Horrors of the Dancing Gods (34 page)

Somehow he'd have to deal with it. Somehow he'd have to learn control, at least to a degree. Otherwise he would turn into a monster, a rapist, or something equally suitable to Yuggoth but not to anywhere else or to his soul.

He got up, although it was still before dawn, and walked out onto the small balcony, forgetting he was stark naked. It wouldn't matter, anyway; there was nobody below or directly across at that point in the morning, and he just needed some air, some cool sea breeze, to comfort him and let him get a grip. It wasn't a lot of good, though. This was the tropics, and the weather was strictly hot, hotter, and hottest.

More comfortable in the predawn heat was Marge, who flew now over the city, heading toward the hotel, intent on getting some sleep before she'd have to be mused for the move to the new ship. She wouldn't be in any great shape during daylight, but she could manage by force of will the couple of hours needed for the move if she turned in a bit early.

Marge, too, was disturbed and not sure exactly why. She'd tried to contact the Earth Mother to draw strength and wisdom while in this place, and it hadn't worked, at least not in the way it always had. Oh, she still felt the link, and there was comfort in that, but it seemed distant, far away, and direct mental communication appeared to be impossible, as if she were too distant to make out any of the words. It had been a long time since she'd been cut off from such contact, and it made her uncomfortable, all the more so because she felt stronger and more powerful than she ever had before. In fact, she felt tremendous.

She banked around toward the hotel window and then suddenly realized that Irving was standing naked on the little balcony outside the window. She wondered why he was up but also noted that the kid was
really
a
sexy hunk, far more than his father had ever been. Funny, she hadn't really noticed that or thought about it before.

It didn't take much to see what his problem was, either. In faerie sight, one quite literally burned when one had this kind of lust, and this kid was worse than any sixteen-year-old boy she'd ever seen.

Wait a minute! He shouldn't burn like that! He's got a spell ...

And it was clearly still there, too. Either the kid had burst right through it, so strong were his impulses and drives, or he'd been playing a little magic trick himself. She wondered why Poquah hadn't noticed it but then realized that he wouldn't see it in Irving—those of the nymph family would be the ones with that sort of sight.

She hesitated to disturb the kid, but there were still a number of potential threats able to fly around these parts, and Irving was frankly standing between her and security. She decided to come in via the direct approach to give him time to either duck discreetly back in or at least be prepared for company.

Irving did start when he saw Marge coming in, but not because she was out there. Rather, she didn't look, well,
right
for some reason. All those shimmering reds and stuff seemed dulled out, and it was almost as if she were somebody or something different Still, he didn't fear what he saw and allowed the flying creature to approach until he was able to see quite clearly that it was Marge.

Or, rather, opaquely. Frankly, there seemed to be
two
Marges there, one the old one and the other a larger, differently colored variation that seemed somehow darker.

Marge settled down next to him and said,
"You
got it bad, kid. I can tell. You can't hold
that
in for very long, not out in a place like this. Not unless you're Superman, anyway."

He sighed. "I know. It was stupid of me to get that spell taken off, but what can I do?"

"I don't think it was stupid at all. I think it was dumb to put it on you in the first place. Kids should grow up feeling normal and learning how to handle things, damn it."

"Yeah, yeah. It was only because I managed to get that curse on me that women pay any attention. Ruddygore got upset, worrying that with that kind of power and the studies I was doing at the time I might go evil right off the bat. He wanted to prevent that, and I guess he did, until now. But here I am, and going evil is what everything inside me says to do."

Marge gave him a sympathetic chuckle. "Evil is sometimes absolute, but it's also sometimes in the mind of the beholder. Heck, Irving, I'd be glad to give you some relief except that I also feel like your aunt. Besides, I couldn't do it tonight, anyway—not anymore tonight."

He looked at her squarely. "I'm not sure I dare do it with you. Nothing personal and all that, but you're a little scary since we got here. A lot more than on the boat over."

It was her turn to be startled. "Huh? What do you mean? I feel great! And
my
kind of creature never looks or is better than when she feels this good."

"Um, Marge, I'm getting double vision just looking at you. It's like there are two of you standing there. It's why I didn't quite recognize you until you were actually here. You're changing, Marge, and maybe getting a little scary."

"What? Huh? I don't
feel
any
different. In what way am I changing?'

"Poquah said it to me, but I didn't really believe him. That you'd—feed—on locals with no consciences at all, consuming parts of souls rather than cleaning them."

"Succubi do that! I'm not a Succubus!"

"Not yet, but you're getting there. You notice you're taller? You barely came up to my chest before; now you're maybe shoulder-high. Your colors are growing darker in fa
erie
sight, and your wings are starting to look a little less like an insect than a fairy."

She grew suddenly alarmed. If Irving was telling the truth ... "What color are my lips, Irv? My lips. Simple question."

"Um, look crimson red to me."

She gave a sigh of relief "Not deep purple, not black? Then there's still time."

"Yeah? But how will you eat? Aren't you in some kinda trap here, sort of like me?'

"I'll find some way. There has to be one, otherwise the Earth Mother would never have commanded that I come, nor would Ruddygore have let me. Damn! This place corrupts you, and you don't even
notice!"
She sighed. "Irv, hold on. I'll figure something out for you and maybe for me, too. Can you hold out another day and night?"

He shrugged. "I dunno
what
I can do anymore. I never imagined I could feel so—so
driven,
so much like an
animal
or something. I was always in control."

She nodded. "Yeah, I know. Just hold on for a day and a
half or so until I can get some of it worked out. Won't mean a damned thing if by the time we get to Mount Doom both you and I are already in Hell's service, will it?'

"I—I guess not. But I almost feel like I am right now."

She managed something of a grin. "Don't worry about
that.
You'll feel like that
many
times. Just make sure it isn't permanent." She paused a moment. "And stay off Larae unless
she
wants it, you hear? You dragged her in with us; now don't betray that trust!"

"I
won't," he assured Marge, but it was an easy promise to make. After he'd returned that afternoon, he hadn't been able to resist testing out this new power on her, at least to an extent. It hadn't worked. She hadn't even seemed to be aware of him trying.

All that, and he couldn't even attract the girl of his dreams! It wasn't fair.

Man! That was
some
curse she had!

The mystery of the rails in the streets of Red Bluffs had been solved the first day they'd arrived; now they were taking advantage of what the locals called the "omnibus" service to move themselves and their gear to the river embarkation station.

Power was by the old traditional method: horses or, in the case of freight, oxen. The only reason it didn't give the whole city a certain, well, air, was that the same underlying alternate reality that had gone after the big man's body back on the broad street a few nights earlier also seemed really to love manure.

"Below is not Hell, but below is where those whom the princes would punish or discipline for offenses against
themselves
are
sent," Joel Thebes explained. "It is not a pleasant existence. Just a short while in it is sufficient to turn the strongest will to their bidding and keep it on the path of total obedience. Most everyone who winds up in their clutches spends at least a
little
time there, just as a
sample. It is usually enough. I suspect that this experience
is
where the idea of Hell as a place of eternal punishment came about. Hell is actually quite nice, quite comfortable and regal. It is where the so-called bad angels, whom the Greeks named demons, live and have lived since before Eden. The souls that come to them, which, let us face it, constitute the majority of those from both Earth and here, wind up either rewarded for services rendered while alive or as slaves to those who live there. Most do not consider it fun, but it is no lake of eternal fire.
That
is what is promised for all of them, demons and minions and slaves alike, if the other side wins the final battle."

Irving's eyebrows went up. "You mean there's some doubt about which will win?"

"They
seem to think so. Otherwise why bother at all? But if these others come over, if
they
displace Hell as the
opposition, as it were, then it could be the worst of everything, you see. Better the devil you know than the ancient horrors you don't."

The river launch was a modest affair, resembling the passenger craft that sailed the River of Dancing Gods. There would not, however, be much in the way of privacy aboard or comfort, either, and the trip promised to be quite boring. Too small for diversions or private assignations, too, which suited Irving, at least for now.

It was, however, a fairly elaborate two-masted schooner with emplacements for oars if the need arose. In addition to their own party, it appeared that about a dozen others were traveling upriver, possibly all the way to their own destination.

They were a curious-looking lot. All humans, more or less—at least as much as
Joel Thebes was human—but all of them looked, well, somewhat sinister and not
quite
legit. That is, they all looked like characters out of bad soap operas, at least to Irving.

That one there was a tall, dark stranger; one woman was the malevolent housekeeper, another woman, the damsel in distress. One tall fellow looked like a cartoon mortician; another, the crazy doctor or mad scientist.

"They are all machinists for the King," Joel Thebes told them.

"Machinists?" Irving repeated. "What kind of machinists would
those
people be?"

"They're called deus ex machinists, I believe. His Majesty employs a million of 'em. They're obviously returning to work after some rest and relaxation. Stay away from them. They tend to be nothing but trouble and complications."

Even Marge, as dull-witted as
she was in daylight, admitted to herself that
these
clichés looked definitely overworked.

The captain and crew had red faces and horns on their heads and sort of looked like human-sized satyrs of a diferent color, but they also seemed pleasant and capable enough. To them this was just a job, another routine trip.

"Stow your gear and yourselves forward of the mainmast," the mate told them, pointing to the bow. "You'll have to sleep on deck, you know, being such last-minute add-ons. You can make a tent of insect netting there. It's not very hard."

Poquah looked it over and sighed and shook his head. 'Looks like very close quarters. Oh, well, it's only for—now long on the river, Mister Thebes?'

"Against the current, probably five days. After that it'll be by caravan to the capital. Well, it could be worse. Doing a overland and on your own, this could take
months."

The river didn't seem all that huge even here, deep though it obviously was, and Irving wondered about where it led. "Anything dangerous that might threaten us up ahead?"

"There is
always
something," Thebes responded. "Nasty jungle animals, voodoo witch doctors, cannibals: things like that during the jungle part. More nasty creatures across the mountains, then desert to the capital. Just keep your eyes and ears open as usual and don't worry so much. This ship races back and forth all the time and loses very few passengers."

"Haven't lost one in three return trips," one crewman commented, overhearing Thebes' assurances. "Past due, probably. We usually lose a few every other trip." That was not exactly what any of them wanted to hear.