Demons of the Dancing Gods (14 page)

but Poquah had left them open in this large parlor.

It was furnished with thick sofas, ottomans, and luxuriously

padded chairs. The tables were of carved and beautifully stained

hardwoods, each one a handmade work of an. The entire suite

was carpeted in thick, soft wool, dyed in patterns of reds,

yellows, blues, and greens. Facing the inside of the parlor,

against the wall parallel with the hall, was a huge bar on one

side and a mini-kitchen on the other, complete with a small

stove, wood for that stove, and a chimney leading up.

The bellman looked questioningly at Poquah, who simply

said, "Just set them down here. We will put them av/ay when

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we arrange who's to go where."

The bellman did as instructed and turned to go. Joe fished

in the pack, brought out a small chunk of Firehills fairy gold

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73

left over from their road transactions, and called after him,

"Here—catch!"

The bellman did so and realized almost instantly that he had

more than an ounce of fairy gold in his hands. It was certainly

a bigger tip than he was used to, but he suppressed his surprise

and joy and tucked it in a pocket. "Thank you, sir and madam,

and if you need anything, just go to the middle of the hall and

call the messenger." With that he was gone, shutting the door

after him.

"That was an abnormal tip," Poquah noted. "It sets a bad

precedent."

"Well, it was mine, not Ruddygore's, and I liked that little

guy," Joe told him. "Besides," he added a little sharply, looking

at Marge, "he's going to have to clean up a bit after us, isn't

he?"

She gave him a "Who, me?" son of innocent look, and

Poquah was quick to sense that there was something he'd better

know. "What have you two done already?" he asked suspiciously.

"We had a little run-in with a stuffed shirt at the front desk,

and Marge got mad," Joe told him.

"What did you do?"

"He told me to get out of his hotel and go down to the

docks, as if I were some kind of tramp," she responded defensively.

"I just gave his libido a nudge so he only had eyes

for me, that's all."

The Imir sighed. "And I suppose he's standing there behind

the desk right now, stark naked, just pining for your return."

"Why, yeah. How'd you guess?"

"As hard as it might be for even me to believe, the Imir

and Kauri are rather closely related, and I have had some

experience around you as well. Combining your rather odd

sense of humor-with the Kauri's almost total lack of selfcontrol,

it was obvious. Is it permanent?"

"Oh, no. Oh, he'll still have a thing for me, but he'll snap

out of it in an hour or so, get real embarrassed, and put his

pants on again."

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The Imir nodded. "Ah, yes, you Kauri do have that nice

little trick, don't you?" He looked over at Joe. "You see, her

victim will still have 'a thing,' as she put it, for her even after

it's over, so he'll take it out on the staff, on everybody else,

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even on himself, but he'll never be mad at, let atone blame,

her. Hmph! Totally useless in a fight, but with those defenses

nobody ever lays a glove on them." He thought for a moment.

"The Master and the others will be in sometime tomorrow. The

master bedroom, with the harbor view, is through there, so

that will be his. The room on the other side will be shared by

myself and Durin, his personal chef. There are two more rooms

down the hall that interconnect with each other but not with

this apartment, and we have Macore and Tiana to take care of

as well as the two of you."

"Macore! It will be good to see him again!" Joe cried. "But

what's he doing here?"

"The Master has his reasons," the Imir replied enigmatically.

"And who's Tiana?" Marge wanted to know.

"Tiana—oh, yes, you might not have met her. She fled

from Morikay and has been under the protection of the Master

for years. He sent for her to meet him here. You'll leam more,

perhaps, when you see her." He looked thoughtful again. "I

assume the best course is to put you, Marge, and Tiana in one

of the rooms, with Joe and Macore in the other. I regret that,

but I do not think Macore is the correct sort of person for many

reasons to put in with the young lady."

Joe looked a little sourly at Marge. "Suits me," he said.

"Why not just give each of us a key now?"

Poquah nodded, walked into his own room by sliding back

a door, and soon returned with two large brass keys. Each key

had a small leather tag attached with a welded brass ring. "If

you use any of the hotel's amenities, the key will be all you

need for payment," he explained. "Outside, use what money

you have. From the bellman's tip, I assume you do not require

any more at this time."

"I think we're okay for now," Joe told him. "At least, I

am."

"I have no need of money," Marge said, "but I'm going to

have problems carrying this key around. I'll leave it either at

the desk or with you when I'm going to be gone for any length

of time."

The Imir nodded. "Very well, then.'Come over here." He

walked to the wide windows that looked out on the town.

"Below there, and for several square blocks on either side, you

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see the entertainment district, which usually goes all night. The

restaurants and bars are quite expensive, but all of high quality.

There are also stage shows, strolling entertainment, and other

amusements down there. On the other side, opposite this hotel,

is the central market, which is quite extensive and has some

of the finest craftspeople in all Husaquahr, and which also has

for sale almost anything you might wish. Please keep your

expenses down if possible. Prices always double or more when

a convention is in town, and our coffers are not unlimited."

Both of them knew that this was more the Imir's nature

speaking than any policy or problem from Ruddy gore. The fact

was, to somebody on the Council with his own castle and more,

wealth was virtually limitless. Poquah, though, was not only

the sorcerer's chief bodyguard but also the manager of Castle

Terindell, and he took every expense personally. He was also,

contrary to the traditions of his race, an accomplished sorcerer

himself and, because of that, was somewhat in exile from his

own people. Being of faerie, he could never gain the power

and control of a human sorcerer, but he was nonetheless a very,

very dangerous man in all respects.

Joe picked up the bags, and he and Marge walked out of

the suite and down the hall. Poquah shut the door behind them.

Joe realized almost immediately that the Imir had failed to tell

him which room was which, and the pictogram on the keys

was very little help, so he tried his on the first door they came

to; naturally, it didn't work. Marge unlocked the door with

hers, and they stepped inside.

The room was large and comfortable and had a huge bed

and a mini-parlor with'sofa, but it was nothing like the master

suite. It was still better than either of them had seen in a long,

long time, though. Marge turned and looked at Joe questioningly.

"Sure you don't want to sleep here tonight?"

He sighed. "No. Not yet. Let's let things go a bit, huh?

Besides, you ought to enjoy a solo room for one night. What

do you want from the packs?"

She thought a moment. "The glasses, I guess, and my trinkets

from the last couple of nights." He put the packs down,

and she rummaged through and got the few items. "That's it,"

she told him.

He shrugged. "Okay. Well, let me get settled in next door.

After that, I guess I'll find a restaurant and then hit the sack.

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I think I want to move myself back to a little more of a day

schedule."

"Suit yourself," she told him. "The night's still young." He

turned to go, but just as he cleared her door, she called out,

"Joe?"

He stopped and actually hesitated for a moment, but shook

it off. "Look—that stuff you did with the clerk. Never do

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anything like that to me. Never. Promise?"

She nodded, looking suddenly serious. "I promise, Joe. You

know I'd never do anything like that to you."

"I don't know anything about anything any more," he responded

and walked down the hall.

His room proved to be a mirror image of hers, but with two

slightly smaller but still plush beds. He put the packs down

and looked around, for the first time noticing a small sink in

one comer, with a pipe coming out of the back and angling

down like a spigot. Looking a little closer, he discovered a rod

and handle on the floor next to the sink that actually went

through the floor. Curious, he pushed down on it, finding it

something like a bicycle pump. Pumping it a bit harder, he

saw water coming out of the spigot and into the basin. He

checked and found it cool but not cold and marveled anew at

how clever the people who designed and built this place were.

The pump took very little effort, so he wasn't bringing water

up from anywhere. Probably there were tanks on the roof, he

decided, so the pump only opened some sort of valve when it

was pushed—it had turned halfway around when he'd pushed

it down the first time, and twisted back at rest—and the pump's

suction just drew water a short distance into the sink line. It

was clever. More than likely there were huge cisterns up there

catching rain off the lake, supplemented when necessary by

hauling water up to the top.

The water closets were at either end of the hall, and he was

tempted to find out if they had flush toilets, but that would

wait. He'd know soon enough.

Using the water and towels, he gave himself something of

a sponge bath and turned two bright white towels almost black

doing so, then changed into his last clean breechclout. He

reminded himself to find out about laundry services here and

that he had to get over to that market the next day and buy a

new pair of sandals, or, perhaps, boots. Maybe both, he thought

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77

after a moment. After all, he was here on Ruddy gore's expense

account, and to hell with Poquah.

Satisfied as he could be, and with his hair combed and

fastened by a headband, he left the room and went down the

hall, stopping at Marge's room. He knocked. When there was

no answer, he tried the door. It opened, and he peered inside,

but the room was empty.

Well, he thought, so much for company for dinner. That

brought him up short for a moment, and he frowned. Come to

think of it, in the days since she'd come out of that forest with

wings, he'd never seen her eat. He wondered if she did, and,

if so, what.

CHAPTER 7

ON THE CONVENTIONS OF

UNCONVENTIONAL CONVENTIONS

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/( is permissible for a while magician to buy a black magician a

drink, or vice versa, openly at convention, without poisoning it.

—Rules, VI, 201(b)

RUDDYGORE ARRIVED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE AFTERNOON OF

the next day, accompanied by Durin and Macore and also by

an extremely large retinue. He made a grand sort of entrance,

being carried in in an ornate, gold-embossed sedan chair on

the backs of four dark, burly men wearing loincloths and turbans.

They brought him right up in the chair on the lifting

stairs from the stables, so that the proper impression was actually

enhanced as he rose into view. Besides, the whole thing

wouldn't have fitted through the front doors.

The sedan chair was the immediate object of interest for all

in the lobby area, and there was quite a crowd by this time.

Joe had been sitting in the lobby bar for about an hour, waiting

for this, having been awakened by Poquah, and even he had

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JACK L. CHALKER

79

to admit it was really impressive. The rest of the people checking

in had been a pretty weird lot, with robes and strange chants

and bizarre animals and birds accompanying the costumed magicians,

but this one had real style.

A clearly prompted Macore, looking resplendent in scarlet

and silver noble's dress and leading the parade, walked solemnly

back to the door and opened it. After a dramatic pause,

the huge sorcerer got out, looking imperiously neither to the

right nor to the left, instead just standing there waiting to be

admired. He wore formal opera clothes best suited to the nineteenth

century on Joe's own world, including a full opera cape,

and carried a brilliantly polished mahogany walking slick with