by John Ringo
“It’s Doris,” Doris stage-whispered.
“Doris, why are you hiding in the shadows in a hooded cloak?” Daphne asked, grinning. “Shall we promenade?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Come ’ere.”
When Daphne came over, Doris maneuvered herself so her back was to the crowd, and opened up the cloak.
“Oh my God!” Daphne said, covering her mouth and trying desperately not to giggle. “Oh my God, Doris! That is shameless!”
“But I’m not,” Doris said, pulling the cloak back around her. Tight. “This was a bad idea. I blame Kelly. I don’t think I can do this! I’ll go change into…”
“Baggy jeans and T-shirt?” Daphne said. “If you want. Where’d you get it?”
“In the Dealers Room. I found some money in my backpack.”
“Well, you’ve spent the money on it and it looks absolutely stunning,” Daphne said, frowning. “ I could never wear it. But you wear it very well.”
“I’m not sure I can wear it in public, though.”
“You like to dance, right?” Daphne asked.
“Yeah. That’s why I got it.”
“Could you wear it if you were dancing?”
“Maybe.”
“Be right back.”
“Okay, I’ve fixed it with security,” Daphne said, coming back and taking Doris’s elbow. “Keep the cloak on and come with me.”
“Security?” Doris asked.
“They don’t like people working for a large crowd,” Daphne said, leading her into the interior on the same level as the smoking plaza.
“Aren’t we supposed to go…?” Doris said, sticking a hand out to gesture up to the lobby. The lower level was already fairly crowded with costumers and picture-takers.
“No pictures up there and definitely no sticking in one place,” Daphne said, leading her to the back of the large room. At the back was a young man in Middle-Eastern, dress sitting on the floor surrounded by drums. Doris vaguely recognized him as one of the drummers from the previous night.
“You sure we’re not going to get in trouble?” the kid said.
“I told you, I know Mike,” Daphne said. “No more than thirty, forty-five minutes, and if it gets too crowded we’ll have to shut down.”
“What are we doing?” Doris asked.
“ You are dancing,” Daphne replied. “Wait until the drums start to take off your cloak. Right.” She cleared her throat and raised her voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, come one, come all to the most amazing demonstration of dance you have ever seen in your life! She will amaze and astound you with her virtuosity and beauty! Gold is preferable,” she added, sweeping off her hat and holding it out. “Silver is acceptable! Is that a copper piece I see there, young man! No copper for her! This is: the amazing Doris!”
The drums started up and Doris took a deep, cleansing breath, then swept off the cloak. For a moment she thought her ears were going to pop from the inhalations, then the flashes started going off. She ignored those, and the wolf whistles, and started dancing.
“I think there’s, like, fifty bucks in this hat,” Daphne said when security had broken up the crowd. It was a necessity, they were getting twenty deep.
“There was just something…right about getting paid to dance,” Doris said. “I never thought I’d say those words, though.”
“There’s even a gold coin,” Daphne said, pulling it out. The coin was so old and worn it was hard to tell what the original denomination was.
“Where’d that come from?” Doris asked.
“Death, I think,” Daphne said, gesturing at the hooded figure with the scythe who was being led away by security. “Probably got it off the eyes of a dead king. You can have it.”
“Heh.”
“Let’s divvy it up and then promenade,” Daphne said. “Sinbad, you good for a twenty?”
“Works,” the drummer said. “I can’t remember the last time I got paid. Oh, yeah. Mosul, 1648.”
“Funny,” Doris replied.
“Think you can walk around in that now?” Daphne asked.
“Yeah, I think I can.”
“You’re a brave, brave girl,” Daphne said, chuckling.
They headed upstairs, stopping every few feet for pictures, and finally reached the lobby. Despite the picture-taking ban, quite a few people were up there in costume simply to be admired.
“Whoa!” Doris said, stopping to look at one of the outfits. The woman was nearly as tall as she, with equally red hair, and wore a magnificent laser-cut leather bodice and bikini bottom that were formed like demon hands. The matching leather wings were, if anything, more amazing. The demon horns were quite unnecessary.
“That’s an amazing costume,” Doris said, smiling at her.
“Yes,” the woman replied. “And it doesn’t make me look like a slut.”
“Excuse me?” Doris said, stunned.
“Piss off, trash,” the woman said, ignoring her.
“That’s Garnet,” Daphne said, quietly, drawing Doris away. “I’d better warn you, that’s your main competition for Dawn this year. And that outfit is just what she’s wearing for her hall costume. I can’t imagine what her Dawn costume is going to look like.”
“Oh,” Doris said in a small voice.
“Don’t let her get to you, though,” Daphne said. “She knows you’re going to be in Dawn and she’s trying to get to you. She’s always like that.”
“Well, sometimes people can be sort of prickly on the outside…”
“Don’t think it,” Daphne said, shaking her head. “She’s a bitch all the way to the core.”
“Oh.”
“She’s going to do anything she can get away with to make sure she wins Dawn,” Daphne said. “If you let her get to you, she will. Don’t.”
“Okay,” Doris said, nodding. “I won’t. Screw her.”
“That’s the spirit.”
She changed in Duncan’s room again. The harem-girl costume fit comfortably in her backpack, but she fingered the material for a bit before stuffing it away. She had no clue the next time she’d get to wear it, but she was looking forward to it. Kelly had been right, she looked very hot in a harem-girl outfit. And not at all like a slut.
Looking hot, knowing she looked hot, had never been something she could even imagine. It felt good to be appreciated. It was amazing the changes that had been wrought on her in just a few days. The fact that she could take an insult like the one that Garnet woman had thrown at her and more or less ignore it, proved that.
But that brought up the question of Dawn. Kelly had said that it was getting to be more and more of a costume contest, and even with the money she had left from her find, there was no way she could create a really outstanding outfit by tomorrow. Which meant she needed an edge…
Hmmm…
She picked up the practice sword Edmund had given her and hefted it. Then she picked up her backpack and left the room.
There had to be somewhere in this gigantic hotel where she could be alone.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Hi, I’m Doris,” Doris said, sitting down. “What’s your name?”
“Hi, Doris, I’m Folsom,” Duncan said, laughing. “You’re looking chipper.”
“Nervous energy and caffeine,” Doris said.
“You haven’t been dancing all night again, have you?”
“Yes,” Doris said. “But this time I cheated. After I changed-thanks for letting me use your room again-I snuck into one of the meeting rooms that wasn’t being used and danced by myself. Well, sort of,” she added cryptically. “I was practicing for Dawn.”
“I thought you were just supposed to parade out there and show yourself off,” Duncan said, puzzled.
“You have up to one minute to do whatever you want,” Doris said. “And at the judges’ discretion, it can go longer. I read the rules carefully.”
“And you’re hoping for the judge’s discretion,” Duncan said. “That’s ballsy. Ovarian, in your case. What are you going to do
?”
“It’s a secret,” Doris said. “But thank you for introducing me to Fig.”
“She’s a nice lady and Edmund likes pretty girls around,” Folsom said, shrugging. “I try to keep on their good side. You’re really not going to tell me.”
“Nope,” Doris said, thinking hard. “I need to go to the Dealers Room and the Exhibitors Hall and pick up some stuff. Then I need to find Fig and Bran, in that order. Then I’m going to be busy, busy, busy.”
“Then you’re going to need a good breakfast,” Duncan said, signaling for a waiter. “My treat.”
“I found some money in my backpack,” Doris said. “I can buy this time.”
“One meal won’t break me,” Duncan said. “Seriously. And you should save that money. I suspect you’re going to need all of it.”
“Feeling like a leech, I accept,” Doris said.
“You’re not a leech,” Folsom said, smiling faintly. “I feel that I owe you, not the other way around.”
“Why?” Doris asked.
“I think you’ll understand someday,” Folsom replied, shrugging. “Or perhaps you’ll forget.”
“Never,” Doris said. “I could never forget any of this. It’s going to be burned into my memory forever. This has been the greatest experience of my life. Do you know the best part?”
“What?” Duncan asked, grinning at her enthusiasm.
“Today is my birthday,” Doris said, grinning back. “And I’m going to win the Dawn contest. Guarantee it.”
Bran looked at the sketch and the list and his eyebrows went up.
“Can you do this?” he asked.
“I saw the basic dress and the shoes over at the mall yesterday,” Doris said in a rush. “Assuming they’re still there, yes. I’ve got the money to cover both. The rest of it is just sewing. I can buy the material, now.”
“Don’t worry about the material,” Bran said. “I’ve got emotional investment in this if nothing else. But I don’t know if some of this is necessary. And it’s going to take a long time.”
“I can do it,” Doris said. “I have to. I’ll be over in the mall for a bit, then if you don’t mind, I’ll use your room.”
“That’s fine,” Bran said, handing over the sketch and then a key. “I’ll be here most of the day. Good luck. I’ll be sure to be at the contest.”
“Do I look like some sort of messenger?” Traxa said as she entered the room. “Go to Fig and get this. Go to the mall and get that. I’ve got other things to do at this con, you know!”
“All I can say is thank you,” Doris said, concentrating on her sewing. “Or, thank you, thank you, thank you. This is taking longer than I’d expected.”
The costume she’d settled on was a modified Egyptian look. The name was “Dawn, Warrior of the East,” and the dual swords gave it a nice eastern look.
“I’m not sure you need much more than the dress,” Mandy said, pulling at the fabric. “That right there is an invitation to rape.”
She intended to do a very sedate sword dance as part of the presentation, but it still had to be a very…mobile dress. One of the more popular shops in the mall, at least during Dragon*Con, was one that normally supplied to exotic dancers. The dress had come from that shop. As had the shoes, which were more sturdy and practical than they looked.
“You’ve seen the costumes,” Doris said, picking up another “appliance” and sewing it on. The added parts gave the base dress a look of semi-armor. It wasn’t nearly as ornate as some of the other costumes, but she was counting on the sword dance to put her over the top.
“And I don’t think the veil is a good idea,” Anita said, nonetheless working on same. “The judges want to see faces nearly as much as bodies. Remember the rule about hair over one eye.”
“I’ll take it off eventually,” Doris said. “The shoes match the costume match the headdress. With the sword dance, it should be enough. I just look more like Dawn than any of the other contestants, including Garnet. And is it just me, or does she look a little long in the tooth for the Dawn contest?”
“And she’s older than she looks,” Mandy said. She caught a glare from Anita and shrugged. “Well, she is.”
“Garnet’s ascendant,” Anita said. “Getting on the bad side of an ascendant…”
“Garnet thinks she’s ascendant,” Mandy snapped. “But she cannot ascend without winning Dawn. And with all the bad blood she’s been creating, if she doesn’t ascend she’s in for a world of hurt.”
“Forgive me for trying to maintain some semblance of neutrality,” Anita snapped back.
“And forgive me for thinking ‘neutrality’ is just another word for cowardice!”
“Well, I remember what happened the last time!”
“What are you girls arguing about?” Doris said, looking up from her gluing.
“Nothing,” they replied in chorus.
“You ever get the feeling you’re being led around by the nose?” Sharice asked.
“I’m not being led around,” Wulfgar said, munching on a sandwich. “But I get the feeling that Janea’s not going to pass this point as long as I’m here. Or she only passes in the few cases where my back is turned.”
“We’re not being allowed to find her,” Drakon said, walking up. “I was in the gaming areas looking for her when I ran across the old man from the anime room. And got to talking. And completely lost track of the mission. His name is Ken Suno.” He flexed his jaw and shook his head. “Damn me for not seeing it.”
“Seeing what?” Sharice asked.
“At a guess?” Drakon said. “Su-san-o-o. Brother of Amaterasu. Major Shinto god. Here he’s the head of the anime track.”
“Damn,” Wulfgar muttered, his eyes widening. “The guy who heads up security…”
“What?” Sharice asked.
“Huge blond guy,” Wulfgar said, shrugging. “Blue eyes, but he doesn’t look Scandinavian or Aryan. More…Greek.”
“Name?” Drakon asked.
“Mike. Michael.”
“Holy Mother,” Sharice whispered. “ The Michael? Transformed God of War? Patron saint of elite forces? Archangel Michael?”
“At a guess.”
“Okay, no getting on the wrong side of security,” Drakon said.
“I helped a little old lady up the steps the other day,” Wulfgar said. “Pear shaped. Looked about a thousand years old. Guess what her con name was? Al Mater.”
“ The All-Mother?” Sharice asked.
“Ta-da,” Wulfgar said, then winced. “Svar…”
“Svarog?” Sharice said. “ Tell me we didn’t just do a deal with Svarog.”
“Think so,” Wulfgar replied. “Hope that doesn’t come back to bite us in the butt someday.”
“European,” Drakon said.
“Slavic god of smithing,” Sharice said, shuddering.
“Not a nicey-nice god, I take it,” Drakon said, nodding. “Fun.”
“Gods and avatars,” Sharice said, looking around at the crowds. “Lost souls and people in dream state. I said it but I didn’t really grok it, you know?”
“Which means Odin is somewhere around,” Wulfgar said, starting to grin. “And Thor.”
“Thor could be rolled fully into Michael at this point,” Sharice pointed out. “You might have already met him.”
“Fir, surely,” Wulfgar said, then shrugged. “Good enough, for that matter. But it also means there are demons,” he added as a girl dressed as a succubus walked by.
“Neutral ground,” Sharice said.
“I don’t see Michael enforcing neutral ground,” Drakon said. “I mean, I don’t know much about Christian myth, but I don’t see it.”
“I think Barb would probably say that it’s ineffable,” Sharice said, shrugging. “Even demons are God’s creations. They’re fallen angels.
“There is no way,” Doris said, looking around the room.
The backstage of the ballroom was packed with contestants. It was a sea of redheads in everything from el
aborate fantasy costumes to a feather and two bangles. The only similarity was that there was some red to their hair, ranging from strawberry blonde to auburn, and they had three tears painted under the left eye.
“I can’t win this,” Doris said. “Look at Garnet!”
The previous year’s winner’s costume was an elaborate laser-cut leather demon complete with the talons.
“That must have cost an arm and a leg.”
“More like a soul,” Daphne said. “Souls. But they weren’t hers. Win or lose, you are going to participate. And have you looked more closely? Most of them truly don’t have a chance. They’re just here because for thirty seconds, eight thousand people will be looking at them.”
Now that Doris had some time to recover from her shock, she had to admit the little pirate had a point. More than half the women in the room really would look better in street clothes. Spandex was a privilege, not a right. And even for those who had some semblance of the real “Dawn” look, most of the costumes ran to the sort of thing you got from a Halloween shop. Little Bo Peep and Sexy Cop.
That left, out of probably two hundred, maybe thirty who were contenders. Considered honestly, Doris was in that category. So those were the girls to beat.
At which point…
“I’m still not going to win,” Doris said.
“Seek the Grail,” Daphne said. “You may find it or not, but the value is in the search.”
“Do you know Duncan Folsom?” Doris asked.
“I know the name,” Daphne said. “But we’ve never met. We run in slightly different planes but we’re aligned.”
“If you’re going to register, please do,” the lady at the table said. She looked as if she could have been an entrant once upon a time. “We need to get this show going.”
“Yes,” Doris said. “I’m registering.”
“Stage name?”
“Excuse me?” Doris said.
“Most people use their mystic name,” the lady said. “It cuts down on the stalkers. Or you can use your mundane name. Up to you.”
“Myst…” Doris said, frowning. “I don’t really have…”