Demons of the Dancing Gods (35 page)

dissolve and shrink into human form once more. Soon only

the Count himself stood there, looking much as he had looked

back at the Dark Tower. He smiled and nodded, then came

over to them. For a moment he examined them with a critical

eye, then noted Marge's golden necklace and Joe's lone earring.-

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"I assume that these hold the communicators the thief spoke

about."

Joe nodded. "So we're told."

Boquillas reached out and took the necklace in two fingers,

then pulled. It was still intact, impossibly so, as if it had come

right through Marge's neck, but it was off. With a quick motion,

he reached up and pulled on Joe's earring as well. It, too,

came off. "Hey! What?" Joe managed, but Boquillas silenced

him with a nonmagical gesture, holding up his hand.

"A thousand pardons for this, but, you see, although I trust

you just fine, I can not really trust Ruddygore. These will be

put in a safe place and returned to you, I promise, when you're

ready to leave the retreat. I simply can not afford to have you

even inadvertently invite him in without my permission and

restrictions. You do understand, I hope."

They didn't really like it, but they had little choice, and it

did seem reasonable. Both, though, remembered that Ruddygore

had not really trusted Boquillas, even though the two were

on good terms with each other. No top sorcerer ever could

fully trust another of at least equal and possibly superior powers.

Boquillas turned, said, "Follow me now," and walked up

to a small gate which opened inward as he approached. There

had been no hue and cry at their arrival—in fact, the place

looked deserted—but Boquillas wasn't in need of a lot of

servants. He had a large place in the City-State of Marahbar

for that, after all. This was his place and his alone.

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They entered the courtyard, which looked somewhat overgrown

and unused, and headed for the small castle's main door.

Marge glanced down at the soft earth and gasped, which caused

the other two to stop and turn in puzzlement. "What's the

matter?" Joe asked her.

"Look at the prints I'm making in this wet ground! I'm

practically sinking in it!"

"That is Esmerada's spell, or part of it," the sorcerer explained

to her. "Kauri normal construction is far less dense

than that of humans or even most other fairies. The spell is

actually a transmuter, altering the atomic structure so that you

are made up of much heavier stuff. Don't let it trouble you. I

will examine it in more detail tonight and see about unraveling

it. Esmerada is quite good, though, at that son of thing. We

may have to wait until Ruddygore does her in before the spell

is loosened enough to be worked on. Still and all, it's temporary.

Come in and let's get cleaned up and have a decent

meal."

They entered. As Boquillas went along the dark castle halls,

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torches burst spontaneously into light, and even fireplaces began

to roar. Marge recalled Ruddygore's comment that Boquillas

had a penchant for cheap magic and theatrics. She

wondered who was expected to cook this meal and how fresh

the food would be. That startled her, too—thoughts of a meal.

She was starting to get hungry for real food, she realized,

although she hadn't needed to eat since plunging into that

molten pit back in Mohr Jerahl.

Boquillas led them to a combination dining hall and study,

the walls of which were lined with copies of the Books of Rules

and other volumes. He stopped by one wall briefly, then took

them up a flight of stone stairs to a second floor area.

There were only two rooms and a large alcove upstairs. The

Count led them to the far room and opened the door. It was a

spacious bedroom, with thick carpeting on the floor and carpets

of various designs hung on the walls as well. A window looked

out on the lake, providing a nice view, once the thick shutters

were opened.

"Things are a trifle dusty," the Count said apologetically,

"but I'm afraid it's been a while since anyone was here. The

small door over there leads to an operable shower and toilet,

which you share with my own room. I have begun the fire

under the cistern above, so there should be hot water. Soap,

shampoo, and all the amenities are there as well, and I will

allow you some time to clean yourselves up. A bit of conjuring

has permitted me to take a look at you and shape some appropriate

clothing, which you'll find in the chest over there. When

you're washed, dressed, and relaxed, join me downstairs in

the main hall, and we will eat and talk."

With that the Count left them alone. Marge looked up at

Joe. "What do you make of all this?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, but it's a damn sight better

than a cell in that witch's tower. I do know, though, that I'm

in bad need of a cleanup, a good meal, and a nice, long sleep."

"I'll go for that," she agreed.

The shower, which used a rooftop container that apparently

caught rain and held it, was ingenious and practical. There was

even hot and cold running water, from two separate tanks,

although it took a lot of experimentation to get the balance

right. The soap was the heavy lard soap so common to Husaquahr,

but there was also a liquid soap that made a good

shampoo, and both Joe and Marge used it.

The climate here was tropical but damp, and the stone of

the castle made things a bit chillier than they normally would

have been.

The clothing Boquillas had conjured up for them had to

conform to the Rules on such things, of course, so Joe found

a clean breechclout and a pair of well-made sandals for himself.

Marge, who had not been able to wear clothing since getting

her wings, now could once again and found that Boquillas had

interesting tastes. He had provided a loose slit skirt of some

satiny yellow material that hung on her hips and a halter top

of the same material, as well as a pair of matching, opentopped,

high-heeled shoes that gave her a couple of inches in

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height but also quite a wiggle to her walk, due not only to the

shoes themselves but also to the excess weight they had to bear.

When Marge had finished dressing, she paraded in front of

Joe and asked, "Well? How do I look?"

"Beautiful. I'm turned on already."

She laughed. "At least I come up to your thick neck now."

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She looked at him playfully. "Sir, may I have your arm?"

"Delighted," he responded, and they went out and down to

the main hall.

As far as they knew, there were only the three of them in

the castle or on the whole island, yet the table was set with

fancy tableware and covered tureens and dishes. Boquillas,

sitting in a high-backed chair trimmed with gold, rose and

greeted them with a smile, closing a book he'd been consulting.

It looked very much like one of the volumes of Rules, but

since neither could read the language, they couldn't tell which

volume it might be.

"You look wonderful," he told them. "Please be seated."

"You look pretty good yourself," Joe replied, and it was

true. Gone were the last vestiges of the scrawny, bearded prisoner

of the Dark Tower. Boquillas wore the fine clothes of a

civilized gentleman, reminding Marge, at least, of some Spanish

don, complete with ruffled shirt. His beard had darkened

to black with only a fleck or two of gray here and there, and

his hair, now washed, trimmed, and combed, matched that

coloration. On each hand he wore several large golden rings

in which were set precious stones.

Boquillas took them through the meal, from appetizer to

salad to soup to main course, which was a whole roast pheasant

perfectly done, all accompanied by very fine wine, but the talk

they had was mostly small talk. Marge found herself eating

ravenously, as much as or more than Joe, and she had to ask

about it.

"When Esmerada took your wings, so to speak, she took

with them the powers of Kauri," the Count explained. "That

meant your very unusual biochemistry had to be changed, and

this was done. With a structure that is three times as heavy as

that of a human or earthbound fairy—about the density of a

dwarf or a kobold, actually—you require more to fuel it. You

see now why these spells are easier put on than taken off, I

think. It is not enough just to change one thing. When you

change that, you also change thousands of other things as well

by sheer necessity. To put on the spell is easy, as much of this

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follows automatically. Magic runs by natural laws as fixed as

any in the world. But to remove the spell, one must decode it.

I must crack Esmerada's personal secret code, then undo the

spell in such a way so that you aren't killed in the process of

restoration."

That seemed to make sense. "Just how—dense—am I?"

"You mean weight? Well, if you were human, someone

your size would weigh, perhaps, eighty pounds. She tripled

your density without adding to your apparent size, so that would

make you about two hundred and forty pounds. It's not as

complex as you make it out to be. Just imagine a feather. Light,

airy, a floater. Now transmute that feather's atoms by adding

a bit here and subtracting a bit there so that those same atoms,

the same number, are atoms of lead. That's what was done to

you."

She nodded. "But I still feel the same. I still have the same,

well, urges and inclinations."

The sorcerer grinned, and Joe looked at her curiously.

"You are still you, that's why," the Count told her. "Why

not just relax and take things as they come? It is always best

in this crazy world."

They continued to talk after dinner, this time on more substantive

topics. Boquillas wanted to know their basic histories,

background, and details on the scheme. They decided to keep

as close-mouthed as possible, but he had surmised much.

"Of all the sorcerers of this world, Ruddygore is the most

complacent and satisfied with things as they are," he told them.

"I suspect this comes mostly from his being able to move

between the worlds, almost at will. You know—the man who

can travel anywhere, see, enjoy, and experience anything he

wishes, then comes back to his comfortable, stable home to

rest. The trouble is, for the rest of us it's not all that simple.

This world is, after, all, comfortable only for those with wealth

or magical power that brings such wealth. The vast bulk of the

population, both human and fairy, toils under a system where

muscle is the only thing that matters. It is their labor that makes

the comfortable lives of the few possible, yet they share very

little of the rewards. Nor can they—for if they stopped their

unceasing toil, the whole world would grind to a halt and

collapse. It is not the magicians and kings of this world who

are essential to it, though—if we all vanished overnight, this

world would probably be the better for it."

"You sound as if you feel guilty for being one of the leaders

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here," Joe noted. "It seems to me that you're talking one side

and living the other."

"A fair point," Boquillas conceded, "but any social revolution

here will never come from below. It can't, as long as

magical talent is the measure of authority. It must be imposed

from above by ones who are firmly committed to changing

things."

"A benevolent despotism," Marge said.

"If you like. The alternative is either a malevolent despotism

or a totally amoral one that doesn't care about anybody and

has a stake only in keeping things the same. Esmerada is a

good example of a malevolent despot, and your friend Ruddy

gore is the amoral one. In a way, he's worse than the witch

queen."

"Huh?" they both said at once.

"Yes, I know that's a shocking statement, but consider that

even the evil ones are committed to change. Not the kind of

change we would want, I grant you, but change all the same.

It is Ruddygore who stands against change of any sort. Any

society whose intelligentsia knows atomic theory and structure,

to name just one example, is one with the potential to grow,

to create machines to ease people's labor, to produce, in fact,

a system whereby everyone profits from his labors according

to his contributions. We have a complex, multiracial society

here with everything it needs to become a great civilization,

yet we find innovation stilled, invention wiped out. Even in