Horrors of the Dancing Gods

for me come hard. The talent's still there, and my brain almost always says, `Macore, you're still twenty years old and the world's greatest thief,' but then my body interrupts and says, 'No, you ain't, either. You're an old fart, and your adventure days are past.' And that's the way it is. I'm lucky I can do it enjoyably and comfortably, but I'm falling apart. I can see the darkness at the end coming even though I can hardly believe it's me in this situation, and I can't figure for the life of me how it all went so fast. But the only thing I got left is my soul, if it's worth much these days and if it doesn't have too many second mortgages on it. I ain't sure what comes after the dark I can see, but I sure don't want to hurry it.'

It was a strong, profound, and serious statement clearly coming from his heart, and it wasn't easy to dismiss what he was saying or talk him out of it because the truth of it was all too evident. For the first time since coming there Marge suddenly realized that there was a chance that one day she'd come for a visit and Macore wouldn't be there anymore, or anywhere else, either. Even Irving would age almost before her eyes and one day crumble to dust as well.

That was why you weren't supposed to get too close to humans, ever.

'Macore…' she began, but couldn't think of anything to say.

He smiled. 'Don't worry about it. It's time. The younger generation replaces the old. In one sense I've got better odds than the rest of you, since there's something beyond that dark wall for me, but you're stuck where you are. In a sense, that's the other reason for not coming. Maybe I get killed, but that's looming anyway. But what if I got you killed, or Poquah, by being too slow or too sore or just not up to moving at the speed safety demanded? You're probably gonna get yourselves killed anyway, since you keep going out on these damn-fool quests, but if that happens, it should be on your head, not my conscience or my soul. You're immortals. You die and that's it. I won't be responsible for that.'

'We'll miss not having a master thief of your experience, but I understand,' Marge assured him. 'Still, I wish we weren't going in so damned blind. This is tough enough as it is, but I think I'd give a lot for that map.'

Macore grinned. 'Oh, I don't think you need to give up that much,' he said playfully, reaching into a folder and pulling out a large folded piece of parchment. He handed it to her, and she unfolded it.

'The map! But — you didn't let Joe go off without it, did you?'

Macore sounded hurt. 'Of course not. They have exactly the same map you do right here. The thing was contained in a monstrously encrypted spell. You don't think I wouldn't make a copy, do you? It's almost second nature to steal anything that comes along, even this. I lifted some pretty nifty official secrets with this technique once upon a time, and several treasure maps.'

It was quite dark, so they brought the lamps close to examine the map. It showed a continental mass that even looked ugly.

'Looks like a giant clutching hand with claws,' Marge noted.

'If you take the hovecraft, which is the fastest way there, then you'll land here, at Red Bluffs,' Macore told them, pointing to an area midway between the fingers of the 'hand.'

'Seems pretty much like an advertisement to land in a town,' Irving noted worriedly.

'Well, it's not all that bad, and it's not like they won't know you're coming,' the former thief replied. 'The hovecraft is the only assurance that you'll get by all the evils that surround the place, and that means tickets, and that means everybody official will know, right? It's no big deal. You have to take Yuggoth on its own terms. Sure, it's the source of all evil, but in many ways it's just another place with a lot folks, a lot of races, a lot of threats, and maybe even some normal types. Even some good guys.'

'Good guys? But you and everybody else said you couldn't trust anybody there!'

'You can't trust them, but that's because you never know who you can trust. Look, think it out. You can't have pure evil without victims. Otherwise it's just an intellectual exercise. So the vast majority of folks on Yuggoth are, like everywhere else, just ordinary folks. Hell, suppose there weren't any normal folks for vampires to bite. I mean, they'd all starve, right? And there have to be folks to dominate, to take over, to rule and oppress, like that. And now and again, from that kind of stock, rises somebody who can really battle the evil bastards. It's just a million times more likely that the scientists really are mad, that the nice boy next door really is an ax murderer, that the local meat market — well, you get the idea.'

'Um, yeah. Sort of.'

Irving held up the Rules volume. 'I've been studying things about it. It's not a place where I'd like to live, but at least it's still got rules. Wolfsbane, garlic, crosses, those sorts of things still work. There's nothing over there that's any more absolute than here.'

'Well, yeah. But there's a lot more of it, and it's a lot more concentrated and in a lot more varieties. And once you're there, you're committed to one of a limited series of options,' Macore warned them.

'Yeah? Like what?' Marge asked.

'Well, get control of that McGuffin thing and you're made and home free. Otherwise, you'll wind up either being trapped there or corrupted, warped, and changed until you are more at home there than here. Nobody who gets on the hovecraft ever comes back and walks off it at this end.'

'You said you'd been there — and you got back,' Irving noted.

He nodded. 'Yeah, but you don't know the deal I had to make or what I had to do. That's why I have such doubts about what's beyond that darkness I see ahead. You don't want to do anything close to that if you can help it, kid. I was stupid-ass lucky, nothing else. And these two — they are made of different stuff. Don't count on coming out of there whole. You plan to get that McGuffin and wish all of you out whole. You just don't want to deal with any alternatives.'

CRUISING DESTINY'S THREAD

The Land of the Sources of Evil shall always be across the waters toward some bleak shore.

— Rules, Vol. p. 6660)

THEY HAD DISCUSSED VARIOUS WAYS OF REACHING YUGGOTH, but eventually the evidence both from Macore and from other old hands around the docks convinced them that the hovecraft was the only reasonable way in. Out was a different question entirely. Additionally, word came by messenger from Ruddygore that their passage had been taken care of, which kind of settled the question. The message also stated that as yet even the nearly all powerful wizard hadn't been able to put a background to the halfling or a true name to the slain stepfather. It seemed almost inconceivable that that much could be hidden from Ruddygore, and this indicated to them all that whoever was behind this was very powerful and very formidable, indeed, in all realms.

The boat sailed once a week from its own private dock about ten kilometers west of the resort. It was a lonely spot, forced on the operator by a tourist industry that didn't want anybody scared off.

In point of fact, it looked like nobody wanted much to do with them. The spot consisted of a large pier, a small closed terminal and ticketing kiosk, and nothing else or any sign that anyone had set up even temporarily to help the passengers either on or off. There wasn't even a large sign to indicate what docked or sailed from this remote place, but somehow, just looking at it, you knew. You could feel it, a kind of deep chill down to your very soul.

Of course, gargoyles on the ticket kiosk didn't help, either.

Large black birds circled above and occasionally came down and landed on the kiosk. The huge yellow-eyed creatures seemed to be the masters of the area; the gulls and others so prevalent elsewhere seemed to avoid the place.

'Ravens,' Marge noted. 'It figures.'

Irving walked up to the kiosk, ignoring the birds, and read the very fancy sign in the window. 'Arrives one hour after sundown every Monday, leaves one hour before sunrise every Tuesday. Nice. I wonder what happens if