Horrors of the Dancing Gods

but he'd never thought it would be this base and, well, tacky.

'Gee, it's like a grown-up Disneyland with no cops,' Irving commented, unable to stop staring at one attraction or distraction after another.

'There are cops, as you call them,' the Imir responded in a low and measured tone. 'They simply have a somewhat different agenda.' He pointed at two dark-cloaked, uniformed figures walking down one of the sidewalks opposite them as if they owned it. Everybody from patrons to barkers got out of their way as they came, too, and they barely deigned to notice anyone else. Their faces showed them as definite minor demons, horns and all, and they were puffing on big fat cigars and talking to each other.

'The name of the game,' Poquah instructed the boy, 'is power. Period. That is all that it's ever really about. Who's got it, who's subject to it. These are the folks who instructed Sodom and Gomorrah on morality and entertainment value and later on instructed the SS, the Gestapo, and a lot of other cheery authority figures. If this seems so wondrous and fun and romantic to you, think about where the ones who perform these services come from and how willing they were to do the jobs until forced into it. Think of your young woman from the boat in the hands of these folks, walking up this street as we are now doing. People, and parts of people, are bought and sold here, and I doubt if permission is required.'

'Hey! Boy! You! The Nubian! Ever dream of having all your fantasies come true?'

The speaker was a nasty-looking fellow with a strong family resemblance to a middle linebacker and a brick wall, and he seemed to have a friend or two about as well.

'The boy is under my protection,' Poquah said evenly, not stopping. 'He is not for the likes of you.'

'Yeah? Somethin' wrong with the likes of me, piss-elf?'

'Other than the fact that you are a bully and an idiot who is about to find himself dead and at the Dantean Gates if you persist in this, nothing much,' Poquah responded.

A big, beefy hand shot out and grabbed Poquah's tunic. The Imir stopped and stared up into the eyes of the huge man, his face as impassive as ever, but the eyes, something in the Imir's eyes…

Even the big man caught it, but it was much too late to back out now. 'Stop and face me when you're talkin' to me!'

'I was not talking to you. I was responding to your uninvited comments.'

Irving's hand went to his short sword, but he didn't draw it; rather, he positioned himself to cover Poquah's back.

It was impossible to imagine the elf being anything but a grease spot at the hands of the big man, but Irving knew better.

'I take what I want, shorty, and I want him,' the big man snarled.

'Then, sir, you are dead,' the Imir responded.

Absolutely no one could agree later about what happened next. There was a sound and flash something like an electrical charge, and then the elf was a blur of motion, going so fast and moving in such an unnatural series of moves that no watching eye, whether human or faerie, could follow them.

The big man's other hand held a dagger, and it was coming up with professional speed. It never even came close.

Almost instantly, amid the flash and blur of Imir motion, something ripped the big man open as if he were an overripe melon. Guts and blood spilled from massive and nearly instantly fatal wounds without it being clear how those wounds had been administered and with such speed that the man was dead on his feet yet his expression showed no change at all. Suddenly Poquah was a few steps to one side of him, his back against Irving's, no visible weapon in hand, and the big man's body was only then collapsing into a gruesome heap in the street.

The big man's confederates were easy to spot; they were the ones with the totally frightened and confused expressions among a crowd of mostly admiring glances. Nobody, friend or foe, was inclined to do much more to the Imir and the youth, and they gave way and made a comfortable path up the broad street for the two newcomers to go. There was even a smattering of applause.

Mostly, however, the people and creatures around them totally ignored the fight and the corpse and just went on with their business as if nothing had happened and no remains were there.

There was a sudden shimmering around the body, and the street itself seemed to turn into something alive underneath him, cobblestones growing long, clawed arms and gaping tooth-filled mouths and growling and chomping as they devoured the big corpse amazingly quickly.

Poquah seemed utterly unfazed by what he'd just done or by its aftermath. Instead of being repelled by the sight of the street literally rending and tearing and devouring the body as Irving was — slightly, at least in his stomach — the Imir commented, 'Well, at least they have efficient sanitation here. Come. We have a hotel to reach yet.'

Irving felt a mixture of confidence in having passed a test and at the same time a less than pleasant sense that this as not going to be a fun time, after all. He thought of the girl and Marge and, for the first time, his father trapped in it bimbo body and wondered how in hell any of them were going to make it across much of a continent like this.

And most of all he wondered about those tearing limbs and gnashing teeth that were even now cleaning up the last of the body and felt less than certain of his own footing and suddenly uncomfortable that he was barefoot.

Larae Ngamuku needed no imagination to realize what walking up that broad street would mean for her and no wish even to try it. This was a case in which some care and caution might be well repaid.

The problem was, getting off the ship, she had no idea where exactly to go. Compelled to come this far, her path eased by the demonic geas that all of Hell could sense, she had nonetheless come without instructions, as it were, and certainly without resources.

'Go to your right at the end of the dock,' a woman's voice came to her. 'I'll give you instructions to thread you through this mess as you go.'

She looked around but saw no one in the throng of people and, well, others coming off the ship, working to unload it, or waiting on the docks. Whoever had made the comment could have been almost anyone of them.

It seemed silly to obey a mysterious voice, but there also wasn't much of a choice in the matter. Not to obey would leave her no better off.

Turning right at the first opportunity as instructed, she saw only an industrial road paved with uneven stones, mostly dark, and sparsely traveled at this time. She felt something odd as she walked and, looking down, saw that strange metal rods were actually embedded in parallel in the street itself. The rods seemed to run the full length of the street as far as she could see, but she couldn't imagine what they were for save perhaps to catch the side of sandals or boots and twist ankles.

Marge, now above the girl, was equally surprised to see them, but she recognized the parallel rods as rails. A railroad? Here? Up until now she'd never seen any evidence of engines in this whole world, only magic, wind, water, and muscle power. This might well bear much closer examination when she had the chance.

Marge didn't like remaining in the air too long. It made her too conspicuous, and she could see that there were as many unpleasant creatures of the night up in the air, perched atop roofs and lofts and just flying around, as there seemed to be on the ground. She was hardly beyond their notice, either, but so far they seemed content simply to accept her as an equal and not interfere. For the moment the challenge was keeping their attention off the girl below, not to mention the lurkers, mostly human but no less dangerous, in the shadows.

Not that there were a lot of lurkers on the ground; it just wasn't profitable to stake out such places when there was little likelihood of anybody coming past. She had an idea at she might well be able to thread the girl through there and, after a complete survey of the route, decided to risk going to the ground and to the side of the scared but game young woman below.

Larae heard Marge come down, silent as she was, turned, gasped. The person she saw was not at all the one she'd expected. Rather, it was more the one she needed; a tall, muscular warrior woman with a bronze sword.

'Relax, it's still me,' the strange woman told her. 'I have a knack of being able to be seen pretty much as the needs of others require. Unfortunately, it's not real — it's just an illusion. Still, as long as this is handy, others will see me this way as well, and it might keep then backed off. Even the sword's an illusion. In truth, Kauri have