Demons of the Dancing Gods (42 page)

shook his head from side to side.

"Well," Hiccarph said casually, "he certainly had your number."

The Count, breathing heavily, pulled himself weakly to a

sitting position and for a moment just buried his face in his

hands. Finally he looked up at the demon and sighed. "It—it

was horrible! Horrible! If he was that strong, why did he not

take me in the Valley months ago?"

JACK L. CHALKER 229

"Because he cheated," the demon told him. "First of all, he

knew you very well indeed, while out there he was fighting an

unknown enemy. But, most of all, he cheated. He brought in

the weapons of Earth to face the magic of Husaquahr, and that

was something he could never do in public, where all could

see or feel or sense it. There would be those who would get

- ideas, and others who would like what they saw. Out here, it

was a safer bet. Now, though, his soul is lost to the world. A

pity, for I'd hoped to have him myself."

Boquillas looked up at his demon general. "He is dead,

then?"

"I search high and low and cannot find him in the world.

He is vanquished by his very trap that really won him the

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contest. He knew you well, knew that you were powerless to

face down someone totally vulnerable, innocent, and defenseless.

But when he chose that path for the coup de grace, he

also was most vulnerable to outside forces not so easily swayed."

BoquiIIas tried to get to his feet, failed, then tried again,

clutching the battlement stones for support, and finally made

it. He gasped and coughed as he did so. After a few seconds,

he got some strength and took in several deep breaths. Finally

he said, "Then we've won."

"Yes. We've won," the demon agreed.

"Well, not exactly," came a voice from the window nearest

them. They both turned. Sitting in the window, looking fairly

relaxed, was Joe de Oro, clean and rested, dressed in a breechclout

and sandals, and wearing his great sword.

CHAPTER 16

WHEN THE HURLY-BURLY'S DONE...

A woman has no fury like Hell scorned.

—Old Husaquahrian Saying

BOTH THE BARON AND THE GENERAL WERE STARTLED, BUT

not particularly worried. Hiccarph reached out a long arm to

Joe and swiped at him as if swatting at a fly. Joe flinched, but

the demonic hand passed right through him without effect, and

he relaxed and smiled. "Having problems, fish-breath?"

"You're the one from the tent back in the Valley," the demon

recalled. "I understand it all now. You're from Earth, aren't

you?"

"Give that devil a cigar," Joe responded, gaining a little

confidence.

"You are subject to the magic of Husaquahr, so I wouldn't

feel so confident. You have no one left to protect either you

or your female companion, who, I assume, is also from Earth."

"You're right on that," the swordsman conceded, "but not

on the other. Ruddygore didn't think that a battle between two

such illustrious sorcerers should go unappreciated by all except

vagrant travelers from Earth and a notorious thief. He issued

some invitations, and, what do you know, everybody accepted.

You see, he sort of made a bet with each one, and even though

you did him in, for which I will cheerfully see you in a worse

hell than the one from which you came, he still won the bet.

He was very busy at that convention making deals, you see."

Both the exhausted Boquillas and the demon were fascinated

but hardly worried. "Indeed?" Hiccarph responded. "And what

sort of petty magics can you find against meT

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"Just one," came a thin, nasal voice from behind the demon.

The two on the battlement turned. While Boquillas simply

frowned in puzzlement, the expression on the demon's face

was terrible indeed to behold, and he uttered a groan that

sounded like the death cries of a million damned souls.

The object of this was a small, pudgy little man in monk's

robes, clean-shaven even to his very smooth scalp. He looked

quite cherubic, but his expression was anything but amused.

"Mephistopheles," Hiccarph whimpered. "Wait! I can explain.

.."

"Explain what?" the little monk asked. "That you, a minor

nothing over here in the backwaters, could unilaterally break

the Compact and risk Armageddon without even his Majesty

knowing of it? Well, he knows now, Hiccarph!"

"No!" the demon wailed. "How—how did you find out... ?"

"Ruddygore does a fair amount of business our way, usually

with the minor elementals, of course, but enough to get messages

where he needs to. He's been complaining about this for

years, but we never believed him. We never believed that

anyone in the demonic hierarchy could be both so clever and

so utterly stupid at one and the same time. Finally, he offered

a wager to us. Himself, his soul, all that he had, to the total

and complete service of Hell, if he couldn't prove it to my

satisfaction tonight. It had the approval of the Old Man himself,

in fact. We usually get the average soul without bargains, as

you know, but one of Ruddygore's caliber, right away and

now, is very rare. The Old Man's going to be as pissed by

missing that as he is with your rampant and reckless risk of

the status quo."

"But I could have delivered this whole world to Hell!"

Hiccarph whimpered.

"Bah! You idiot! We're winning now\ We could lose the

whole thing if we're forced into a premature Armageddon.

Well, you'll spoil things no more, now or in the future, until

Armageddon truly comes. An example will be made of you,

Hiccarph, and a most terrible one indeed, I promise you, by

the Old Man himself. Let's see how you like an eternity stoking

fires in the dung pits we reserve for the religious zealots! And

not as supervisor, either—as a common demon ninth class!

And when Armageddon arrives, guess who's going to be right

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DEMONS OF THE DANCING GODS

233

out front leading the first charge into Heaven!"

"No! Wait! I—" the demon screamed, but there was a sudden,

near-blinding flash of light and both figures were gone,

leaving only a very slight smell of sulfur behind that the wind

quickly carried away. Again there was silence.

The silence, though, was broken by a low chuckling. Joe

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turned and saw Boquillas sitting on the battlement wall, looking

highly amused. Finally the sorcerer said, "Well, that's that.

Actually, I have to thank old Ruddygore, wherever he may be.

Now the Dark Baron will put his plans into action without the

meddlings of any Hellish princes—or ex-princes. Yes, indeed,

it was quite a favor you just did me, and I appreciate it."

"Don't appreciate it too much," Joe cautioned him. "Old

monkey wasn't the only onlooker, and I think it's time you

met the rest."

Marge appeared now, looking every bit the Kauri once more,

grand with her wings of power, flitting along the stones in true

fairy fashion. Behind her came a rather large assemblage of

people, all wearing varicolored robes that were made of fine

materials and beautifully tailored.

Marge went over to Joe as Boquillas gaped. "You know the

folks," she said lightly. "Fajera, Docondian, Sargash, Mathala,

Brosnial, Careska, Jorgasnovara, Yiknudssun, O'Fleherity,

Kaladon, and Esmerada?"

The Baron gasped. "Esmerada! But I thought Ruddygore

had killed you!"

Joe looked at Marge quizzically. "O'Fleherity?"

"Darling Esmilio!" Esmerada oozed. "You know me better

than that! I mean, given a choice between a fight to the death

you might not win and a partnership, which would you choose?"

"So that's why he was so well rested," the Baron muttered.

"You traitorous bitch!"

She laughed at him. "Oh, darling, you say the sweetest

things!"

"To business! I have already delayed my departure from

this rotten continent long enough," snarled a huge and powerful-

looking black man in robes of red and yellow. "Although,

I admit, the show was more than worth waiting for."

Boquillas was frankly too tired to care. "So what happens

now, my fellow members of the Council?"

"You've been a baad boy, Essie," Esmerada scolded playfully.

"Got to pay the piper. Playing with real demons in the

real world is a no-no, and you know that."

"You and Kaladon in particular didn't seem so upset at the

Barony when it was going your way," he noted sourly. "And

you, Careska, surely didn't mind when we handed you Leander

on a platter. Fajera, you weren't exactly turning the other cheek

when you helped recruit the Bentar mercenaries. A fine lot you

are! Most of you are blacker than I am!"

"Which is precisely the point," Fajera, the big black man,

shot back. "You heard Mephistopheles. We've a long way yet

to Armageddon, but you provoked it prematurely. At least half

the Council is on the dark end of the art, and the other half

doesn't know which way they'll finally go, but has some idea

that you don't get this far and receive wings, a harp, and eternal

thanks. Maybe Ruddygore got away with it because he was

willing to give his life to stop you, but that's too high a price

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for me. You and your damned visionary dreaming almost got

us screwed for eternity! Now you have to pay."

Boquillas sighed. "Yes, I bet Kaladon and the rest of you

love that. Two vacancies to fill on the Council, and Husaquahr

is yours with its armies in place. You like that idea, Sargash?"

"Enough. Temporal problems are for temporal resolution,"

a distinguished-looking woman in silver robes said. "The vote

has been taken after evidence was presented on a proper complaint

by a member of this Council, now deceased. Shall we

agree on the sentence?"

"We are agreed," the rest chanted.

"Very well, then. Esmilio Boquillas, the problems of the

world and how much or how little each of us gets involved in

them are none of the affair of the Council as a whole. The

Council is agreed that you have made a most grievous breach

of the ethics of the art and hereby expels you from the Council,

with loss of all rank and privileges, and from the Society, whose

covenant you so violated. So say we all, and so do we all act

in concert."

Boquillas just sighed and nodded.

The Council was quiet for a moment, each member's head

bowed as if in prayer. Then they looked up again at the man

who had been the Dark Baron.

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"It is done," the woman in silver intoned. "Let us leave this

place."

With that, they all turned and walked back along the wall,

chatting pleasantly, and disappeared into the castle below.

Joe was disappointed. "That's all7 They cashier him and

that's that?"

"You don't understand, Joe," Marge told him. "They did

the worst thing they could do to him."

Joe looked over at the man, who was still sitting on the

stone wall. "He looks pretty good to me for a guy who just

got scolded."

"Not just scolded, Joe. They took away his power. All of

it! He has no more magical power than you do. Less, in fact.

I doubt if he's even able to do a sleight-of-hand magic trick.

They cut him off from the magic, you see. He's just an ordinary,

totally human, totally nonmagical mortal now."

Joe brightened. "You mean I can bash him?"

"You could," Boquillas agreed, "but why bother? If you

wish to kill me, then do so now. Otherwise, I am going inside

and going to bed." With that he got up, then walked away from

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them down the battlement walkway to the small door, through

it, and back Into the castle.

"Damn!" Joe swore. "He kills the best man in this crazy

world and gets away with it! And I don't have the heart to take

him on, not when he's that beat."

Marge grinned. "Well, we could always do likewise, you

know."

"Huh?"

"There's still the bedroom in there, and we're still here. It

will be a while before Macore gets back with a longboat to

take you off, probably tomorrow sometime. In the meantime,

Boquillas can't get off the island any more than you can, and

all the others have already gone."

"But it's still the middle of the night!" he protested. "You're

not sleepy and I'm not tired."

"And there's no full moon, either," she pointed out.

"Oh—I see..."

Together they went in by way of the window.

The weather turned bad the next day-, delaying Macore's

rescue boat. Ruddygore had sent the little thief back to the

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mainland before the battle between the two sorcerers because

he feared too many people would be noticed and because