DG5 - Horrors of the Dancing Gods

by Chalker, Jack L

  "A mortal human and very pretty," Alvi responded. "What? Now, wait a minute! I saw your dad, and if your mother was human ..."

  "That's not exactly the way it seems," the girl told her. "I always knew that he wasn't my real father, but he was the only one I ever knew, and he was very good to me and to my mother. They had been betrothed, lovers since they were very young, but before they could many, something happened. I don't know what. Neither would really talk about it, but my mother went away for a while. After she came back, my father insisted that they marry anyway, and she agreed. He really did love her, and he was her whole life. They tried to have another child, one for both of them, but it didn't work out. The child was born dead, and the result ..." It was the first time Joe had really heard any sincere emotion from Alvi about her parents and background. "It—it killed her. Not right off, but she was sick and never really got better. I was four or five years old, but I remember it. I remember all of it."

  An interesting picture was emerging in Joe's mind. It might be completely off, but it fit the facts. Young, handsome nobleman is betrothed to the daughter of some wealthy local monarch or one of the landed gentry, the dowry most likely the estate itself. That was how things worked there. Everything set, going normal, when suddenly something happened, something that threatened the marriage, caused her to go away for a bit, and forced everything to be put on hold. What?

  Alvi was what. Was it actually an illicit human-faerie affair? Some adolescent caprice that caused her extreme guilt ever after? Or was it perhaps some sort of a rape? Not all the faerie were nymphs and fairies and elves and other cute characters. Those bat-winged creatures who'd come for Alvi and her father, for example. Forces of the real father come to claim his child? The fact that she had no characteristics of such creatures meant little: in perhaps the majority of cases among the faerie, the male and female were so different, they might well be mistaken for different races or species entirely. Nymphs were a good example and by no means unique—satyrs for wood nymphs, those Boyfriends from the Black Lagoon for the water nymphs, you name it. The colorful lower body patterns would be the key; it seemed too complex and too natural to be a one-shot affair and was almost certainly some sort of racial characteristic. But which race?

  The mother had refused to kill the daughter even though it was most certainly a monster and a creature of rape. The father had probably agonized, then agreed to take them in and protect the girl as well as his own child. Things would have been arranged so that Alvi would be presented as a child born of the father but before wedlock; married, there would be no stigma, yet that child would be a constant worry and a reminder of the initial problem. Six arms and the lower part of a lizard weren't exactly something you could overlook even if, incredibly, you really could hide it.

  He must have loved the woman very much.

  But there was more to it somehow, something still missing in the puzzle. Why did they want Alvi now? Who could want her? Of what possible value could she be to anyone: neither of human nor of faerie and considered monster by both? What was the bargain that had bound the old boy's lips from even his adopted daughter's ears, and with whom had it been made, and why?

  Damn it! I never watched soap operas!

  "Alvi, did those creatures in black armor come close to a birthday or anniversary?" Joe asked her. "That is, close enough to some event?"

  She shook her heal.

  "When was your last birthday? And how old were you?"

  "I must be almost seventeen now. I was sixteen before they came, but it wasn't anything close. I mean, it was maybe a couple of months earlier."

  Joe suddenly realized that the question meant nothing. Even if there was some sort of bargain or curse having to do with Alvi's sixteenth birthday, they would probably not celebrate the real date, in any event. In fact, it might not even be known, and whoever came to claim his or her or its prize might not be on a clockwork calendar schedule, either. There was, however, something that had been nagging at Joe, particularly since Alvi had awakened, and when the halfling emerged at last from the pool and lay down to dry off, Joe felt she had to bring it up.

  "Um, pardon me for saying this, but everything you've told me says that your stepfather must have been devoted to you. He seems to have chucked everything for you, even the estates, position, titles, who knows? I just can't help but notice ..."

  "That I can't cry for him?" Alvi finished. "I know. I feel pretty rotten about that myself, but I just can't. I'm not sure why. I did love him. I mean, he was the only father I ever knew, and he spent his life trying to do what he thought was best for me. The thing is, well, I don't know ... It's kind of mixed. In one way I can't think of him as really dead. I see him back at the manor somehow, supervising, tending, building. Part of me just can't imagine that he's really gone. He's been everything for me. I mean, my whole life's been planned and executed by him. Maybe that's it, too. I never was able to make any choices for myself. I was always hiding, always pretending, always in those painful straps, walk slow, special boots so it won't look like I'm walking like a chicken or something, don't go out, wear all this stuff even if it's boiling hot, don't work in the garden or you'll have to bend over and your tail will stick out ... And on and on and on ... It got so I became mostly a night person, wandering around late at night with little or nothing on, through my quarters, at least, and sneaking stretches on the roof terrace when it was dark enough. I was so lonely, so miserable, so full of fear that I felt more like a prisoner than a protected daughter. Does that sound inhuman, monstrous, maybe?"

  "No," Joe responded rather gently, pleased with the answer. "It sounds very human indeed. I don't blame your father, and I doubt if you do, either, deep down: he was a product of his world and times and did what he felt was right and best. I'm sure he often wished he didn't have to, wished that you could just be yourself, but he couldn't. Not without the threat of losing you."

  Alvi looked up at her, and there was a slight smile on her lips. "You really think so?"

  Joe nodded. "I do."

  But was it right? Hadn't she herself been so afraid that Irving would learn that his dad wasn't a dead hero but a live green bimbo and that she'd totally abandoned the kid? Left supervising all that growing up to somebody else "for the sake of the child"? Had she really done what was best for the kid, or had she instead inflicted as much pain and emptiness on Irv as the Duke had on Alvi?

  How to know?

  Damn it, if God wanted everybody to do the right thing, then why hadn't He written a clear and concise instruction manual?

  She looked over at the very strange and very adrift halfling. Somebody was trying to nab this kid, who in any case had had no preparation whatsoever for this very dangerous and cruel world.

  Ruddygore had his Rules, faeries had instinct, but what manual did she look in to tell her what the hell to do next?

  FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARTERY

  Halflings shall be shunned by those of both families but always be beloved of the heroic.

  —Rules, Vol. XIV, p. 192(a)

  ALVI POKED THROUGH HER OLD HEAPED-UP CLOTHES BUT made no attempt to put anything back on. Joe understood and was sympathetic. The halfling was luxuriating in being free and being herself with a friend but had been raised and conditioned all those years to conceal everything most of the time.

  That was going to have to change.

  Joe retrieved the broadside she'd plucked from the chief highwayman's stuff, unfolded it, and took it over to Alvi. "Can you read this?" she asked.

  Alvi frowned, took it, then stared at the drawings. "Wow. Somebody knew a lot about us!"

  "You can read it, then?"

  "Sure. Can't you?"

  "You'll discover that readers are few and far between in this land," Joe told her. "And if there's a nymph—any kind, any variety—that knows how, I've never heard of her. Truth is, I can read a language of the place where I'm originally from, but it no more looks or sounds like anything here or on that paper than these trees look l
ike horses. I've tried learning that now and again, but I just haven't got the patience."

  "Oh, anybody can if they want to. But all right. `Fifty thousand gold pieces in the national currency of choice to anyone bringing the above to the nearest Alganzian Consul.' "

  "Never heard of this Alganzia. Have you?"

  "Yes, it's along the coast not that far from my own home. Not my country, though, or my father's nobility. I don't know that we ever had anything to do with them one way or the other. It has been said that their trade includes black magic and the like from even farther-off evil lands, but I know nothing more, not even the truth of that."

  "Middlemen for Hell. Interesting. What else does it say?"

  "Oh. Hmmm `Nearest Alganzian Consul. Man is Duke Mahlaus of Month Keep in the Western Dark. He is dispensable, but proof of death in the form of something personal of his, such as his signet ring, required. Other is called Alvida Zwickda, answers to AM, a halfling who must be taken alive and brought unharmed to the Consul. Death of the Duke without the halfling is no pay. Halfling without Duke will be accepted. Nature of the creature is known only to the Consuls. Do not insult us with ringers if you value your life. Anyone having information on either or both may gain a reward up to ten pieces of gold for submitting that information to a Consul, upon verification of the information by us. Note: creature will probably be disguised as human girl, possibly as the Duke's daughter.' Creature! The nerve of them, whoever they are!"

  Joe understood the poster a lot more clearly than did the girl, knowing the type of people it would be going to. In point of fact, Alvi really was more creature than human and probably one of a kind at that, but putting it that way kind of ensured that she'd be delivered intact. It was a pretty effective sexual "keep off the grass" statement for thugs. "That's all it says? There is nothing else?"

  "No. Nothing more. Except this little thing down here that says 'Local 286, KBRSS.' "

  "Kidnappers, Brigands, Rogues, Scoundrels, and Sappers Union, printing division," Joe explained offhandedly. "Never mind about them. The fact is, you are not described."

  "Huh? That's my face there! As good a drawing as I've ever seen! In fact, if things were normal, I'd probably try and buy the original for my wall!"

  "Doesn't matter. The point is, because they're dealing with such crooked wretches, they didn't want to give anything at all away about how you differ from human or faerie normal. If they did, every Consul on the planet would be deluged with fake Alvis rigged up with fake arms, fake breasts, fake tails, even enchanted ringers that looked legit for all the world. But so long as you're one of a kind, as I think you are, there's no way to find out just what makes you different, so they have to deliver the real thing."

  "But what good does that do?"

  "Faces are easy. It's overall form that's hard. It's not that rough to do a little safe makeover of you so that you won't look anything like this sketch, and they wouldn't be looking real closely at the face, anyway. Short of you bumping into somebody who knows a lot of details, like one of those Consuls, the odds are pretty good that we can disguise you so that you can move around safely. Then maybe we can start trying to figure this thing out."

  "But why would the Alganzia want me?"

  "Not the Alganzia. If what you've told me about them is true, they're just middlemen, probably hired to do this for somebody or other, some client. Some very rich, very powerful, very important client, I have to say, if they risk being directly named like that on a broadside. The fact that they deal in black magic and darkest sorcery says a lot, too." For the first time Joe wondered if this had anything to do with the rising pervasive feeling of evil and malaise that was spreading throughout the whole land. Something was rising, something at least as powerful and evil as Boquillas and the crazy mad sorcerers and rebel Prince of Hell she'd already faced. What was it? Every five or ten years or at least once every generation?

  Why, she just might have accidentally stumbled into something as nasty and bizarre as anything in the history of this twisted world!

  Of course, she didn't really believe she could have that kind of luck, but maybe. Who could say for sure?

  She reached down, found the pouch with the gold, and brought it over to Alvi. The halfling looked at it, gasped at the amount in there, then frowned, reached in, and pulled out her father's ring. Joe had stuck it in there for safekeeping.

  "Sorry. Thought I told you about that," the nymph commented. "It was all I could really salvage."

  "It's—it's more than enough." She took it, found the ring finger of her top right hand, and slipped it on. It was much too loose, of course, but ...

  Suddenly there was a bright flash from the ring, and her whole hand seemed bathed in an eerie, unearthly glow. Joe was as startled as Alvi, and both could see the intricate strands of a previously hidden spell there.

  Alvi nervously pulled the ring off her finger, and the glow died. "Some kind of spell! A trap!"

  "No, no!" Joe exclaimed, rushing to her. "I doubt that. I know how some of these suckers think. Remember? They asked for the signet ring in the broadside, almost as an afterthought. But they did specify it. They want both you and the ring. They just don't want anybody getting the idea that he can hold them up for even more than a king's ransom to get both. Or—or maybe they don't want anybody so curious about that ring that they'll play with it. I wonder what they don't want anybody to find out."

  "Well, here! You're welcome to it! I'm not putting the thing on again!"

  Joe thought a moment. "It didn't try and stop you from removing it, did it?'

  "No, but—"

  "Did it hurt?"

  "No, just tickled a little, but—"

  "So? Put it back on. Be ready to yank it off if need be, but I doubt if you will. I don't think it's trying to hurt you or do anything to you. I think it's a message."

  "Huh? From who?"

  "Your father, maybe, or your mother, or who knows? It didn't go off when your dad had it on, so the odds are that it was intended for you if he should die. Probably activated only when he died. It might activate only on your finger, although being a common spell, it would most likely be crackable by any thief with any ability at all. Go ahead. Try it. I'm right here."

  Alvi thought it over for a moment, then sighed and cautiously replaced the ring almost as if afraid it would bite her finger off. Again there was the glow, which enveloped the hand, but there was nothing else apparent in the effect.

  "Turn your hand over or try different positions," Joe suggested. "It's got to do something more than just glow."

  It did. With the palm out and angled slightly down, there was a crackling sound, and then, quite clearly, there was a man's voice, not loud but actually rather calm and conversational.

  "Alvi, if you are hearing this, then I must assume that I am dead and you are now alone," the voice noted. "I also must assume that you or we failed to contact any friendly power among the established Majin, so that you are truly alone. If this is not so, then you should go with them. You are ill equipped, I fear, for the only alternatives and should use them only as a last resort."

  "That's my father's voice!" she exclaimed in wonder.

  "However, if you are alone and all else is lost, then there is no choice. Under the stone of this ring, released by a small catch that you will find if you feel along it, is a tiny pellet of poison. If you are captured by dark forces and there is no hope of escape, you must use it. Not only for your own sake—for they will kill you or worse after they are done with you, anyway—but for the sake of the entire world. They must not be permitted to use you! And your only hope if all else has failed is to go straight into the den of your worst enemies. Your only hope for a future and to banish this evil is to travel to Carcosa and within it to locate the path to Far Yuggoth. There, eons ago, one of my great ancestors, at the risk of life and soul, hid the Grand McGuffin, that thing that all seek. The McGuffin's power is vast but personal; any who meet its criteria may be granted what they need and most
desire. But to ensure that it could never be used by darkness, a curse was placed upon it by my family so that only one born of woman who carries also the seed of faerie may approach it and live."

  "That's me!" Alvi breathed.

  And also me, Joe thought excitedly. Seek all this time, go through all that crap, and when you give up and head on home, it falls into your lap!

  "Many years ago I betrayed much of this in order to regain your mother's freedom and safety, but they do not know where and they do not know how. The location and map I entrust to you alone. Trust no one but seek help from the good races of faerie. Farewell."

  The glow faded. "That's it?" Joe said, frowning. "Where's the map? What's the location?'

  "Good heavens! You don't suppose it was elsewhere on him, do you?"

  Joe shook her head. "I don't think so. At least I hope not. Anything we didn't take with us last night is gone now. Here—let me see that ring."