Horrors of the Dancing Gods (5 page)

The tremendous difference in Alvi would have made any sort of medical solution more grotesque than the social one her father had adopted. Still, if a big, ugly Injun truck driver could wind up a
nymph, surely there was something that a rich guy like her father could summon up from the magical arts. Joe didn't really know all that those Books of Rules contained—except that it was far too much—but surely in them was one of those universal laws: the rich could buy themselves out of almost anything. She raised the point in more delicate terms.

"It was not even an issue," Alvi replied. "There were occasional sorcerers as guests, of course—I told you that my father was friends with many powerful ones. They knew of my condition; it could hardly be hidden from them. I am certain that I was examined, perhaps without my knowledge, on magical levels many times, but nothing was ever done. The few who so much as alluded to it—none of them ever came right out, at least in front of me—suggested that there was some kind of curse, that whatever might be done by magic for me would only make things much, much worse. I never understood it. Many times my father
started
to tell me—
I
knew he truly wanted to—but each time something held him back. I was never sure if it was part of the
curse or some promise he made, like to my mother, or what, but he
couldn't,
not even in these last few months on the run."

"This is beginning to sound very much like a curse," Joe agreed, considering her story so far. "Come, though. Get into the pool and wash off the grime. You'll find the water's warm and clean, and the bottom's basically stones."

In the water Alvi leaned back and enjoyed the warmth and clean feel—and only her neck showed. Joe wasn't very worried; of all the people she'd ever met anywhere, Alvi seemed absolutely drown proof.

"You're not coming in?" Alvi called to her.

"Sorry. My race is very good for showers, even better for being out in the rain, but baths are risky. If I absorb too much water without any sort of drain, I can become heavier than gold. Take your time, though, and enjoy. I've got absolutely nothing else to do and nowhere else to go."

"That's all right. I just feel bad because this is so
nice.
I finally have a tub that fits me!"

Joe let her enjoy herself for a while, then asked casually, "Just out of curiosity, what race
was
your mother? Do you know?"

"A mortal human and very pretty," Alvi responded.
"What?
Now, wait a minute! I saw your dad, and if your mother was human ..."

"That's not exactly the way it seems," the girl told her. "I always knew that he wasn't my real father, but he was the only one I ever knew, and he was very good to me and to my mother. They had been betrothed, lovers since they were very young, but before they could many, something happened. I don't know what. Neither would really talk about it, but my mother went away for a while. After she came back, my father insisted that they marry anyway, and she agreed. He really did love her, and he was her whole life. They tried to have another child, one for both of them, but it didn't work out. The child was
born dead, and the result ..." It was the first time Joe had really heard any sincere emotion from Alvi about her parents and background. "It—it killed her. Not right off, but she was sick and never really got better. I was four or five years old, but I remember it. I remember all of it."

An interesting picture was emerging in Joe's mind. It might be completely off, but it fit the facts. Young, handsome nobleman is betrothed to the daughter of some wealthy local monarch or one of the landed gentry, the dowry most likely the estate itself. That was how things worked there. Everything set, going normal, when suddenly something happened, something that threatened the marriage, caused her to go away for a bit, and forced everything to be put on hold. What?

Alvi was what. Was it actually an illicit human-faerie affair? Some adolescent caprice that caused her extreme guilt ever after? Or was it perhaps some sort of a rape? Not all the faerie were nymphs and fairies and elves and other cute characters. Those bat-winged creatures who'd come for Alvi and her father, for example. Forces of the real father come to claim his child? The fact that she had no characteristics of such creatures meant little: in perhaps the majority of cases among the faerie, the male and female were so different, they might well be mistaken for different races or species entirely. Nymphs were a good example and by no means unique—satyrs for wood nymphs, those Boyfriends from the Black Lagoon for the water nymphs, you name it. The colorful lower body patterns would be the key; it seemed too complex and too natural to be a
one-shot affair and was almost certainly some sort of racial characteristic. But which race?

The mother had refused to kill the daughter even though it was most certainly a monster and a creature of rape. The father had probably agonized, then agreed to take them in and protect the girl as well as his own child. Things would have been arranged so that Alvi would be presented as a
child born of the father but before wedlock; married, there would be no stigma, yet that child would be a constant worry and a reminder of the initial problem. Six arms and the lower part of a lizard weren't exactly something you could overlook even if, incredibly, you really could hide it.

He must have loved the woman very much.

But there was more to it somehow, something still missing in the puzzle. Why did they want Alvi now? Who could want her? Of what possible value could she be to anyone: neither of human nor of faerie and considered monster by both? What was the bargain that had bound the old boy's lips from even his adopted daughter's ears, and with whom had it been made, and why?

Damn it! I never watched soap operas!

"Alvi, did those creatures in black armor come close to a birthday or anniversary?" Joe asked her. "That is, close enough to some event?"

She shook her heal.

"When was your last birthday? And how old were you?"

"I must be almost seventeen now. I was sixteen before they came, but it wasn't anything close. I mean, it was maybe a couple of months
earlier."

Joe suddenly realized that the question meant nothing. Even if there
was
some sort of bargain or curse having to do with Alvi's sixteenth birthday, they would probably not celebrate the real date, in any event. In fact, it might not even be known, and whoever came to claim his or her or its prize might not be on a clockwork calendar schedule, either. There was, however, something that had been nagging at Joe, particularly since Alvi had awakened, and when the halfling emerged at last from the pool and lay down to dry off, Joe felt she had to bring it up.

"Um, pardon me for saying this, but everything you've told me says that your stepfather must have been devoted to you. He seems to have chucked everything for you, even the estates, position, titles, who knows? I just can't help but notice ..."

"That I can't cry for him?" Alvi finished. "I know. I feel pretty rotten about that myself, but I just
can't.
I'm not sure why. I
did
love him. I mean, he was the only father I ever knew, and he spent his life trying to do what he thought was best for me. The thing is, well, I don't know ... It's kind of mixed. In one way I can't think of him as really dead. I see him back at the manor somehow, supervising, tending, building. Part of me just can't imagine that he's really gone. He's been
everything
for me. I mean, my whole life's been planned and executed by him. Maybe that's it, too. I never was able to make any choices for myself. I was always hiding, always pretending, always in those painful straps, walk slow, special boots so it won't look like I'm walking like a chicken or something, don't go out, wear all this stuff even if it's boiling hot, don't work in the garden or you'll have to bend over and your tail will stick out ... And on and on and on ... It got so I became mostly a night person, wandering around late at night with little or nothing on, through my quarters, at least, and sneaking stretches on the roof terrace when it was dark enough. I was so lonely, so miserable, so full of fear that I felt more like a prisoner than a protected daughter. Does that sound inhuman, monstrous, maybe?"

"No," Joe responded rather gently, pleased with the answer
.
"It sounds very human indeed. I don't blame your father, and I doubt if you do, either, deep down: he was a product of his world and times and did what he felt was right and best. I'm sure he often wished he didn't have to, wished that you could just be yourself, but he couldn't. Not without the threat of losing you."

Alvi looked up at her, and there was a slight smile on her lips. "You really think so?"

Joe nodded. "I do."

But was it right? Hadn't she herself been so afraid that Irving would learn that his dad wasn't a dead hero but a live green bimbo and that she'd totally abandoned the kid? Left supervising all that growing up to somebody else "for the sake of the child"? Had she really done what was best for the kid, or had she instead inflicted as much pain and emptiness on Irv as the Duke had on Alvi?

How to know?

Damn it, if God wanted everybody to do the right thing, then why hadn't He written a clear and concise instruction manual?

She looked over at the very strange and very adrift halfling. Somebody was trying to nab this kid, who in any case had had no preparation whatsoever for this very dangerous and cruel world.

Ruddygore had his Rules, faeries had instinct, but what manual did she look in to tell her what the hell to do next?

FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARTERY

Halflings shall be shunned by those of both families but always be beloved of the heroic.

—
Rules, Vol.
XIV,
p. 192(a)

ALVI POKED THROUGH HER OLD HEAPED-UP CLOTHES BUT made no attempt to put anything back on. Joe understood and was sympathetic. The halfling was luxuriating in being free and being herself with a friend but had been raised and conditioned all those years to conceal everything most of the time.

That
was going to have to change.

Joe retrieved the broadside she'd plucked from the chief highwayman's stuff, unfolded it, and took it over to Alvi. "Can you read this?" she asked.

Alvi frowned, took it, then stared at the drawings. "Wow. Somebody knew a lot about us!"

"You
can
read it, then?"

"Sure. Can't you?"

"You'll discover that readers are few and far between in this land," Joe told her. "And if there's a
nymph—any kind, any variety—that knows how, I've never heard of her. Truth is
,
I
can
read a language of the place where I'm originally from, but it no more looks or sounds like anything here or on that paper than these trees look like horses. I've tried learning that now and again, but I just haven't got the patience."

"Oh, anybody can if they want to. But all right. `Fifty thousand gold pieces in the national currency of choice to anyone bringing the above to the nearest Alganzian Consul.' "

"Never heard of this Alganzia. Have you?"

"Yes, it's along the coast not that far from my own home. Not my country, though, or my father's nobility. I don't know that we ever had anything to do with them one way or the other. It has been said that their trade includes black magic and the like from
even farther-off evil lands, but I know nothing more, not even the truth of that."

"Middlemen for Hell. Interesting. What else does it say?"

"Oh. Hmmm `Nearest Alganzian Consul. Man is Duke Mahlaus of Month Keep in the Western Dark. He is dispensable, but proof of death in the form of something personal of his, such as his signet ring, required. Other is called Alvida Zwickda, answers to AM, a halfling who must be taken alive and brought unharmed to the Consul. Death of the Duke without the halfling is no pay. Halfling without Duke will be accepted. Nature of the creature is known only to the Consuls. Do not insult us with ringers if you value your life. Anyone having information on either or both may gain a reward up to ten pieces of gold for submitting that information to a Consul, upon verification of the information by us. Note: creature will probably be disguised as human girl, possibly as
the Duke's daughter.'
Creature!
The
nerve
of them, whoever they are!"

Joe understood the poster a lot more clearly than did the girl, knowing the type of people it would be going to. In point of fact, Alvi really was more creature than human and probably one of a kind at that, but putting it that way kind of ensured that she'd be delivered intact. It was a pretty effective sexual "keep off the grass" statement for thugs. "That's all it says? There is nothing else?"