Horrors of the Dancing Gods

help somebody who needed it, then maybe they all deserved to be going one way to Yuggoth on the Eibon.

He was determined to approach her as soon as he had the chance. That, however, was easier said than done; other than at meals, she appeared to be spending most of her time alone in her stateroom, and he didn't even know where that was. Meanwhile, the disapproving Poquah tended to join him for day meals. Marge might understand, but she was for the night, and he'd not seen the girl after dark.

It happened early in the morning of the second day out. He hadn't slept well and had arisen before dawn, breaking and then recasting the stock pentagram of protection around the bed, leaving Poquah out cold. He had slipped out quietly and gone on deck, since he felt far more comfortable in the open air with whomever or whatever he might meet than inside, where unexpected daylight or radiation from the sun through the clouds didn't always reach. The beating of the gaunts and the vast stretches of open ocean made for heavy winds, but it was very hot and they weren't a real problem. In fact, he walked out into a brief predawn shower and found it more refreshing than irritating.

The gaunts were already beginning to slow as light seemed ready to creep above the horizon. He watched as they settled the hovecraft gently into the water, where the telltale rocking and odd pitching of a craft in heavy seas were sudden and unmistakable. Then down they came, gently settling on top, sinking below a rail and possibly down into a recess that would be covered by day. He hadn't had any particular yen to find out for sure about that.

For a short while they just drifted there, bobbling around, the bridge apparently keeping them close to a single position by steering in low, lazy circles wherever ocean current and wave wanted to move them, until, just as dawn broke, the two huge kraken beasts surfaced not far away, looked around with their Creature from the Black Lagoon faces, saw the craft, and oozed over toward it like great porpoises or perhaps a real nightmare of a Loch Ness monster until they were at the bow. Giant webbed hands reached up, took hold of the towing chains, and, with the help of some dark and indistinct crew members below, dragged out the lines until they were well forward of the craft. At that point they began to swim, taking their bearing from the sun, and within a short time were sufficiently in sync to produce the familiar roll of kraken power.

It was still cloudy with light rain, although he could see the sun coming up far off in the distance, showing how localized the shower really was, and he turned from watching the harnessing, or the changing of the power guard as it were, and was startled to see the girl leaning against the rail, looking out at the sea on the other side of the forward deck walk, just below the bridge.

She seemed oblivious to him, to the rain, to much of anything, so he swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and wandered over toward her in what he hoped seemed a casual and natural manner.

She was aware of him, though; as he approached and got very close, she began slowly to edge her way aft and toward an interior hatch.

'I–I'm sorry if I scared you!' he called to her. 'I didn't mean any harm!'

She hesitated a moment, and he could see the fear and uncertainty in her eyes but then she bolted into the open doorway and was gone. He resisted the impulse to follow her. He'd made the first move; now it was up to her if she wanted to follow up with him. He was smart enough to realize that any kind of forced persistence would send exactly the wrong message.

He was actually a bit surprised at her action, though; he wasn't used to women not being instantly friendly and attracted to him, even if his own spells kept him from fully understanding why. It was still a matter of ego in a sense, and there was a bit of a nagging letdown that the first girl he'd ever found attractive in any way was somehow immune to the charm all the ones he couldn't care less about found irresistible.

Still, what must she think of anyone with passage on this ship? If she was the prize for some terrible bargain, now being sent to evil as Poquah had surmised, then what did she think he and his faerie companions might be?

She didn't show up for breakfast during the early morning period, so he prepared to go through his exercises, jog a few times around the main deck, and then lounge around in the hot sun on the afterdeck, figuring that he would at least be accessible to anybody during that whole period.

There was seldom anyone on deck — or almost anywhere else on the ship — who was awake and active during this daylight period, with the mornings being particularly deserted. He had that weird feeling of being watched again but no longer even bothered to try to catch whoever or whatever was spying. Let them catch him!

This morning, though, the second time around the deck area, he felt something go in his upper calf and suddenly came up with a really strong muscle spasm that collapsed him onto the deck for a moment in sheer agony. Trying to put some kind of pressure on it while massaging the leg helped a little, and the intensity of the spasm diminished, but he was through running for the time being, that was for sure.

Gingerly, he tried to stand up, using the rail as a support, in one way happy that nobody had seen him go down like that and in another way wishing that there were a few concerned passersby to help him to his feet. Yow! He hadn't had a charley horse like that in ages!

It wasn't comfortable to walk on, but it was manageable to a degree. The blood flow had been screwed up and there was probably slight bruising from the spasm, but in his experience the only thing that would help now would be a good massage. He made his way carefully to a bench and for the first time saw messages posted on a board just above it. Funny — he hadn't really noticed the board before.

Many were the usual — black masses every night at midnight in the chapel, a promo for a book on the scenic ruins of Arkham available in the gift shop, another flier for pterodactyl tours of Mount Doom, that sort of thing. One item, however, just block printing on a small index card tucked in a corner, caught his eye.

'Massage,' it read. 'Day or night. Agamemnon Garfia, days, Alestair Crowley IV, nights. Cabin 33, float deck. No appointment necessary, charge to ship's account.'

That was fairly far down, on the deck where you boarded, and inside, so it was entirely possible that it was some kind of trap. Still, Poquah had said with some confidence that they wouldn't bother to trap anybody here, not on their way to Yuggoth, and certainly nobody had been anything but nice or at worst noncommittal to him since they'd come aboard. Why not? The leg didn't feel much better, and if he got somebody good to work on it now, he might well be jogging again by the next morning.

Aware that he could still be doing something terribly stupid, he nonetheless made his way down to the float deck and sought out cabin thirty-three, an inside cabin down the center hall. It wasn't nearly as pleasant down there as it was topside; you could feel far more of the motion of the ship, and you could also hear the moaning and groaning of the lost souls piled up in cargo below.

Cabin thirty-three looked pretty much like all the others from the outside, but like several others in the center passageway leading aft to the purser's station, it had a small plaque by the door noting that it was not a passenger cabin at all but something more official. Some said 'Chief Engineer' or 'Medical' or 'Clergy' — best to avoid that one! — but this one just said 'Please Enter.' Hesitating yet another moment and wondering if he was being a fool, he took a deep breath, turned the knob, and pulled open the door, almost ready to run for it should the sight that was about to meet his eyes so horrify him that he needed to escape.

But there was no horrible visage, no fangs, no coffins; just a larger than expected area with two roomettes, each with a standard massage table, a bunch of towels, a small dressing room and closet area, and another door. It was dark, but the smell was of liniments, not incense, and he'd seen this sort of place at Terindell. If it was a trap, it was a good one.

'Get undressed and lie facedown on the table one to your right,' a think, heavily accented man's voice called from somewhere beyond the inner door. 'I'll be with you in just a moment.'

Well, a loincloth wasn't much in the way of clothes, simple to remove and hang up, and he hadn't used sandals since coming aboard, so it was pretty easy to do as requested and lie flat.

The door opened, and a black-robed figure emerged, its face swathed in a cowl and an unnatural mistiness that made it nearly impossible to see any features. He wasn't a big man, if indeed he was a man, but he came in and stood right there, and two arms that looked surprising strong and muscular for one who appeared so slight emerged from the sleeves, reaching for the liniments. He stepped up on a platform that pulled out from the side of the table to give him the requisite height and position and started to work.

'You are too tense!' the masseur snapped. 'Relax! I am not going to eat you or bite you. I am going to make you feel better!' His voice lost its harsh tone. 'I know how this ship can spook some folks, but that is a very