Demons of the Dancing Gods (34 page)

"The Baron thought you stabbed him in the back, huh?"

Joe responded.

"Indeed. The Baron was convinced that his battle plans in

the Valley had been betrayed, so that his flanking maneuver

was in itself outflanked. He felt, too, that certain of his powers

had been neutralized; and since he was facing Ruddygore, the

only sorcerer with the guts to defy him openly, he felt that the

additional sapping of power had to come from an outside source.

He blamed me, but I didn't know it at the time. He was, in

fact, quite cordial. He told me he was investigating his own

lacks in that affair and, since I was the foremost theoretician

in the area, he invited me to what amounted to a magical postmortem

of the battle. Naturally, I accepted; even though I

opposed the war,.the idea of being able to study and analyze

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this methodology firsthand was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

I had no reason to suspect his motives, as we had had

many such meetings on a friendly basis before—and I've also

met with the other members of the Council from time to time."

"It was three to one, though, and you got trapped," Joe

guessed.

"Precisely. This box had been specially prepared for me. I

am far too good for them to destroy, even all three, but they

did manage to knock me cold for a period. My defensive spells

were too much for them to unravel in the short time remaining,

so I was carried up here and put inside. It is a bizarre and

humiliating experience, and a humbling one. It must have taken

them months to construct this cell, but it is tight. Within the

inner box not a single spell can be cast, not a single thin strand

of magic can penetrate in either direction. I am totally and

completely powerless within it. The locks arc elaborate and

made of dwarf-forged steel, taking three keys that must be

moved together and in certain ways to unlock them."

Joe had to chuckle. "Crazy. Here I am in a magic box, and

there you are in a nonmagic one. Each of us is helpless where

we are, but might do something if our positions were reversed."

"You know the picking of complex locks?"

"No, but nothing mechanical is foolproof, particularly in

this world. That's why thieves still do a good business. They're

just the local equivalent of truck mechanics."

"What mechanics?"

"Oh, never mind. I— What the hell is thatT

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From the floor above them came terrible screeches and

squawks and a great deal of thumping around. The noise lasted

for some minutes while they waited to see what might be

coming next. Finally things seemed to quiet down once more,

and they heard someone slip down the stairs and land on their

floor. Who or what it might be they couldn't see, but the

upstairs commotion had started the predictable outcry in all the

cells, and so it was impossible to do anything but continue to

wait.

A few minutes passed. Then finally someone approached

the door of Joe's cell and looked inside. "Joe? Is that you?"

The big man was thunderstruck. "Macore? Is that really you

or is this some witch's trick?"

"Oh, it's really me. I was just holding down the fort, so to

speak, when I saw Tiana come out on that broom, captive of

one of those harpies. I figured I better get in here before it was

too late."

"But—how?"

"Let's just say I have a lot of fine feathered friends.

Hmmm... Where's Marge?"

"Next cell—no, the other way."

Macore went over, looked in, then returned. "Fast asleep.

Well, we'll wake her up when we have to. Hmph! Spellbound

doors. This will be a tough one. Even if I work on the hinges,

the damned thing might stay in place."

"Wait a minute! In the cell next to me is Count Boquillas.

He's in a nonmagic cell, and that means locks. And here we

were, just wishing for a good thief!"

Macore walked over and examined the outer door. "That

you in there. Count?"

"Yes, it is me," the cultured voice of Boquillas responded.

"Can you do anything?"

"Let me study the situation for a minute. The outer door's

pretty standard. I'll get my small pick and jeweler's hammer

out and do some probing." For a while there were only small

picking and hammering noises, with all comments and questions

shrugged off by the thief as distracting. Finally they heard

a decisive, hard metallic tap and then the sound of creaking

hinges.

"You did it!" Boquillas breathed, not really believing it.

"But—can you take the inner locks?"

Again Macore set to his work, at one point actually closing

the outer door so he could get rid of the annoying other noises

from the prison area. He began attaching a series of small

magnets around various points in the door, then maneuvering

them with his ear to the inner cell door. Finally he seemed

satisfied, and out again came the pick and tiny hammer. There

were three hard taps, then two more, then one more. "All

right—push on the door now, Count."

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Boquillas did, and the door swung open. Macore found

himself facing a wan, elderly, and very scrawny-looking man

with long, matted, white hair and beard and hard lines in his

face. He didn't look much like the picture Ruddygore had

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DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS JACK L. CHALKER 187

shown them, except for the eyes, which were the same energetic,

almost electric brown eyes of the portrait.

"I can't believe you actually picked the locks so easily,"

Boquillas said wonderingly. "If you only knew how long I

studied them..."

"Oh, it's a talent, just as you have talents," the little thief

responded modestly. "However, a thorough knowledge of all

kinds of lock mechanisms, years of on-and-off practicing on

them, and the right tools help. Come on—let's free the other

two."

Boquillas nodded and made his way out to the hall. At this

point, he stretched and seemed to gain in both strength and

stature as Macore watched him. Before the thief's startled eyes,

the frame filled out and both face and form appeared to grow

younger. Finally all that was left of the old man he had freed

was the hair and beard; the rest was unquestionably the Count

Boquillas of the portrait, his face full of determined self-confidence.

He walked to Joe's cell, looked at the door, chuckled,

then began a series of tracing motions with his left index finger.

The door creaked and then opened a trifle. Joe went over to

it, pushed it, and entered the hall. "You don't know how glad.

I am to meet you, Count," he said sincerely.

Boquillas nodded, then walked down to the next cell.

"Humph! The old girl's getting sloppy. Same damned simple

spell." Again the finger traced and again the door unlocked

itself.

Marge was still fast asleep, but it was a shock to see her.

Without those grand wings, she looked very frail and childlike.

Boquillas stepped inside. "A defrocked Kauri. Amazing."

"Can you restore her?" Joe asked hopefully.

"Certainly, but it will take time. This is a far more complex

spell; if I don't get it right, she'll wind up worse than she is

now. Best I simply add something, which is easy, and take

care of the restoration later." Again a few finger gestures. "This

will give her a jolt of energy to get going and also rearrange

her time sense and eyes to daylight. For the moment, I think

we'd best just get the hell out of here. I assume Ruddygore is

coming?"

"Yeah," Macore told him, "but it won't be quick. These

communicators don't have much of a range, so the message is

going north by eagle."

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"Then I don't think we dare wait for him. I couldn't protect

both of you people, even though I have no worries about myself

any more. I think, also, that I want to go to some place that

is mine and get myself back in shape before going on with

this. Thief, can you handle Ruddygore's amenities?"

"Sure. No problem. But where will you go? And how?"

"Up. Up and over, the same way you came in."

"But eagles can't carry you!"

"No, not eagles. Me. As much as I would like to stick

around for the showdown for personal reasons, these two need

me to get clear not only of the tower but of Witchwood. We'll

go to my retreat on Wolf Island. When Ruddygore is finished

here, send one of your eagles to tell us the news, and we can

plan from there. Agreed?"

Macore nodded. "Sounds fair to me. Oh—Marge is waking

up."

She turned and groaned, then opened her eyes and looked

around, puzzled. "Joe? Macore? Am I dreaming?"

Quickly things were explained to her. With Joe carefully

holding the door open wide so that she would not contact iron,

she walked out and glanced around. "Now what?"

"To the top!" Boquillas said, and they started upstairs.

The rookeries and aviary inside the top level looked like the

remnants of a war zone. There were dead birds, feathers, and

blood all over the place. "The boys were a little messy," Macore

told them.

A ladder and trapdoor brought them to the top of the tower

and outside into the midday sun. Marge was startled. "It's been

a long time since I could look normally at a day like this."

Macore turned and looked upward, then made a series of

motions with his arms. "I just told them everything was fine."

Boquillas nodded. "Good. Let's waste no more time. Stand

back against the far wall, all of you."

They did as instructed and watched as the sorcerer went to

the very edge of the tower's top, then got up on the narrow

ledge. He seemed in intense concentration; then he stretched

out his arms, and they all gasped as he apparently plunged off

the cornice.

But Boquillas did not fall. Instead, rising back up to the top

was an enormous bird, the largest and perhaps the ugliest any

of them had ever seen. It had to weigh close to a ton, and it

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seemed impossible that such a thing could fly. It landed back

on the roof, completely blotting out the sky and giving them

little room to move. "Get on my back," Boquillas' voice came

from the giant, misshapen beak. "I will carry you all to safety.

Be quick. A giant roc is bound to cause a great deal of attention

below."

They needed no urging, but it was scary getting up on that

broad back. They finally did, though. "Now just hold on and

do not panic," Boquillas told them. "Grab one another around

the waist and dig in hard with your feet—quickly!"

They followed his instructions and then felt a tremendous

jolt and bounce. They were airborne.

Boquillas settled down and hovered unnaturally at treetop

level. "Hop off now, thief. You should be able to make your

way down from here."

Macore let loose and looked nervously at the top limbs.

"Yeah, if I don't break my fool neck. Well, here goes." He

slid off and managed to grab onto a branch that held, finally

pulling himself in. The roc then flew away, gaining altitude

and speed as it went. Soon they were high in the warm air and

rapidly heading southwest.

"Over to the right, there is Morikay." Boquillas told his

passengers. "You can see the great castle directly in the center

of town, rising on top of the mesa." They looked and saw a

large city spread out along the banks of a river at the junction

of the main river branch with what had to be the Zhafqua. The

land was quite level; but in the center of the densely populated

area, a single reddish hill with a flat top stuck out, and atop it

was Castle Morikay.

"It looks like Disneyland," Joe commented. He seemed

suddenly struck by other, darker thoughts. "Tiana's in that thing

somewhere."

Marge gave him a squeeze. "We'll get her out. Don't worry

about that. First things first."

He nodded, but was mostly silent for the rest of the journey.

He had no idea of the speed they were making, but it was

in the best tradition of jet airplanes, despite the heavy breeze

and lack of comforts. In only a couple of hours the flat land

gave way to what appeared to be a seacoast. This was Lake

Ktahr, and soon they could see two large islands. The roc

banked toward the southernmost of these, a heavily forested

wilderness. Near the southern end, though, on a bluff, they

could see Boquillas' retreat—a castlelike structure that was

not large as castles went but looked very much the part. Boquillas

descended toward it, landing just outside the low castle

walls.

Joe and Marge slid off quickly, then stood back as the giant

bird reared up, stretched out its massive wings, and seemed to