Songs of the Dancing Gods (14 page)

“I keep hearin’ ‘bout this bad dude the Baron. What’s his problem?” the boy asked.

“He’s a throwback. The most brilliant mathemagical mind in ten thousand years. There’s probably not a single thing we can imagine that he couldn’t figure out how to do if he wanted to do so.”

“Yeah? So how come you beat him, then?”

Ruddygore sighed. “The Baron suffers from several flaws without which he would have been invincible. For one thing, he suffers from an admirable lack of imagination. He’s predictable to a degree, and his mind works in narrow channels. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t come up with highly innovative new ways to cause trouble—that television preacher business he tried on Earth was highly creative—but he is obsessed only with Earthly power over others. He is unshakable in his belief that out of Hell can come all of the solutions to all of the problems of the universe. He was taken in by that idea, just as many others were and continue to be taken in by it, and because he knows he is brilliant, he is incapable of believing that he can be taken in. It’s a nasty little mental circle common to megalomaniacs.”

“And you lost him when you had him?”

Ruddygore sighed. “Alas, yes. I should have known better, but after what happened back on Earth when he was loosed there, essentially powerless himself, I didn’t dare allow him to remain there again.”

“Then why not just kill him? I mean, he kills lots of folks, don’t he?”

Ruddygore nodded. “The Rules again. They gave him his chance, his way out, by seducing me with the idea that I could use and control him to get at Sugasto. It’s an arbitrary Rule, but it’s not one we can hate, either. Your father’s escaped death more than once because of the same regulation.” There was a commotion behind him, and he paused and brightened. “Ah, but I think the food has arrived! Business and hard thinking can wait until we’ve done.”

And arrive it did. Short, plump fairies who looked like a cross between the Munchkins and the Pillsbury Doughboy began marching out with platter after platter, course after course. It was an impeccably cooked feast for twelve, and even after Joe and Irv had eaten their fill and Ruddygore had eaten six times theirs, there was plenty left over.

And when they’d protested over and over that they couldn’t handle another thing, Ruddygore signaled the end to it. Finally he got up and said, “Joe, why don’t you take Irving down and show him around? I suspect he’d enjoy the games room in particular. We’ll speak in a little while.”

Joe nodded, glad to have an excuse to walk some of this off and knowing already that he was going to regret this overindulgence later, but knowing, too, that it was worth it.

Ruddygore watched them go, then gave a signal. An elf in household livery appeared almost instantly.

“Has the girl finished eating?”

“Yes, sir. She ate pretty good.”

“Very well. Give me five minutes and bring her to my study.”

The elf bowed and vanished.

Ruddygore’s study was smaller than the great halls, but it was no tiny room. It couldn’t be, since, among other things, it had to hold the complete Books of Rules. They rose there, from floor to ceiling, in custom-made, built-in bookcases, covering every wall and allowing only for the door. A sturdy ladder on rails mat would hold even the sorcerer’s great bulk went completely around the place. Ruddygore studied the seemingly identical thick, red-bound volumes for a moment, then pulled the ladder around, got up to one particular shelf, and pulled down a volume. He checked to see that it was the right one, then went over to his desk, fished around in a crowded drawer, and came up with a small case from which he removed a brilliant lavender jewel whose one outstanding feature was that it was totally flat on one side. He placed the jewel on the book, his hand on both, and concentrated.

It was a convenient gimmick for looking up things in a hurry or impressing others that you knew everything in all those books. For a while, perhaps a couple of hours unless he used it again, he did know every single word in that one book. It would fade, of course, but he didn’t want to retain it. An intelligent man didn’t know everything, he simply knew how to look everything up quickly and efficiently.

There was a knock at the door, and he said, “Come in.” The door opened, and Tiana walked in, hesitantly. The elf closed the door from the outside, leaving them alone.

Ruddygore settled back in his chair and she stood in front of his desk. He didn’t offer her a seat because he knew, particularly now, that she could not do so alone in his presence.

“I am really sorry,” he began. “I was preoccupied. I’d spent all that time with the djinn, which is an unnerving experience for anyone, then the quick hustle out, and all those loose ends to attend to—I should have thought to safeguard you before you returned.”

“My lord, it is not anyone’s fault but mine,” she responded. “My ego blinded me. Even so, with this build I could hardly have been an Amazon warrior. Joe belongs out and free to do what he does best. Given this body, there is nothing much else I could have become when I chose to go with him.”

“But you still had the romantic view of it all, didn’t you? It is only now, when all the strings are finally tied, that you realize all the implications of it, and it is very hard on you.”

“Yes, my lord. Very hard.”

“You do know why the system exists here. I know you do. I ran into an Earth phrase that catches the very essence of life: ‘There is no such thing as a free meal.’ Somebody always pays. You live in a hot climate, you have bugs upon bugs and tropical diseases. You live in a house and you have high costs. Live in a flat and you have horrible and noisy neighbors. Every positive has negatives. To be in the upper classes means to be virtual prisoners, unable to see and do anything you really wish, dressing thus and so, attending this and so, and having a totally regulated life. If everyone were rich and nobody had to work, there’d soon be no one to maintain the roads, guard the wealth, build the buildings and tear them down, cook the food, grow and crush and age the wine, and so on. Money is meaningless in itself. It gains its meaning from the blood, sweat, and toil, the labor, materials, services, and skills that it took to get us things.”

“Yes, my lord. I understand this.”

“Earth has a dynamic system, ours is relatively static. The Rules and the laws under them guarantee inequality without much change, but we accept it as the price for the meal. Here, no one is involuntarily unemployed or homeless against his or her will. Here the system provides the basics to everyone, and in the process we have rid ourselves of many of the social tensions, the hatreds, prejudices, and fears, that bring out the worst in Earth society. That was built-in the moment the Founders decided upon the supremacy of magic over technology. Tell me—did you mink slavery was so bad, so evil, when you were on the other side of it?”

“In truth I did not, my lord. Not really.” It is not dishonorable… . “But also, in truth, I did not wish ever to become one.”

“Well you are and you will probably remain one. In a sense, you’re lucky. Your master is your husband, if not in law, then in fact; and, since you both still bear the infection of the were, you at least get to be somebody and something else every full moon. You may be the only slave who gets three days off a month.”

“I know,” she said quickly. “But it is the other twenty-seven days that I dread.”

“It’s still driving you nuts.”

“Yes. Some of it, anyway. The fact that I could not even eat a meal with all of you, or that he is no longer my husband nor I his wife. Even the common women have some sort of lives of their own. We met one with a cafe, and there are others who do other things, even help plant the fields. A slave, on the other hand, exists only to serve a master. It is my sole activity and interest. To serve him. When he was short of money, I did not hesitate to sneak away and sell my body to two crude and filthy men I chanced upon. On my own—but to serve him. And not just him. It was all I could do to keep from jumping up and doing the dishes in the kitchen.”

“That’s what a slave does. It’s not like slaves of war or conquest. I could, however, make it easier on you. Easier for you to adjust to and accept this.”

“Yes, my lord, but I—I don’t know. If that were to happen, the last of me would be gone, like the last of him finally went when he was the nymph. And I fear, too, the loss of whatever love or affection he still feels for me.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be like that. You’d still be you. You just wouldn’t be in as much agony. It would be a little thing to help you and to help him. If he loves you now, it wouldn’t change. But it might make it easier on him, too. He feels for your situation. I see that he does. And the both of you may have to go into some danger ahead. If that happens, I want you unhesitatingly at his side.”

He got up and came around the desk and stood in front of her. His enormity made her seem and feel even smaller than she was.

“Are you willing?”

“I—I guess so. We’ve always trusted you.”

“Do so now. Just clear your mind, relax, and do not resist me.” He waited a moment, then put his huge hand on her forehead and the top of her head. She swayed, then he let go and she caught her balance, blinked, and frowned. “I—I do not feel any different.”

“You won’t,” he told her.’ ‘But you’ll sleep better and worry less. Now go, and my man will show you where your quarters are. You can get unpacked and get things ready. We’ll have a busy time coming up.”

She bent a knee and bowed slightly. “Thank you, my lord.”

The door opened, although he hadn’t given a signal, and the elf in livery was there to take her away. “See that the boy is kept amused and bring up the mercenary,” he called to the elf, who nodded and shut the door.

He still felt badly doing it, but he’d known that someday this was coming. It was too bad, really, but it couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t avoid wondering if he shouldn’t have just gone the whole way with her. Well, he’d have to sleep on that.

By the time she reached the room, she wouldn’t even remember that they’d ever spoken in here. What he’d done was simply to use his speed-learned knowledge of the Rules on slaves to analyze those that bound her, then did a process known as back-weaving to the magical trade. She would still be much the same, but now her perspective would be different; the slave reaction would feel the normal and natural one to her, the Tiana perspective more abstract.

Having such power—and much more than this mere trifle— always bothered him, and he wanted to make certain that it always bothered him. He had become an adept and worked as hard and as long as he could to become the best in his trade because he had seen such power used for evil or, worse, for its own sake. Only by becoming the best could he protect himself. Those who had not the blood and the talent for it he felt a special responsibility toward, viewing the world as filled with potential victims. No one, not Sugasto, not Boquillas, was ever going to best him at this game. Never. Sugasto was powerful, but impatient, unwilling to take the time to learn the nuances, the little tricks of the trade that made one sorcerer that hairs-breadth better than the others. Boquillas had a mind he could not hope to match, but the Baron was like the mathematician who memorized every possible combination of cards in a poker hand and played by strictly mathematical rules. Put him in a game with amateurs and decent players and he won every time. But put him in a game with a master of psychology and bluff who didn’t even care what cards he was dealt, and Boquillas could always be taken to the cleaners.

There was a knock, the door opened once again, and now Joe was admitted.

“Have a seat, Joe,” he invited. “Cigar? Chocolate bonbons?” The sorcerer grinned. “My secret ultimate vice.”

“That’s okay. I’m still digesting dinner. Now what’s this about losing the Baron?”

“Well, you remember that we returned to the City-States, since I had business to take care of there and you wanted to get away. At the time, the Baron was in the body of Mahalo McMahon and thought it the perfect disguise. I had her—or him— or whatever under my spell, and I wanted to give Boquillas enough leash to lead me to Sugasto without slipping away. It didn’t happen. The Baron was kidnapped off the streets in broad daylight by men none of my people had ever seen before, and almost immediately my psychic link was broken. That meant somebody with a good deal of power made the snatch, and that meant they knew who was in that body.”

“Sugasto?”

“Possibly. Possibly not. It’s uncertain whether the Baron would work under Sugasto. With, yes. And by my own doing Boquillas had enough protections to be able to wriggle out of most binding spells of others, anyway. It’s even possible he had those spells to ward off even me cast upon him before we ever got to Earth. He was always quite cautious.”

“Who, then?”

“Hard to say. Boquillas took his instructions from the demons of Hell themselves, and they cannot be underestimated, no matter what their alleged limitations in the here and now. Hell borders upon all points in space-time simultaneously, so they almost certainly knew what went on back on Earth. It wouldn’t take more than a demonic message to a competent coven to pull this off. In fact, I could almost swear that he pulled this off himself.”

“I thought you said it was impossible for him to get his powers back!”

“It is. Everything I’ve ever been taught says so. But I just can’t shake the feeling that, somehow, he found some sort of opening to regain at least some power. I’ve been spending as much time as I can spare poring over the Rules, trying to find some way for it to be possible. It’s not really my intellect speaking, I admit, but gut instinct, combined with the knowledge that, if there is a loophole, however minute it may be, somewhere in this vast assemblage of verbiage, Boquillas would find it.”