Horrors of the Dancing Gods

hold that in for very long, not out in a place like this. Not unless you're Superman, anyway.'

He sighed. 'I know. It was stupid of me to get that spell taken off, but what can I do?'

'I don't think it was stupid at all. I think it was dumb to put it on you in the first place. Kids should grow up feeling normal and learning how to handle things, damn it.'

'Yeah, yeah. It was only because I managed to get that curse on me that women pay any attention. Ruddygore got upset, worrying that with that kind of power and the studies I was doing at the time I might go evil right off the bat. He wanted to prevent that, and I guess he did, until now. But here I am, and going evil is what everything inside me says to do.'

Marge gave him a sympathetic chuckle. 'Evil is sometimes absolute, but it's also sometimes in the mind of the beholder. Heck, Irving, I'd be glad to give you some relief except that I also feel like your aunt. Besides, I couldn't do it tonight, anyway — not anymore tonight.'

He looked at her squarely. 'I'm not sure I dare do it with you. Nothing personal and all that, but you're a little scary since we got here. A lot more than on the boat over.'

It was her turn to be startled. 'Huh? What do you mean? I feel great! And my kind of creature never looks or is better than when she feels this good.'

'Um, Marge, I'm getting double vision just looking at you. It's like there are two of you standing there. It's why I didn't quite recognize you until you were actually here. You're changing, Marge, and maybe getting a little scary.'

'What? Huh? I don't feel any different. In what way am I changing?'

'Poquah said it to me, but I didn't really believe him. That you'd — feed — on locals with no consciences at all, consuming parts of souls rather than cleaning them.'

'Succubi do that! I'm not a Succubus!'

'Not yet, but you're getting there. You notice you're taller? You barely came up to my chest before; now you're maybe shoulder-high. Your colors are growing darker in faerie sight, and your wings are starting to look a little less like an insect than a fairy.'

She grew suddenly alarmed. If Irving was telling the truth… 'What color are my lips, Irv? My lips. Simple question.'

'Um, look crimson red to me.'

She gave a sigh of relief 'Not deep purple, not black? Then there's still time.'

'Yeah? But how will you eat? Aren't you in some kinda trap here, sort of like me?'

'I'll find some way. There has to be one, otherwise the Earth Mother would never have commanded that I come, nor would Ruddygore have let me. Damn! This place corrupts you, and you don't even notice!' She sighed. 'Irv, hold on. I'll figure something out for you and maybe for me, too. Can you hold out another day and night?'

He shrugged. 'I dunno what I can do anymore. I never imagined I could feel so — so driven, so much like an animal or something. I was always in control.'

She nodded. 'Yeah, I know. Just hold on for a day and a half or so until I can get some of it worked out. Won't mean a damned thing if by the time we get to Mount Doom both you and I are already in Hell's service, will it?'

'I–I guess not. But I almost feel like I am right now.'

She managed something of a grin. 'Don't worry about that. You'll feel like that many times. Just make sure it isn't permanent.' She paused a moment. 'And stay off Larae unless she wants it, you hear? You dragged her in with us; now don't betray that trust!'

'I won't,' he assured Marge, but it was an easy promise to make. After he'd returned that afternoon, he hadn't been able to resist testing out this new power on her, at least to an extent. It hadn't worked. She hadn't even seemed to be aware of him trying.

All that, and he couldn't even attract the girl of his dreams! It wasn't fair.

Man! That was some curse she had!

The mystery of the rails in the streets of Red Bluffs had been solved the first day they'd arrived; now they were taking advantage of what the locals called the 'omnibus' service to move themselves and their gear to the river embarkation station.

Power was by the old traditional method: horses or, in the case of freight, oxen. The only reason it didn't give the whole city a certain, well, air, was that the same underlying alternate reality that had gone after the big man's body back on the broad street a few nights earlier also seemed really to love manure.

'Below is not Hell, but below is where those whom the princes would punish or discipline for offenses against themselves are sent,' Joel Thebes explained. 'It is not a pleasant existence. Just a short while in it is sufficient to turn the strongest will to their bidding and keep it on the path of total obedience. Most everyone who winds up in their clutches spends at least a little time there, just as a sample. It is usually enough. I suspect that this experience is where the idea of Hell as a place of eternal punishment came about. Hell is actually quite nice, quite comfortable and regal. It is where the so- called bad angels, whom the Greeks named demons, live and have lived since before Eden. The souls that come to them, which, let us face it, constitute the majority of those from both Earth and here, wind up either rewarded for services rendered while alive or as slaves to those who live there. Most do not consider it fun, but it is no lake of eternal fire. That is what is promised for all of them, demons and minions and slaves alike, if the other side wins the final battle.'

Irving's eyebrows went up. 'You mean there's some doubt about which will win?'

'They seem to think so. Otherwise why bother at all? But if these others come over, if they displace Hell as the opposition, as it were, then it could be the worst of everything, you see. Better the devil you know than the ancient horrors you don't.'

The river launch was a modest affair, resembling the passenger craft that sailed the River of Dancing Gods. There would not, however, be much in the way of privacy aboard or comfort, either, and the trip promised to be quite boring. Too small for diversions or private assignations, too, which suited Irving, at least for now.

It was, however, a fairly elaborate two-masted schooner with emplacements for oars if the need arose. In addition to their own party, it appeared that about a dozen others were traveling upriver, possibly all the way to their own destination.

They were a curious-looking lot. All humans, more or less — at least as much as Joel Thebes was human — but all of them looked, well, somewhat sinister and not quite legit. That is, they all looked like characters out of bad soap operas, at least to Irving.

That one there was a tall, dark stranger; one woman was the malevolent housekeeper, another woman, the damsel in distress. One tall fellow looked like a cartoon mortician; another, the crazy doctor or mad scientist.

'They are all machinists for the King,' Joel Thebes told them.

'Machinists?' Irving repeated. 'What kind of machinists would those people be?'

'They're called deus ex machinists, I believe. His Majesty employs a million of 'em. They're obviously returning to work after some rest and relaxation. Stay away from them. They tend to be nothing but trouble and complications.'

Even Marge, as dull-witted as she was in daylight, admitted to herself that these cliches looked definitely overworked.

The captain and crew had red faces and horns on their heads and sort of looked like human-sized satyrs of a diferent color, but they also seemed pleasant and capable enough. To them this was just a job, another routine trip.

'Stow your gear and yourselves forward of the mainmast,' the mate told them, pointing to the bow. 'You'll have to sleep on deck, you know, being such last-minute add-ons. You can make a tent of insect netting there. It's not very hard.'

Poquah looked it over and sighed and shook his head. 'Looks like very close quarters. Oh, well, it's only for —