Songs of the Dancing Gods dg-4

by Jack L. Chalker

  She wasn’t being sarcastic with that last remark and he knew it. She was quickly developing a taste for living on the edge, for taking last-second chances and, he knew, she relished the power and attention and near mystical effect her dancing and athletic skills could have on people.

  “Yeah, well, one of these days there’s gonna be too many tall guys to jump over and too many for me to fend oif, too,” he warned her. “If you survive that, it’ll take most of the fun out of it.”

  She came up to him, put her arms around him, and kissed him. “God! I’m really turned on!” she whispered. She always was after one of these things.

  At that moment a door crashed open, flooding the back area with light, and a big, bearded man shouted, “There she is!”

  “Scatter!” Joe shouted. “The usual places!” He held out his hand. It was time to call upon the great magical sword named after his son. “Irving, to me!”

  “Yeah, Dad?”

  “Not you,” he growled, as the men streamed out with blood in their eyes. “I said for you to scatter! The sword, damn it!”

  “Oh!”

  Frustrated, he drew his great sword just barely in time as the first of the men came at him. Using mostly the flat, he banged heads and sent men sprawling. Some fell back and there was the crack of rotting wood and then yells and splashes.

  A knife whizzed past his ear and he decided it was time to beat a retreat himself. He waited until they surged forward, then quickly backed up, causing the mob almost to Ml over each other. Satisfied, he turned, there was a cracking sound, and in a few more seconds he felt himself fall into the river.

  It wasn’t terribly deep right in there, and he hit the mud bottom and kicked off, encumbered by his necessary grip on his sword. The river water here was static, due to the piers and construction, and smelled like raw sewage, which was what got dumped into it by the town anyway. Struggling, he made his way in under one of the piers to where his head and shoulders were above water when he stood and managed to sheath the sword.

  As much as he wanted out of that river at that point, he’ decided to stay in and try and make his way down, away from the port itself, cloaked by darkness and by the natural unwillingness of anybody up there voluntarily to jump in this fetid mess. He didn’t like it, either, but anything he was going to catch from it he most certainly already had.

  Like almost all river ports, the town was situated at a bend where the river slowed and deposited its silt, creating a flat, swampy land mass that none the less allowed for the docking of boats and the laying of foundations on pilings in the muck. At the far end the harbor stopped, as the water was far too shallow to be useful, leaving a good quarter of a mile of broad mud flats. Here, untouched by man’s attempt to control the land, was a slippery quagmire that, nonetheless, he could manage, although the scabbard of his sword dragged in it and occasionally made him lose his balance. By the time he reached firmer land, he was totally covered in sticky brown mud. He hauled himself up and sat in the harder mud near shore and coughed a bit. After a few minutes, he heard someone else, a woman, coughing as well.

  “Who’s there?” he challenged.

  “Joe? Is that you?”

  “Ti? What the hell are you doing here in this mess?”

  She made her way over to him. “Same as you, I guess. I tripped over something on the pier and the next thing I knew I was in the water. This seemed like the only way out.”

  He laughed and soon she laughed with him. Finally he asked, “Irv?”

  “Oh, he went in between the buildings. He’ll be fine. He knows where the camp is and he’s pretty street-wise, so I don’t think he’ll get in any real trouble.” She chuckled. “God! I must look a fright. As bad as you do! It’ll take me a week of washing to get this gook out of my hair!”

  “Yeah, it’s almost a shame. Here we are alone together and free for the first time in a long time, and look at us! By the time we got anyplace decent the mud would dry us into statues.”

  She thought about it. “Then maybe the trick is to make sure the mud doesn’t dry.”

  “Huh? You mean—over there? In the mud?”

  “Why not? Kinky, huh?”

  He thought about it. “Well, why not? We can’t get any muddier.”

  He was definitely wrong about that.

  Still, it was a night to remember. Caked with the gooey stuff, they made their way to the edge of the flats, where the river made the full curve and began to pick up again, cleansed now. They were able to swim about and get as much off as they could, and it turned into one of those rare magical nights when it felt good to be alive.

  Finally, they made their way back to the area just outside of town where they had been forced to camp, not then having the money to stay in town. The boy was sleeping there, and they stood there a moment and looked at him.

  “You know, it’s kind of odd,” Joe commented. “You take the average person from Earth and stick them here, the kind who mows his lawn and works in an office nine-to-five and maybe goes to singles bars, and he’d be dead or enslaved in no time at all. But you take” a kid forced to live in a nasty neighborhood, surviving by his wits, facing danger all the time, like him, and he adapts pretty damned well. We could probably make a lot of folks happy if we could work it out so those kids in the street gangs got over here and some of our better people who just can’t hack it here went back there in their place.”

  She shrugged. “He’s still just a boy.”

  “Not here. Not anymore. But he’ll make it. He’ll do better here than he would back home, that’s for sure.”

  “Of course he will,” she assured him. “He’s your son.”

  Joe looked around at the quiet scene. “Yeah, he is. That’s what’s got me to wondering.”

  “Huh?”

  “He was on his own, in that town, with a fair piece of change, and since he’s the only one now who knows how much, we’ll never know if any of it was spent. I wonder how long he’s really been back here? I wonder how long he’s been asleep? I wonder how old and gray I’m gonna have to be to find out the answer to those questions? If ever,” he added.

  CHAPTER 3

  HARD ANSWERS, BIGGER QUESTIONS

  If, by sorcery, any citizen, of whatever rank or station, shall find him, her, or itself in the body, form, or husk of another already bound to these Rules, the Rules governing the actual body, form, or husk inhabited by soul or spirit shall prevail and be binding.

  —The Books of Rules, II, 412-9-11(d)

  Due to the long night, they had slept until past midday; even so, when Tiana awoke, she saw that Irving was still asleep. Clearly while his father’s suspicions were confirmed by this, and it was something she, too, worried about, she decided that it was best if it be kept a minor mystery from the big man. Joe still sprawled on the blanket, snoring away, so she gently awoke the boy, put a finger to her lips, and gave him a knowing wink.

  He sat up fast, looked around, saw his father still asleep and relaxed. “Thanks,” he whispered to her.

  “You’ve had your little fun, now go to work,” she whispered in reply. “You still have most of the money, I assume?”

  “Yeah, sure. Right here. I didn’t use much. Uh—you think this is enough?”

  She poured out the haul and looked it over. In among the masses of copper were a number of coins of silver and gold. “Oh, yes. More than enough, I think. Enough, too, to buy a decent breakfast.”

  The boy started to pack up, working around the still sleeping Joe, and Tiana rummaged around in her pack and found what amounted to little more than a string bikini made of colored beads, then slipped it on so it hung on her hips. Then she started doing her normal routine of exercising, which included just about every bend and gyration even her body was capable of doing and repeating it over and over. It was unsettling to be talking to a woman who, seemingly without effort, balanced on the toes of one foot while raising the other leg almost straight even with her body against her head, over and over. It hurt
just to look at it. The fact that she could also hold a normal conversation while doing this sort of thing was, well, unsettling.

  The boy turned away and continued packing up the camp. “I still can’t get over how little most girls are dressed in this place. There’s more skin and tits here than a skin flick,” he remarked.

  “It’s vanity, mostly, based on one of the Rules,” she told him. “It goes something like, ‘Weather permitting, all beautiful women will be scantily clad.’ The thing is, ‘beauty’ is nearly impossible to define, even for a bureaucrat. Some women whose looks are beyond question fall under that compulsion, but most do not. On the other hand, most women like to think that they are under that compulsion, and even those who don’t also tend to follow it, including many who shouldn’t.”

  “Huh?”

  “Otherwise, you’re sort of going around advertising that you think you’re plain or ugly,” she explained. “And, frankly, many women don’t really have the body for it. They need some well-placed clothing to look their best—but most won’t, anyway.”

  “And that’s every place?”

  “Oh, there are lots of places where the rule has no practical effect—cold climates, high places, places with lots of nasty insects or cutting vegetation. In those places, you undress for formal occasions! But in this broad region, which covers much of Husaquahr, it’s subtropical or downright tropical, and that’s the way things are.”

  “Man! That’s still weird! It almost seems like you all are puttin’ up ads sayin’, ‘Come and get me.’ ”

  “It’s not that bad, mostly because almost everybody does it. It’s normal, and whatever’s normal, no matter how different or strange, people get used to and take for granted in a hurry. It’s sort of like some ancient cultures in your own world, where a woman who was overdressed and usually veiled was a prostitute, since the clothing was used to hide her identity and maybe titillate the customers. Most original tropical cultures wore few clothes unless the missionaries or conquerors got to them. And, like them, there’s the sad fact of being in a world without science or machines governed by Rules that keep things as they are.”

  “Yeah, this place could stand some fans and some television.”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant. You’re lucky to be his son and not his daughter here. Unless a woman has magical powers, or is of royal blood, she usually doesn’t count for much here. For most folks here, life is short and hard. You need a lot of babies here, because most babies die before they get a chance to grow up. Most girls are already married and having kids by age thirteen or fourteen. Women get no education and are mostly wives and laborers in homes and fields. It’s mostly that way on Earth, too, even now, although those who live in countries where women have some freedom like yours forget that. Of course, most of the men don’t get educated here, either. Here, some sort of trade for them, however menial, is all-important.”

  “You got educated,” he noted.

  “I was of royal blood. The Rules are different. And, with my parents murdered, I was hustled off to Earth for protection by Ruddygore. I had the best education, the best schools, the best things money could buy. It was only by happy chance that I could marry for love rather than politics.”

  “Yeah? So what did it get you? You can’t remember half the schoolin’ you got—you keep sayin’ how more ’n’ more just slips away, and you’re goin’ around this place barefoot and close to bare-ass naked, dancin’ for coins thrown by horny geeks.”

  She shrugged. “I think about that sometimes, but, the fact is, I think most street dancers dream of being princesses or queens, and most princesses or queens find the life so boring and so meaningless they fantasize about being dancers. Right now I’m having more fun than I ever did the other way. It might not be the life I’d pick, but it’s better than the one I had.”

  “Yeah, for now,” the boy responded sagely. “But, sooner or later, this life’s gonna go sour, and there ain’t gonna be no way for you to go back to bein’ queen again. One of these days you’re gonna wake up and suddenly see that you ain’t slummin’, you ain’t playin’ poor, that’s what you are.”

  Joe stirred. “Huh? Wuzzit?” He groaned, rolled over, tried to sit up, made it on the second attempt, and opened his eyes blearily. “Don’t you two ever sleep!”

  “Sure, and we did,” Tiana told him. “It’s not morning, love, it’s afternoon, and if we want to make any time at all today we’d better pack up and get started.”

  “Huh? No breakfast?”

  “We’ll have to get some on the way. We’re cleaned out as it is, but we’ve got a little money now.”

  Irv frowned. “You sure it’s safe to go through that town again?”

  “Sure, so long as we skirt the riverfront,” Joe answered, still half asleep. He rummaged in his pack and pulled out a small cloth satchel. Opening it, he removed four identical-looking loincloths, picked the one that looked cleanest, and put it on.

  Tiana did not mount or prepare her horse. She usually finished up her morning routine with a brisk run of eight to ten kilometers. She wouldn’t have that much this morning, so she was taking what she could get, and at a real run. Those extremely long legs were pure muscle, and she meant to keep them that way. They actually had to urge their horses to a trot to keep up with her.

  The port town looked different by daylight, but not improved. It was pretty seedy, really, with buildings of ramshackle wood and well-worn adobe intermixed with no thought or plan. It also smelted of garbage and feces and collective human sweat and was thick with all sorts of bugs, most particularly flies and roaches.

  Through it all, the population was about. Away from the port and markets, the hard-packed dirt streets were filled with human traffic; carts going this way and that, donkeys, and lots of bare-chested women in colorful slit skirts, often with one or two small babies strapped to a front halter or carrier on their backs and other naked, dirty-looking toddlers bringing up the rear, carrying huge loads on top of their heads this way and that, trying to avoid the omnipresent horse dung that was always in the streets. The centers of each neighborhood were the communal wells with their pumps and pools held by crumbling adobe masonry. The women there all had kids, and it seemed like every other one was pregnant, even the ones with small crying babies.

  It had taken Irving weeks to stop gagging every time he was around places like this. Somehow, all those sword-and-sandal epics on TV had never gotten to what those places smelled like. Now, though, he was almost getting used to it, and, in fact, he was no longer ogling every bare breast he saw, either. Tiana had a point about what was normal one place or another. The amazing thing was that it took so little time to get used to a new normality.

  Most of the cafes and bars only opened during normal mealtimes, but they were able to find a small place off one of the squares with a big well that had some leftover stuff from lunch and was willing to let them have it cheap. Without refrigerators, you couldn’t keep much long around here. A trio of girls, the oldest of whom looked to be ten or eleven, seemed to do most things. It had also seemed odd to Irv at first that kids his age and even younger got served beer or wine, but, early on, when he saw a couple of little kids pissing in one of the wells, he understood and didn’t touch regular water again if he could help it.

  Of course, when they had come over, Ruddygore had worked some sort of magic that had given him the immunity he’d have if he’d been born and grown up here, and that helped, but there was still a lot of sickness and a lot of young deaths here, and nobody was immune from the galloping runs.

  Tiana, at least now, was a total vegetarian; she didn’t even drink milk or eat eggs. If it didn’t grow in the ground, she didn’t touch it. Fortunately, his father had no such problems, and in that, he most certainly decided, like father, like son. He, for one, didn’t know how the hell she got all that energy off cow fodder.

  The proprietor was a fat little lady named Esaga who looked a lot older than she probably was. She wore only a ro
pe tied loosely about her waist, with modesty coming from a utilitarian towel hanging over the front and another in back. She had the biggest boobs Irv thought he’d ever seen, and, even though she was really roly-poly, there was no question that she was pregnant and well along in it, too.

  “I see what you mean about the ones that shouldn’t,” Irv whispered to Tiana.

  “Oh, I doubt if that’s the reason,” she responded in the same low tone. “Most likely she’s got fires going for cooking in back and, considering how hot it is even out here in front, she’d drop from heat back there if she wore much more. The big thing to remember is, here, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Madame,” Joe called to Esaga. “How far upriver is it to the ferry across? Do you know?”

  “Mercy, sir, I couldn’t tell ya,” she responded in a deep, rich voice. “I been borned and riz right here and never had no time t’go no place else. Keepin’ this place stocked and a-goin’ every day of the week and seein’ t’my kids keeps me too busy fer much else. There’s a prefect house a block down and to the left, there, though. They’d know if anybody does.”

  Even Joe had never quite gotten used to that, and Irving thought he never would. Nobody gave you anything here, least of all the government. You worked or you starved, and your kids did, too. Those had to be her daughters working here—they looked like sisters. How many kids had she had, and from what age? And how many survived to grow up? And what did their old man do other than knock up his old lady?

  It didn’t seem right, somehow. Worse, it seemed pretty damned rough.

  Joe’s soft heart made him try to overpay the very tiny bill, but they would have none of it. To them, tipping was charity, and if they had nothing else, they had their pride and their honor.