes her from any politics inside or outside Zhimbombe. We are, then, dealing just with Kaladon, whose power resides not in himself but in his ward.
Tiana, Joe said softly.
Boquillas nodded. Exactly. She has the power, but is totally under his control. She doesn't even have the knowledge to break the simple spell that binds her to him, although she has the power to break half of Husaquahr. So we are in a cul-de-sac, as it were. I can analyze the spell and show anyone just how to break it, but I can't see the spell. Break the spell, and any half-baked magician could tell her how to fry Kaladon to ashes. Ruddygore's fairy adept, for example.
Poquah! Sure! Marge responded, sounding enthusiastic.
Kaladon's bound to make his move very quickly, before the armies start getting ideas of their own. That means both he and Tiana will have to come out of that castle, and I can guess by the way his mind works what he'll pull. It will take a pretty good adept to resist the spell, and even that will be chancy. However, that sort of thing won't work on a true fairy, so somebody of true fairy blood, preferably somebody who can also fly and defend herself quickly, would have to go there and examine that spell, sketch it exactly, and bring it back to me.
I think I'm beginning to see where you're headed, Marge noted.
Uh-huh. The trick then would be to get into Castle Morikay, if need be. Outside the castle, the defenses will be too much for any but the best sorcerers in the land. That means somebody has got to pull Ruddygore's trick—get into a castle you can't get into without an invitat
ion if you harbor intentions against any of the occupants, invite in Poquah, say, and dissolve the binding spell on Tiana. Give me a couple of weeks with him, and I can teach him what he'll need to know. If my analysis of her latent powers is correct, and I'm sure this is what Ruddygore had in mind, the proper spells directed against an unsuspecting Kaladon could do to him what was done to me last night.
You mean—take away his powers? Joe said hopefully.
Boquillas nodded. Not permanently, I think. That would take four or maybe five of the Council to do. But, Joe, if you had Kaladon unable to use any magic whatsoever for several hours, what would you do?
Joe grinned.
That's what I thought. Now this is going to be tricky, and I assure you that the odds are very much against it all going
our way, but Ruddygore seems to have picked you two very well. Somehow, with a superhuman effort, he's matched you to various arcane bunches of Rules, so that, no matter how hopeless the situation is, you seem to come through. How anyone could do this, even in a thousand years, is beyond me, but he managed it, and I have to go with that.
Marge thought a moment. You know—Ruddygore was always going off to Earth at odd times. I wonder if, somewhere over there, he hasn't got one hell of a computer working for him.
Computer? You mean an abacus? the Count asked, confused.
One hell of an abacus, you might say, Marge told him. Joe? What do you think?
I think this is crazy, the big man mumbled. A couple of days ago this guy blinded me and chained us both up in a rat infested dungeon; then last night he killed the only friend we had in this world; and now we're working for him.
Will you do it, though? she pressed.
Oh, sure I'll do it, but...
Chapter 17
...WHEN THE BATTLE'S WON AND LOST
Demons of the Dancing Gods Page 27
