Horrors of the Dancing Gods

NOT SO UNFAMILIAR A PLACE

^"SO THAT^'S IT, HUH?^" IRVING SAID, STARING AHEAD AS they came inside the breakwater and the Eibon made ready to land.

Marge nodded, feeling a bit nervous for the first time. "Yeah, that's it."

This harbor really didn't look all that different from the one they'd left, only a bit larger and more the size of a commercial port than that of a traditional recreational area. The town, more like a city almost, spread out in all directions before them and, from the lights and angles, appeared to be built back into some fair-sized hills. Streets and houses seemed to go right up those hillsides, and the population looked unexpectedly dense.

The harbor had a number of exotic-looking craft in port, many of which were very large sailing ships of designs none of them had ever seen before. The single-masted square sailers could be dismissed as local coastal boats; you wouldn't have much to steer with if you got too far offshore in those things. Others, however, looked enormous, the size of old Spanish galleons in romantic swashbuckler movies, and still others looked like sleek men-of-war with catapults clearly showing and all sorts of unknowable armaments as well. They were in a variety of colors and finishes, many brightly painted, others almost camouflaged by their colors and patterns, but it was clear that they hailed from many lands and were there for a multitude of purposes.

They were mostly human craft, but here and there could be seen fairy folk as well, again of unknown races and backgrounds, doing work on the craft and at the docksides as well. Many were of the same sort of elflike classes as were the most familiar ones of the north such as the Imir, but they had strange colors, often nearly luminescent yet somehow dark; blues and deep yellows and reds of all sorts abounded here. Now and again could be seen creatures that looked in some ways to be relatives of dwarves, and some crawled up and down the rigging with abandon and seemed almost insectlike.

The effect was less one of coming into a port of evil than one of entering a port in some strange and foreign land, which was exactly what it was. The first ship to come into old Shanghai or Tokyo Bay in the nineteenth century or Bombay must have afforded its passengers and crew a similar sensation.

"Wow!" Irving said, staring at the scene in absolute wonderment. "I didn't expect this!"

"It certainly is, er, different than I anticipated," Poquah harrumphed, impressed in spite of himself. "These aren't all Yuggoth lands and races represented here, either. I see flags of several continents here, although none at the moment from Husaquahr, the largest and the mother of them all."

"They kind of understate their names here, too," Marge commented, staring. "I sure would call this a fair-sized city, not 'Red Bluffs,' which sounds like a small town in Nebraska." She frowned. "Still, most of the faerie colors signify dark magic, and the few flying types I've seen are bat-winged. We mustn't forget where we are."

"I concur," Poquah responded as they came slowly right into a form-fitting slip at the foot of a very broad street. He changed his tone and lowered his voice. "Now, if you are following the girl, you'd best get on it. You know the name of the hotel where we are booked, so we will meet there when you have something to say."

She nodded. "Don't worry. Fliers can keep track of people a lot easier than ground huggers."

"You watch yourself! There are creatures here that would eat a Kauri for breakfast or turn her dark. Don't think it can't be done to you!"

"I'll be careful. Don't worry."

She took off, up into the darkness. Irving turned to Poquah and saw in the always impassive elf something he'd never really observed there before — concern. It was very subtle, almost impossible to notice unless, like the boy, you'd been around the Imir for many years, but to Irving it was as startling as Mr. Spock having a crying fit.

"You really are worried about her, aren't you?"

"About all of us," the Imir responded. "But yes, I believe she is particularly vulnerable to the temptations of this place. For one thing, she does not believe that she is, and that makes her far more of a target, and secondly, she sees the threats primarily as external, coming from creatures of the night. That better fits the Ancient Ones for all the legends and terror stories. Hell works best from inside and with one's own cooperation. You remember her reaction to the Succubi?'

"Yeah, sure. She didn't like them at all."

"They are the same, really. Not enough difference to matter in the composition department. The difference is that the Kauri cleanse souls and the Succubi devour them. Either is capable of doing the other's work. We faerie are living creatures, and all living creatures must eat. Marge has been faced with a clientele of late that is almost too much of a good thing — a forced banquet, as it were. In Husaquahr she could get rid of it before it became too much a part of her. Here — I don't know." He paused for a moment, looking out at the dock. "Ah! The gangplank is out! We may go ashore! It will be good to get some solid land under us again, eh?"

Irving followed Poquah down to the disembarkation point, looking around for any sign of the girl, but he didn't see her at all. He didn't like that, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Either Marge could link up with her and, he hoped, steer her away from harm and toward them, or she couldn't. There just wasn't anything the two of them could do right now.

As a small child back on Earth, or "back in the real world" as Irving still tended to think of it even though this was by far the more familiar one to him by this point, he remembered seeing a picture that they seemed to run every Christmas. He never remembered all the details, but he remembered that this good guy got real down on Christmas Eve and wished he'd never been born, and Heaven granted his wish to show him how important he was. When he'd gone back home, his nice, peaceful white-bread town had become a wide-open strip of bars, gambling joints, and all the other stuff they thought was awful back then before somebody discovered real drugs. It still had looked pretty mean and ugly, particularly to a little kid, compared to what had been there before.

He flashed back instantly to that scene in that picture as he followed Poquah off the boat and walked down into the town in spite of not having thought of it in so many years that the memory's very existence was a surprise. It was, however, exactly the effect of walking off the ship and into the town of Red Bluffs.

The whole place was lit up in every kind of gaudy way; wild music and laughter came from dingy-looking joint after joint up the broad main street, and when he could see in the windows, he saw women, mostly in the wildest imaginable underwear and stuff and in weird poses, and occasionally faerie of the same sort. Well, no, not just women — there was a whole set of guys just as wild-looking and posed like, well, Irving wasn't certain just what to make of it, but he had the general idea.

There were sidewalk barkers trying to get passersby into the shops and shows with all sorts of loud and boisterous claims and promises, some of which were clearly impossible without sorcery of a most perverse sort. They also offered other kinds of recreational pleasure, from the wildest of drugs to the weirdest of drinks and potions; all this was wide-open and unconcealed. It was like the most outrageous elements of every bar, burlesque, and red-light district in all the world or worlds.

Shops near the places, sandwiched between, or on narrow side streets offered all sorts of roots, potions, drugs, sexual paraphernalia, weapons, you name it, both conventional and magical. There were also promises of all sorts of cures, curses for sale or rent, curses lifted, fortunes told, and so on and so on. Here and there an occasional boisterous fight would burst from inside one of the establishments into the street, and there would be screams of both delight and terror coming from the various upstairs windows.

Irving absolutely loved it.

Poquah sighed and shook his head sadly at the sights and sounds. He had thought it might be ugly and mean, 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 no real offensive weapons or abilities at all, but the fakeout's usually pretty effective."

"I–I'm not sure I understand, but welcome, anyway. What do we do now?"

"I already scouted the area from the air. Up this small street here — it runs parallel to Broadway over there, but it's all industrial. Some rats and stuff but nothing really nasty. There's actually a somewhat respectable-looking part of own up on the hill to our right. That's where we're headed, since the hotel recommended for my people is in that vicinity."

"I'm not sure I'd trust any appearances around here," Larae noted nervously as she started walking with the strange apparition. "As you point out, you aren't even you. What makes you think this area really is safer?"

"It's high and unobstructed. The morning sun's light will strike it first and leave it last. That's no real guarantee, but it tends to signal things to those of us with experience."

The girl shrugged. "I stilt do not see why there need be any respectable or decent people or areas here."

"Got to be some. For one thing, just as evil is defined by good, good is defined by evil. One without the other becomes the norm. Also, this is a real place. It's not Hell, it's not some fairyland, it's not in some other dimension. It's real, it's here, and most of its people are alive. Folks are born here, grow up here, work here, maybe marry here, have kids, and so on. Being under Hell isn't always so obvious; mostly it's apathy, just accepting conditions and making do without fighting it or sacrificing against it. I have a very strange feeling that there's more that's familiar than unfamiliar here."

But not at night. Two lone women in the dark, by the docks, at night would be a target in any big city, Marge thought. She wasn't as concerned, being a night creature and a flying one as well, but her ward was neither.

It would be interesting to see this place in daylight, in its normal workday mode, though. Evil didn't go to bed at sunup, nor did it flee the light as many of its supernatural minions did, but it did become more subtle. Still, her own power came from the night as well, and it was ironic that she felt so much safer in the darkness.

The vast majority of her tricks worked only on mortal humans; faerie would see right through them and certainly wouldn't be impressed, nor, of course, would demonic creatures, and around here the supernatural was definitely king.

Still, there were more practical considerations to be faced if they got by all those dark shadows and creepy-looking buildings. "It's gonna be quite a climb up that hill," she noted. "Ten to one the hotel's right smack on top, too." And it would be so very easy to just fly straight up there…

The Hotel Usher was at number 777 Avenue Nictzin Dyalhis high atop Morgana Hill. It was an imposing structure but not a scary-looking one, rising six stories and going a square block around the hilltop with a panoramic view of the harbor below and a less interesting one of some of the rest of town on the other side. The whole of it was quite solid and ornate, with white stucco gilded with brightly colored abstract designs and gold leaf on the doors, crests, and such.

There was a doorman who looked to Irving like one of the soldiers who'd guarded the wicked witch's castle in The Wizard of Oz movie, high-topped hat and fancy coat and all, even in this tropical heat.

"You sure they'll let the likes of us into a place like this?' Irving whispered worriedly. Poquah paid him no attention at all, but Irving felt conspicuous as the doorman nodded to them and opened the big oaken entry door for them to enter the spacious lobby.

If ever an interior did not disappoint, it was the Usher's. It offered a grand vista of polished wood and marble, with sculptures, interior fountains, vines growing up the sides of the walls and columns, and everything in gold and plush draperies, carpeting — the works — all somehow built and arranged so that there was some sort of constant airflow that made it seem cool and comfortable inside, only the humidity betraying the fact that it was not in truth Earth-style air-conditioning.

The clerk at the front desk was dressed in formal livery and looked like another product of central casting. He looked at the pair who stood in front of him, sharp eyes the only thing betraying an otherwise impenetrable countenance, and said, "Yes? May I help you?"

"I believe we are expected," Poquah told him. "Poquah of Terindell, Master Irving de Oro, and party to follow."

"Indeed, sir. Let me see… Yes. Party of — three?"

"Four. We have offered our advantages to someone we met on the voyage and who needed some additional aid. One each, faerie and human, male and female. Will this pose a problem?'

"Indeed not, so long as you are willing to accept full financial responsibility for your added member. Um, ahem, it is not usual for young ladies to be out without an escort in this town at this time of night. It is quite dangerous out there. When might we expect them?"

"Soon, I hope, or we'll have to go hunting for them. Since our luggage is very light, we might as well remain in reception here until they appear. Would that pose a problem?"

"Indeed not. You may sit in the café lounge over there and you will have a full view of the main entrance."

Poquah nodded. "Then that is what we will do. Um, you don't get too many visitors from the northern continent, I assume."

"Very few, I will admit, although it's not unusual to have some occasionally," the clerk responded.

"A few weeks ago a green wood nymph probably accompanied by a six-armed halfling girl came through here. Did they stay here?"

"Not that I am aware of, sir. But then, I am on duty only part of the time and not always at this desk in any event."

The Imir nodded. "Let's go sit down and get something to drink," he suggested to Irving, who liked the idea a good deal.

It was a very pleasant lounge, replete with a piano and plush padded seats and polished marble tables, and it had a fair number of people, mostly dressed quite well, sitting around in it talking or reading or simply relaxing. There didn't seem to be any faerie there other than Poquah, and while some of the faces were distinctively Oriental in cast and others were white or olive, there were no Nubians to be seen, either. They still stood out, but nobody really seemed to notice.

At least nobody was playing the damned piano, Irving thought thankfully.

Irving looked around at the faces and then turned to the Imir. "Where do these folks come from?"

"Some are probably locals, hanging out here because it is a better place than the joints and trouble of the rest of the city. Some are commercial folk both from other areas of this continent and from others with which there is trade, and the rest are here on a variety of missions. I suspect that Baron Boquillas was quite well acquainted with this hotel in his active days, going to and from assignations here. Many classical villains of Husaquahr probably would find this very familiar. I wouldn't even be surprised if some from Earth came through here now and again, but only the very important ones Hell would actually deal with openly and comfortably."

"Earth? You mean they can go from there to here?"

"Hell touches all points of all universes at once," Poquah told him. "So, of course, does Heaven, but there's little of that here. The chief Prince of Hell is incredibly powerful, a demigod of great proportions, remember. It wouldn't be all that difficult. Many who vanish without a trace wind up here. I once heard that Ambrose Bierce was revising The Devil's Dictionary here and that Martin Bormann was acting as the secretary to some important writer of political tracts."

"Who? Never heard of 'em."

Poquah sighed. "Never mind. You don't need that kind of an education in this life."

Irving coughed a little. "Seems like everybody smokes here, too. Wow! Worse than Ruddygore's cigars!"

"Yes, well, it's still sophisticated here, or at least 'cool' or whatever the term is these days. Not just tobacco, either. The one thing about Hell is that it isn't nearly as hypocritical on its own ground as the saintly sorts. Don't worry, you'll be spending more time outside than in on this trip."

A waitress came over and took their order. Irving couldn't help but notice her rather dull eyes and seemingly one-track mind and movements, almost as if she were some kind of automaton.

"Get used to it," Poquah told him. "Slavery, binding spells, all sorts of things are taken for granted here, particularly among the lower classes. This is an upper-class hotel. You will have to accept a lot of unpleasant things you may see here, but it's not as different as you may think. Many people find our system of having the masses of people poor and starving and willing to do almost anything for a pittance no different in the basics from having slaves and spells of servitude here. It just makes it easier for the Husaquahrian upper classes and freedmen to delude themselves into a sense of moral superiority. As I said, there is often less hypocrisy when Hell is in charge than when it is less obviously so. Your impulse to save every stray dog you see is admirable in the abstract but impossible in practice. You must learn that here if you learn nothing else."

Irving didn't like that whole train of thought, but he didn't have to reach very far to change the subject. He couldn't help noticing that they were no longer being ignored.

"Fellow over there at the bar," Irving whispered, gesturing slightly with his head. "He's real interested in us."

"The one in white? Yes, I've noticed him. Rather odd-looking, frankly. Round face, oval body, yet actually thin and slight of build. He carries himself more like a dandy than a fighter or magician, but such men can be deceiving."

The small man seemed suddenly to become aware that he was being conspicuous and, instead of turning away or backing off, headed slowly over toward them, stopping at their table but not sitting down. "Gentlemen," he said in a thin, reedy, nasal voice with a pronounced foreign accent, "I apologize if I am making a mistake, but I am to meet two of your description along with a young lady faerie with bright wings. Do I have the wrong two men, or is something amiss?"

He's got pointy teeth, Irving noted, fascinated. Not like a vampire but more like some kind of animal carnivore. It made him look both comical and menacing when he spoke.

Poquah stared at him. "You are the one who we were to expect to contact us?"

"Yes. I am Joel Thebes. Um — may I sit down?"

"By all means, yes. We are waiting upon the young lady at the moment."

Thebes looked uncertain. "She is out there alone? At night?"

"She is a nocturnal and quite capable of taking care of herself," Poquah assured him. "We befriended a young woman on the trip over, and she's helping the girl make it here."

"Not the Ngamuku girl!"

"You know about her?" Irving asked, startled.

"Of course. That's the trouble! Almost everybody knows that story. You might as well draw giant arrows to yourself at all times and say, 'Here we are!' "

Poquah looked over at Irving. "I told you!"

Thebes sighed. "Well, it is not a total loss, anyway. Once we leave the capital and His Majesty, we will be headed toward Mount Doom, where even the forces of Hell have diminished abilities or holds. If the King doesn't decide to give her over and lets her go on with you, she might turn from a liability to at least neutral. You are thinking of freeing her from the curse using the black bird, eh?"

"You know a lot about why we are here and what we are after," Irving noted. "I begin to think we're the headlines in the local paper."

"Not really, but you are not much of a secret, either. Most do not know about the black bird, though. They think you are going because your destinies are still being worked out and cannot be resolved until you reach Mount Doom."

"I have heard a lot about this destiny business but cannot see the relationship," Poquah told him. "How is my destiny, and the Kauri's, and the boy's here all wrapped up in this business? We were sent by our friend, our employer, or our guardian, as it were, but in a sense we all volunteered."

"Don't be ridiculous! You mean you do not know who is behind the opening of the way to the Ancient Ones? Ruddygore did not explain to you just what all this is about?"

"Enough, I thought. Do you know something we do not but should?"

"I think I might. You see—"

At that moment, however, Larae and Marge entered the lobby of the Hotel Usher.

Irving jumped up in a moment. "The girl's bleeding!" He leapt over the railing and ran to the two women, and Poquah instantly shifted gears and followed.

"What happened?"

"It's not serious," Marge assured them. "Got faked out almost at the last moment by a bastard who had one hell of a nasty dog. It's not a werewolf or anything — don't worry. There's no curse in the wound. I just slipped up, that's all."

"How'd you get away?" Irving asked, examining the ugly wound on Larae's left arm, which was still bleeding.

"I'll show you the trick sometime. Let's just say that even big ugly dogs have things they're scared of."

By that time some of the hotel staff had arrived, and Poquah asked a porter, "Is there a hotel physician? The wound should be tended before there is infection. In the meantime, you might also find somebody with first aid or there are going to be very ugly bloodstains on your very plush carpet here."

That seemed to get to them more than the sight of the wounded girl had.

"Dr. Trowbridge may be available tonight," the porter responded. "I'll send someone." Others went into action, bringing a chair for Larae and a quick and temporary bandage and a bottle of whiskey.

Lane coughed, then muttered, "You should have just let it kill me." Then she passed out from shock.

Dr. Trowbridge proved to be a tall, distinguished-looking man with gray hair and muttonchop sideburns and a thick, bushy mustache that appeared to hide a rather kindly face.

He looked like somebody who'd stepped out of a nineteenth-century romance novel, but he seemed to know his stuff and was surprisingly modern for a world where sorcery ruled.

"She's not badly hurt, just totally disconsolate. Little wonder she passed out; she has no will to live in her at all, I don't think. Bizarre, although, considering the circumstances, somewhat understandable."

"You know who she is, too?' Irving asked.

"Eh? No, nothing but what you told me. I refer to the curse and all that other stuff piled on her. Worst spaghetti I've seen in decades. That's why I treated her primarily with conventional medicine, as it were. Cleaned and treated the wound — it was luckily not that deep, and I think we can get by without stitches — and bandaged it, gave her an antibiotic and a sedative. She's most in need of rest. Two days and she'll be fine for most things, although she'll have soreness in that arm for a week or more, I'd say."

Marge was fascinated by Trowbridge, who seemed out of another time and place and certainly not the sort of person anyone would expect there. "Are you a native to these parts, Doctor?" she asked, curious.

"Oh, my, no! I just find myself here more of the time than I'd like, and since I have pretty well retired now back home, I have set up an arrangement for things like this with local hotels and such, since I have some medicines and skills little known here."

"You're from Earth, aren't you?"

He looked surprised. "Why, yes. There's not even a lot of folks here who know of Earth's existence. I am impressed, madam."

"I'm from Texas myself. The boy here's from Philadelphia. Only the Imir and the girl are locals."

"Well! Amazing! I must say you have to be a bit different than you were in Texas. A changeling, I take it." She nodded. 'Where are you from?"

"A small town in New Jersey. I shouldn't even have been here or known of this sort of thing — the whole of this universe does terrible things to the logical mind of a man of science, after all — had it not been for my encountering and befriending a remarkable man who battles the forces of this place and has for many years. It is only with his knowledge that I can make this transition, and then only to this region. I have never understood why they let him come and go, but they do."

"If he battles evil in New Jersey, he's no threat to Hell," Irving muttered, but nobody paid him any mind.

"We are more permanent residents," Marge told him. "In fact, I hadn't known anyone could go both ways between except demons, angels, and a sorcerer named Ruddygore."

"Oh, it's quite common to have this sort of thing, although most who do are rather of a nasty sort. Ran into a Babylonian chap here a while back. Got his whole country into a war with the West, got trounced, got bombed back to the Stone Age, and he's still in power. Amazing. No, what you cannot do is do it without the permission and aid of some powerful supernatural entity, and you can take only knowledge back with you. Lots of problems here at the moment, though. The whole Sea of Dreams is in ferment. No sure thing, you see. That's why we've been stuck here a while."

"What's causing the problem, Doctor?" Poquah put in. "Why is it impossible to cross?"

"Damned city popped up in the middle of the thing! Rotated in from yet another universe. With that on the one side and the djinn on the other, we're pretty well stuck in this one. So far, though, while summoned, they've been unable to make a landing. Hell can't do a lot — after all, when disloyalty and dishonesty are virtues, how can you not expect everybody to go over to what they perceive is the strongest side? Satan and some of the other big ones could probably take these blighters on one on one, but there's a lot of them and they work on their own level."

"Then why don't they just come and overrun this place?' Marge asked.

He shrugged. "Something about how supernatural denizens can prepare the way but only mortals can summon the opener. If I were you, though, I wouldn't go anywhere near that southern region where they're strongest. Hell may use insanity, but it's not only not Sane, it is always quite logical. That may be the case with these others as well, but their logic is alien to us. Think of it as an invasion from another planet. The creatures are so different and come from such a different environment and history that they bear no relationship to us at all. They are delighted to find minions who will rush to their side, attracted by their obvious power, but they do not feel an obligation to these minions or even understand the concept."

"How do you stop them, then?" Irving wondered.

"Destroy the beachhead, boy! Don't let 'em make a successful first landing! They must need elaborate preparation or they'd have been here by now. That's what keeps folks like me sane, you know — mathematics. It is all mathematics in the end. Magic, science, you name it: it is all mathematics. The silly Rules here — they are a form of mathematical order. Trouble is, they're often bad math, as insane as the American income tax code. I was talking about this with another Earthman passing through just the other day. Fellow named Shea, I believe. Professor of mathematics somewhere. These invaders are bound by mathematics and its logic in the same way we are all bound to ours, but it is a different, an alien mathematics. Doesn't matter. Doesn't even matter if we understand it. Doesn't matter if we are able to understand it."

"I admit I don't understand you now," Marge conceded.

"Oh, my dear, it's quite simple. Think of a string of numbers, say, one plus one plus one plus one plus one equals five. Simple equation, is it not?"

"That I can follow."

"All right. Remove one of the ones. Five is still the desired result, even the required result to accomplish something, but you've come up one short. The same is true of the action signs. Change a plus to a minus anywhere in the equation. Same thing. Now, imagine how impossibly complex their math must be. How many things have to be in place, no matter how insane it may seem to us, for their result — invasion of this world — to work. Rather bizarre equation, most likely. One hundred virgin sacrifices on rocky ground at midnight plus forty thousand chanting prayers plus who knows what? I'm just making those up as an example, but you can see that no matter how bizarre the components, it is still building a single equation. Change one item — and the more complex the equation, the better for this — and you thwart them. Change it sufficiently and you'll slam the door in their faces."

"You make it sound so easy," Irving noted, knowing it almost certainly wasn't.

"Well, they certainly know it as well," the doctor admitted. "One would expect that their agents on this side assembling what's required have a certain level of built-in redundancy. The trick, then, is in finding out how many sacrifices they actually require rather than the number they have got, you see." He yawned. "Pardon, but I've had a long day, I'm afraid."

"Perfectly all right. You have been a lifesaver, Doctor," Marge assured him. "Please go back to your hotel room or wherever and have a nice rest."

"It's that blasted Frenchman. Had me up all last night examining the catacombs of Boreas." He sighed. "Well, it certainly has kept life interesting. Charmed. Don't worry about your friend — she'll be fine, at least as far as the wounds go. Superficial. I wish I could say the same about the curse, but that's out of my league. Farewell for_, now!"

And with that he was gone.

"Fascinating," Poquah commented. "One begins to suspect that Yuggoth has other surprises than the ones we anticipated. This suggests a primary weakness in the dimensional walls separating the two universes right along this continent. Perhaps more than two, since there is also a physical entryway to Hell here and in no other place. One suspects that the two great bubbles of our respective universes almost touch here. If so, it would be the ideal invasion point from the Sea of Dreams and the easiest to control access into and out of."

Irving frowned. "Well, if Hell's close over one way and Earth's close by on the other, then where's Heaven?' "On the other side of Earth, of course. I thought that was obvious," the Imir responded. "We are a bit closer to Hell here. Always have been. Not that Earth folk are any more or less likely to go there than our people are, but here you can walk."

Marge tiptoed to the door of the bedroom and looked in. Larae was professionally bandaged on her left arm and shoulder and seemed to be asleep from the release of tension, Trowbridge's drugs and shock, or both. She quietly pulled the door shut again, turned, and for the first time saw the strange little man in the white suit "Who's Peter Lorre?' she asked.

He smiled. "Joel Thebes, madame. At your service. We were speaking — the three of us — when you and your companion made your dramatic entrance. I am sorry we did not have a calm and proper introduction."

She nodded. "Then you're the native guide we were to meet?"

"At your service. Not, however, a native. Not of this place, oh, no! I, too, was born and raised on Earth, in a small town none would have heard of in the Carpathian Mountains near the Romanian-Hungarian border."

She immediately understood. "You're really from Transylvania'?"

He brightened. "Oh, my, yes! A descendant of the Wallachians who ultimately subdued and dealt with Vlad Dracut. And no, I am not a vampire or a werewolf or anything like that, although over time some changes have taken place within me. They have nothing to do with my birth or ancestry, though, and do not imperil you. They are the price I have paid to still be chasing the bird after so many, many long years."

"And a fat man and a pretty girl are around someplace, no doubt."

He looked quizzical. "Um, there was a very large man, a companion, yes, but he is now dead, I believe. At least, I left him in the last stages of a terrible lung disease in Istanbul long ago, and if I know him, he would have made it here by now were he not long dead and assigned to wherever he was to go. As to women, I have encountered many beautiful women over the years but none in a very long time. Why did you make the comment, may I ask?"

"Never mind. You just reminded me of a different plot I once knew." She should have guessed, Marge told herself, or at least reminded herself that much of the fantasy and fancy of Earth were carried over the Sea of Dreams and there crept into the minds of the most creative and receptive. Earth's fiction was this world's fact, including, it appeared, this little fellow. Well, if he was anything close to his fictional counterpart, he was a very dangerous killer, but he was also more of a threat to Irving than to Larae.

Irving yawned. "Seems to me that we'd all be better off in the daylight around here, except maybe Marge. Maybe we should get some sleep while there's still enough night."

Poquah nodded. "I agree. Mister Thebes, can you meet us for a late breakfast, say, eight-thirty or nine? I assume the hotel has some sort of service."

"It does," Thebes responded. "Mostly European-stylesweet rolls, coffee, tea, that sort of thing — but ample. Shall we say nine, then?"

"By all means. We have much to arrange, and our clock is ticking on this," the Imir reminded him.

With that, Thebes left, and they felt free to relax a bit. "You trust him?' Marge asked the Imir.

"Not much and certainly not in proximity to the McGuffin, but until then his interest lies in sticking with and even helping us. I also believe that his fanatic obsession for obtaining the Grand McGuffin is such that he will be less vulnerable to many of the truly evil influences we may encounter along the way. Perhaps even more insulated than any of the rest of us."

"You really think that is a danger?" Irving asked him.

"Perhaps. It is best to remain on guard. That is why the Master sent me along on this trip, I believe. Duty is all-important to the Imir. It outweighs and overrides all other considerations, and I have my duty to perform on this mission. So far, in fact, it has been remarkably easy; now, I fear, it is going to turn much uglier. It isn't just the institutional dangers, it's the random ones such as the man with the dog tonight. Marge, tell me true, do you believe that he knew who either of you were?"

"No. I don't think so. He didn't even seem to be waiting for us. It was almost, well, he was going along and spotted us and decided to sic the dog on us just for the hell of it."

"Indeed, that is just what I mean. Around here much, perhaps a lot, is just for the Hell of it. That is why we must always stick closely together if possible and always be on guard. Trust no one outside our circle unless we have to and all the rest of us can keep watch. The natives here may seem quite ordinary, be friendly, all the rest, but deep down they have no conscience and no sense of responsibility. Assume that everyone you meet is like that fellow with the dog and you will be a lot safer."

"'Thanks a lot," Marge said glumly. Still, they were here and going inland. "I think the sooner we're on our way and the less time we spend in towns and cities, the better, though."

"I agree. Irving and I will sleep tonight; you can keep watch. Tomorrow one of us will do the same for you."

"Fair enough," she responded, "but I may have to go out for just a little bit. That trick I pulled tonight to get us out of that jam used up a tot of energy. I will need to feed."

"Be careful. It won't take much to overdose in a place like this!" the Imir warned her. "Still, go."

"Um — Marge?" Irving asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, Irv?"

"What did you do that got the dog off her?"

"I can't demonstrate. Takes too much out of me. Let's just say that I can do illusions and that most of my illusions are nice and very easy to look at but that there are a few I can do that are scarier than all hell. When that dog lit into her, I just reacted instinctively, and suddenly the woman next to her turned into an apparent horrible fiend and snapped at the dog. Last I saw, it was running down the alley yelping, dragging its tail. When I looked around for the owner, I found him knocked out against the far wall! How that happened I'm not sure. I got the strong impression somebody else was close by in spite of my aerial surveillance, but with Larae hurt, I couldn't take the time to look. I'd swear, though, that there was no way the guy with the dog could have been startled and knocked himself out that way, but, well, who knows?'

"Remind me to stick close to you."

"Don't get too confident," she warned him. "Remember, it's only illusion. Fake. The only reality is what you see right now." She sighed. "Okay, I'll just go out the window over here. Close it after me — there are some pretty mean things flying around these parts. I'll get back in. And don't worry so much! We're gonna do this thing! Believe it!"

"I try," Irving assured her. But he wished there had been enough time for Joel Thebes to tell them why their destiny was so wrapped up in this. Well, he was going along, so there would be plenty of time for that. There was still so much that seemed to have been deliberately withheld from him. Like that and like what Larae's curse was.

Damn it, it wasn't fair for perfect strangers to know more about him and his cohorts than they did themselves!

He would find out some of it, he promised himself. He'd find out as much as he could in the morning.