The Haunted Earth

'It isn't that,' Helena said. 'The mints are fine. As I said, I've already eaten—'

'Here, then,' the alien innkeeper said, shoving the dish into her hands. 'You take them and have them later on, in your room, compliments of the house.' He smiled at her: greasily.

'I couldn't—'

'I insist,' the maseni myth figure said.

'Thank you,' she said. She took the mints, holding the dish as if it were a time bomb.

Tesserax signed the register and got their room keys. 'No need to send a porter with us,' he told Hogar. 'We have our own mechanical to get the bags, and well find the room ourselves.'

They followed the robot as it wheeled the luggage cart to the elevators which, Tesserax explained, were physical additions to the myth structure, since no elevators had existed when the Gilorelamans Inn was first imagined.

The second floor ambience was much like that of the first floor, though the carpeting here was a deep, cool green. Jessie, Helena and the hell hound had a two-bedroom suite at the far end of the long, main corridor, while Tesserax's room was right next door. The drawing room of the suite was exquisite, with golden tapestries and heavy velvet-like draperies, comfortable furniture, an indoor fountain where three maseni myth figures spouted water onto one another's heads. Like all maseni rooms, this was a large one, far larger than they required, with a fourteen-foot ceiling of alternating squares of dark and light wood in a stunning parquet. The bedrooms were identical, spacious, and lavishly appointed.

'I think I like this place!' Helena said, flopping down on a bed that was ten feet long and seven wide.

Tesserax showed them where the baths were. 'These, too, are additions, realities intrude on the original make-believe. But what good are myths if they aren't useful? And how useful would a hotel be, these days, without bathrooms?'

'True enough,' Jessie said.

As they stepped out of the third bath and back into the drawing room, a knock sounded on the door.

'Come in,' Tesserax said.

Tooner Hogar entered, bearing a wicker basket full of fruit, all wrapped in plastic. 'Compliments of the house,' he said, smiling slickly and handing the basket to Jessie.

'I — uh — well, thank you,' the detective said.

'Try one of those,' the innkeeper said, pointing to a large red fruit that looked like a combination between an Earth apple and an Earth raspberry, purple and nubbly.

'Well, maybe later,' Jessie said.

'Perhaps the lady would like something,' Hogar said, as Helena came out of the bedroom to see what was going on.

'What might I like?' she asked, stepping closer to see.

Hogar reached out and tore the sheet of plastic wrap from the gift basket and, bowing slightly toward Helena, he said, 'Some home world fruit, dear lady. This is a marvelous collection. I believe you will find each piece delicious, fresh and clean.'

'I don't know if I should eat any alien—'

'Oh,' Hogar said, 'you will find our home world fruit perfectly compatible with your digestive system. Haven't you eaten any imports, back on your own world?'

Helena said, 'No, I—'

Hogar plucked the raspberry-apple from the basket, rubbed it against one sleeve to polish it, and held it toward her. 'Here. Eat, eat! There is nothing to be afraid of!'

Before she could find some new way to refuse the poisoner's gift, their conversation was interrupted by a booming laugh so loud it shook the walls and hurt their ears. Immediately following this came a crashing sound that slammed through the hotel like an explosion in its foundations.

'What in the world—' Helena began.

'It's Pearlamon and Gonius, at it again!' Hogar the Poisoner said. He put the raspberry-apple back in the basket, turned and hurried into the main hall, his robes fluttering behind him.

'Who are Pearlamon and Gonius?' Jessie asked Tesserax.

'Two gods,' the alien said.

They followed Hogar into the corridor and saw the source of the thumping racket that was still going on. In the middle of the hall, half-way back toward the elevators, two huge maseni males, dressed in little loincloths and headbands, were wrestling, tossing each other into the walls, lacking and punching and twisting ears, battering noses and pulling hair and biting necks.

'Maseni gods are a lively sort,' Tesserax explained. 'They always have to be up to something. Wrestling, boxing, engaging in relay races, drinking and singing…'

'Well, anyway,' Jessie said, 'it's not going to get dull around here.'

Chapter Nineteen

That same night, Jessie woke in the dark bedroom and found something soft and warm filling his mouth. For a moment, he suspected someone was trying to jam a pillow down his throat, but when he came fully awake, he realized the truth. He and Helena had gone to sleep while lying on their sides, facing each other; in the hours since, he had slid toward the foot of the bed, and now he held one of her delectable, round breasts in his mouth. Or part of one of her breasts, anyway. It was difficult, if not impossible, he knew, to hold all of one of Helena's breasts in his mouth.

He relaxed when he realized no one was trying to smother him. He would have been perfectly content to remain like that, nipple on his tongue, until morning, had he not heard the sound that — he realized upon hearing it once more — had originally awakened him: a moan.

He tensed, staring into the darkness.

Silence.

Imagination?

Then it came again, a low and agonized cry that originated either in the drawing room of the suite or from the corridor beyond. It cut across his spine like an ice pick and ended his sleepy satisfaction. He let go of Helena's breast and drew gently away from her, sat up and listened for the sound to come again.

It did: louder, more drawn out, more agonized than ever, like the cry of a man who knew he was rapidly dying….

Jessie slid out of bed, felt around on the floor and found his robe, put it on and belted it tightly around the waist. His narcotics dart gun was on the dresser, and he managed to pick it up, check that the magazine was in place and slip it in a robe pocket without waking anyone. He walked quietly into the drawing room and stood there in the darkness, waiting.

Again: moaning.

Now, he realized that the injured party — whoever or whatever it was — was in the corridor beyond the drawing room. Moving quickly across the room, he pulled the door open and looked into the dimly lit hallway. One of the gods lay there, in front of the door, sprawled on his back, his hefty arms thrown out at his sides, his legs spread like two lifeless hunks of dark blubber. His tentacles wriggled senselessly as he groaned.

Jessie bent over the prostrate giant and looked into the amber eyes. 'What's the matter?'

'I've been done in,' the god said.

'Poisoned?'

'Ah, that dastardly Hogar!' the god said, and he moaned twice as loudly as before. 'He'll do anything for a price.'

'What can I do to help you?' Jessie asked.

The tentacles wriggled more quickly than ever. 'Nothing. Nothing at all! I have been dealt a foul intestinal blow, and I must succumb. But don't fear, my friend. I know who paid the dastardly Hogar, and I will seek revenge in my next life! It was Pearlamon, that odorous piece of godflesh, that pretender to true divinity!'

'What's going on here?' Helena asked. She had come, nude, from the bedroom and stood in the doorway,