"I don't like that one," Brutus said.
"He was sweet," Helena disagreed.
"He was slick, that's all," the hound growled.
"Slick, indeed," Tesserax said. "Tooner Hogar is also known, in maseni mythology, as Hogar the Poisoner."
"Poisoner?" Jessie asked.
"Poisoner of Gods," Tesserax elaborated.
"I thought he looked too slick," Brutus said.
"Tell us more," Helena said, as their robot began to lift their suitcases from the limousine trunk.
"According to the earliest maseni myths, these mountains are the homes of all our gods. And this particular inn, overseen by Tooner Hogar—Hogar the Poisoner—is the prime meeting place of the gods. Here, the Great Ones can gather to make deals, strike bargains—or merely celebrate some godly holiday. The inn is neutral ground, where one god is powerless to lift his hand against another."
"But Hogar is not so powerless?" Jessie asked.
"You catch on fast," Tesserax said.
"I've dealt with so many punks, in my time," the detective said, "that I'm usually able to see through them."
Tesserax said, "According to the old myths, though the gods could not directly harm each other while in the inn, they often hired Hogar to do their dirty work. Hogar preferred to kill with any of a hundred exotic poisons. Many gods passed away forever, under Hogar's hand. Others who were hardier died only temporarily and rose to live again."
The robot had taken a collapsible power cart from the trunk and had loaded all their luggage on its flat bed.
"We'll get our rooms, now," Tesserax said. "But be warned: do not eat or drink anything which has been prepared by Tooner Hogar."
"Surely the law doesn't permit him to poison any more," Helena said.
"You're right," the maseni said. "He may only poison those gods who are powerful enough to rise and live again. But, by law, he is allowed to slip certain irritants to others, in place of the poisons he once dispensed. For example, he might offer you an apple which, though not poisoned, is spiked with nausea-inducers or potent laxatives. The law restrains him, but it does not, of course, utterly refuse his urges."
"But what will we eat?" Jessie asked.
"Our robot has brought along cooking facilities and supplies," Tesserax said. "For the duration of our stay here, we will consume only what he has prepared for us." Tesserax extended an arm toward the open door of the hotel and said, "My friends, shall we go in?"
The lobby of the Gilorelamans Inn was large, as were most maseni rooms, at least two hundred feet long and a hundred and fifty wide, yet the place had a cozy atmosphere. This was achieved, for the most part, by the use of the dark, naturally stained wood which constituted the walls and the parquet ceiling. The floor was covered with a thick maroon carpet, and the sofas and easy chairs which filled the lounging areas were a matching wine color. Natural wood pillars thrust up toward the roof thirty feet overhead, and crystal chandeliers lighted the room well enough for one to read but not so well that there was the kind of dazzling glare one associated with modern Earth hotels.
When the maseni built an inn for the gods, in their myths, they expressed a bit of taste.
They crossed the room to the desk, where Tooner Hogar waited for them, smiling and nodding, his hands still folded against his chest, his tentacles intertwined.
"We are so pleased to have these distinguished Earth-men visit us at the Gilorelamans Inn," Hogar said. He pushed two things across the counter to them, a register book and a dish of mints. "Would you each sign in, please? And do take some complimentary candies."
Jessie signed the book but avoided the mints.
"No candies?" Hogar asked, smiling gently, amber eyes glittering.
"Well, actually—no, thank you," the detective said.
"Miss?" Hogar said, offering her the dish.
She refused, picked up the pen and signed both Brutus's and her own name to the register. When she looked up, she saw that Hogar seemed to be hurt by her rejection of the candies and, being Helena, she said, "Well, you see, I just had dinner, and I haven't any room for anything else just now."
Hogar frowned and stared more closely at the mints. "They aren't dusty, are they? Sometimes, in an old mythical place like this, the dust settles. If I don't keep changing the mints every day they get all grimy."
"It isn't that," Helena said. "The mints are fine. As I said, I've already eaten—"
"Here, then," the alien innkeeper said, shoving the dish into her hands. "You take them and have them later on, in your room, compliments of the house." He smiled at her: greasily.
"I couldn't—"
"I insist," the maseni myth figure said.
"Thank you," she said. She took the mints, holding the dish as if it were a time bomb.
Tesserax signed the register and got their room keys. "No need to send a porter with us," he told Hogar. "We have our own mechanical to get the bags, and well find the room ourselves."
They followed the robot as it wheeled the luggage cart to the elevators which, Tesserax explained, were physical additions to the myth structure, since no elevators had existed when the Gilorelamans Inn was first imagined.
The second floor ambience was much like that of the first floor, though the carpeting here was a deep, cool green. Jessie, Helena and the hell hound had a two-bedroom suite at the far end of the long, main corridor, while Tesserax's room was right next door. The drawing room of the suite was exquisite, with golden tapestries and heavy velvet-like draperies, comfortable furniture, an indoor fountain where three maseni myth figures spouted water onto one another's heads. Like all maseni rooms, this was a large one, far larger than they required, with a fourteen-foot ceiling of alternating squares of dark and light wood in a stunning parquet. The bedrooms were identical, spacious, and lavishly appointed.
"I think I like this place!" Helena said, flopping down on a bed that was ten feet long and seven wide.
Tesserax showed them where the baths were. "These, too, are additions, realities intrude on the original make-believe. But what good are myths if they aren't useful? And how useful would a hotel be, these days, without bathrooms?"
"True enough," Jessie said.
As they stepped out of the third bath and back into the drawing room, a knock sounded on the door.
"Come in," Tesserax said.
Tooner Hogar entered, bearing a wicker basket full of fruit, all wrapped in plastic. "Compliments of the house," he said, smiling slickly and handing the basket to Jessie.
"I—uh—well, thank you," the detective said.
"Try one of those," the innkeeper said, pointing to a large red fruit that looked like a combination between an Earth apple and an Earth raspberry, purple and nubbly.
"Well, maybe later," Jessie said.
"Perhaps the lady would like something," Hogar said, as Helena came out of the bedroom to see what was going on.
"What might I like?" she asked, stepping closer to see.
Hogar reached out and tore the sheet of plastic wrap from the gift basket and, bowing slightly toward Helena, he said, "Some home world fruit, dear lady. This is a marvelous collection. I believe you will find each piece delicious, fresh and clean."
"I don't know if I should eat any alien—"
"Oh," Hogar said, "you will find our home world fruit perfectly compatible with your digestive system. Haven't you eaten any imports, back on your own world?"
Helena said, "No, I—"
Hogar plucked the raspberry-apple from the basket, rubbed it against one sleeve to polish it, and held it toward her. "Here. Eat, eat! There is nothing to be afraid of!"
Before she could find some new way to refuse the poisoner's gift, their conversation was interrupted by a booming laugh so loud it shook the walls and hurt their ears. Immediately following this came a crashing sound that slammed through the hotel like an explosion in its foundations.
"What in the world—" Helena began.
"It's Pearlamon and Gonius, at it again!"
Hogar the Poisoner said. He put the raspberry-apple back in the basket, turned and hurried into the main hall, his robes fluttering behind him.
"Who are Pearlamon and Gonius?" Jessie asked Tesserax.
"Two gods," the alien said.
They followed Hogar into the corridor and saw the source of the thumping racket that was still going on. In the middle of the hall, half-way back toward the elevators, two huge maseni males, dressed in little loincloths and headbands, were wrestling, tossing each other into the walls, lacking and punching and twisting ears, battering noses and pulling hair and biting necks.
"Maseni gods are a lively sort," Tesserax explained. "They always have to be up to something. Wrestling, boxing, engaging in relay races, drinking and singing..."
"Well, anyway," Jessie said, "it's not going to get dull around here."
Chapter Nineteen
That same night, Jessie woke in the dark bedroom and found something soft and warm filling his mouth. For a moment, he suspected someone was trying to jam a pillow down his throat, but when he came fully awake, he realized the truth. He and Helena had gone to sleep while lying on their sides, facing each other; in the hours since, he had slid toward the foot of the bed, and now he held one of her delectable, round breasts in his mouth. Or part of one of her breasts, anyway. It was difficult, if not impossible, he knew, to hold all of one of Helena's breasts in his mouth.
He relaxed when he realized no one was trying to smother him. He would have been perfectly content to remain like that, nipple on his tongue, until morning, had he not heard the sound that—he realized upon hearing it once more—had originally awakened him: a moan.
He tensed, staring into the darkness.
Silence.
Imagination?
Then it came again, a low and agonized cry that originated either in the drawing room of the suite or from the corridor beyond. It cut across his spine like an ice pick and ended his sleepy satisfaction. He let go of Helena's breast and drew gently away from her, sat up and listened for the sound to come again.
It did: louder, more drawn out, more agonized than ever, like the cry of a man who knew he was rapidly dying....
Jessie slid out of bed, felt around on the floor and found his robe, put it on and belted it tightly around the waist. His narcotics dart gun was on the dresser, and he managed to pick it up, check that the magazine was in place and slip it in a robe pocket without waking anyone. He walked quietly into the drawing room and stood there in the darkness, waiting.
Again: moaning.
Now, he realized that the injured party—whoever or whatever it was—was in the corridor beyond the drawing room. Moving quickly across the room, he pulled the door open and looked into the dimly lit hallway. One of the gods lay there, in front of the door, sprawled on his back, his hefty arms thrown out at his sides, his legs spread like two lifeless hunks of dark blubber. His tentacles wriggled senselessly as he groaned.
Jessie bent over the prostrate giant and looked into the amber eyes. "What's the matter?"
"I've been done in," the god said.
"Poisoned?"
"Ah, that dastardly Hogar!" the god said, and he moaned twice as loudly as before. "He'll do anything for a price."
"What can I do to help you?" Jessie asked.
The tentacles wriggled more quickly than ever. "Nothing. Nothing at all! I have been dealt a foul intestinal blow, and I must succumb. But don't fear, my friend. I know who paid the dastardly Hogar, and I will seek revenge in my next life! It was Pearlamon, that odorous piece of godflesh, that pretender to true divinity!"
"What's going on here?" Helena asked. She had come, nude, from the bedroom and stood in the doorway, blinking her eyes.
Brutus appeared at her side and said, "Skullduggery."
"Exactly!" the god roared. "I had consumed but a cup of broth when the convulsions took me. I staggered this far and collapsed, seeking help. Now I am all but paralyzed, and I know help cannot be obtained. I die, I die!" Down the hall, Tesserax's door opened, and the maseni official came swaying toward them, nodding his bulbous head. "What's wrong with you, Gonius?"
"What appears wrong with me?" the god moaned. "I am the victim of those I took to be my friends. Trusting, I was stabbed in the back, taken sore advantage of, used, discarded, betrayed!"
"Does he always talk so goddamned much?" Brutus asked. "If he does, no wonder someone poisoned him."
"Oh, woe, woe!" Gonius cried, thrashing about as the poison seeped deeper into him.
"Pay, him no mind," Tesserax said. "He'll rise again, once he's dead, and he'll be poisoned again, too."
"Heartless mortal," Gonius said.
Tesserax leaned over the god and said, "How often have you been poisoned by Hogar?"
"At least ten thousand times!" the giant cried. "Is that not proof of this man's awful villainy?"
"It is, indeed," Tesserax said. "And it's also proof that we need not shed any tears or hold any concern over you."
"What a cruel world it has become," Gonius said, "when a god's own creatures care not for him."
"Poor, poor dear," Helena said, reaching out to touch the god's smooth, waxy face.
But she was too late with her sympathy, for Gonius gasped and shuddered one last time, died swiftly after decrying the state of the world.
"His body's fading away," Jessie observed.
Slowly, the great hulk was taking on an obvious transparent tone, the green carpet vaguely visible through it.
"In a few minutes," Tesserax said, "it will be gone altogether. In the morning, however, Gonius will be back at the breakfast table, screaming at Pearlamon and Hogar. It's rather a tedious cycle."
The body winked out of existence.
"Well, I suppose there's nothing more we can do," Jessie said.
"Get your sleep," Tesserax said. "Tomorrow, we begin questioning some locals about this beast we seek."
On the way back to their bedroom, Helena said, "Now I'm wide awake."
"I know just what you need," Jessie said. In the bedroom, he removed his robe. "A sedative."
Helena grinned and sat on the bed, reached to fluff the pillows, and found a note. "What's this?" she asked, picking it up. "It's a note to you," she answered, without waiting for him.
"A note? On my pillow? What's it say?" :
She read: "Mr. Jessie Blake—Beware all things maseni. Do not stir in cauldrons that do not concern you. If you persist at this, you will be the next victim of the beast." She flipped the piece of paper over and looked at the other side, which was blank. "That's it," she said.
* * *
Tesserax finished reading the note and blinked his yellow eyes as if he might be able to make the writing disappear. "Well, obviously," he said at last, "some supernatural creature came into your bedroom while you were in the hall watching Gonius die. Perhaps it phased through the wall, or pryed open a window.... Clearly, however the note was planted, the maseni supernatural community does not want you to work on this case."
Jessie said, "Gonius was a diversion, then?"
"Probably."
"We'll question him."
"My friend, he would only lie. There appears to be enough at stake to justify lying and even more. Besides, supernaturals who were once gods make the worst subjects for interrogations. They've got a natural superiority complex that makes them insufferably rude."
"But what are we going to do about this?" Helena asked. "Look, Tessie, we have been nearly illegally bitten by vampires and werewolves, momentarily terrorized by a Shambler, paralyzed by a sorcerer—and now we have to worry about being crushed to death by this mountain monster of yours. I will not—"
"Be calm, please," Tesserax said. "I have told you that the monster destroyed supernaturals as well as flesh-and-blooders. The people who wrote this not do not control it; indeed, they may be its next victims. They are bluffing, trying to frighten you off."
"I just don't know," Helena said.
"Believe me, my friend," Tesserax said, p
atting her bare shoulder with six limpid tentacles. "What I say is true. Besides, maseni supernaturals would never break the law; especially, they would never kill anyone. Except for this new beast, of course. But on our world, supernaturals have lived in harmony with flesh-and-blooders for so many centuries that we have no unapproved interracial violence."
"Well...."
"You know I'm right," the maseni said. "Now, let's all get some sleep and forget this ugly incident."
"It won't be easy," Jessie said. He took the note back and read it through again. "I've never before been threatened by a giant, barrel-footed monster."
"When I spoke to my brood brother, Galiotor Fils, the day we left Earth," the alien said, "he informed me that you had taken on his case for more than money. Indeed, he felt that money was the least of your interests in finding how I had died. He said that you were bored, weary of your day-to-day investigative routine, and that you were desperate for something challenging, something exciting."
"Your brood brother talks too much," Brutus said. "I should have given him an ass full of teeth, like I threatened."
"We've had plenty of excitement already," Helena said.
"Ah, I know you won't back out on me," Tesserax said. "None of you is a coward. And, besides, you don't get paid one thin tenth of a credit if you don't follow through on this."
"Maybe I'll give you an ass full of teeth," the hell hound said, lowering his head and opening his mouth.
Tesserax brushed nervously at his lipless mouth and looked at the rows of white teeth that Brutus displayed for his benefit. He said, "Surely, my friend, you jest!"
Brutus snarled.
Jessie said, "There are things more important than money, Tesserax."
"Yes," Helena said. "For instance: sex, contentment, peace of mind, freedom from insomnia, having two arms and legs, life in general, fame, fun, bubble baths and pillow fights."
Tesserax said, "If I were you, I'd also keep in mind the reaction of my fellow maseni if you should back out now."
"And what would that be?" Jessie asked.
"Well, I should guess, for a starter, they'd charge you with grave robbing and put out an omni-world bulletin for your arrests."
Koontz, Dean R. - The Haunted Earth (v2.0) Page 13