Songs of the Dancing Gods (35 page)

“You go out there, right on the edge of that, and haul him back,” somebody said. “This is as near as I want to get to it.”

“He’s up again!” the woman with the telescope said. “Now he’s turned, facing the Devastation, just standing there. No, he just—he just took a step toward it! And another! He’s walking very oddly, but—he’s inside!”

Joe could use his second sight to see the massive collection of spells, but Macore was too far away and relatively too small to make out inside it.

“Can you see him?”

“No. He’s been swallowed up in the mass. You couldn’t see the Grand Altar of Stet if it were fifty feet inside. Not from this distance, anyway.”

“It seems as if he’s been in an awfully long time already,” Joe said worriedly.

And it was even longer still, as they watched and waited, perhaps a half hour or forty minutes. Finally, the security officer said, “That’s it. He’s finished. If he comes out of there at all we’ll not even recognize him as human. It can’t be done.”

“I wonder,” Joe mused. “According to your own charts, it’s about forty-two miles across to the palace at the narrowest crossing. If whatever he did worked, he’ll want to do time tests.”

“Wait! What’s that over there?” someone shouted, pointing to an area perhaps half a mile from where Macore had entered. The telescope swung, refocused.

“It’s certainly a manlike shape,” the woman said, peering through the eyepiece. “Too early to tell much more at this distance.”

But, as the figure grew closer, it clearly was Macore, and he didn’t seem to be any worse for the experience.

He got a cheering reception when he reached them, all but the security officer amazed at what the little man had done and forgetting his actual condemned prisoner status. The security officer cared not at all about the little thief, but she saw the potential if indeed someone had learned to cross the Devastation.

“Well,” Macore sighed, “it works, but I’m not sure it’ll do the job.”

Joe was surprised. “You walked in and around for quite some time.”

The thief nodded. “Sure I did—but I never went all that far in, and the kind of speed involved is very slow. I’d say two miles an hour if we’re doing okay. And that’s no rest, no sitting down on me job, for—what? Over twenty hours? That’s a pretty long time not to stop or even sit down. I’m not sure I could do it. I’m not sure anybody human could do it.”

Joe leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Consider the alternative.”

He nodded. “The sanest way, the way any good spy would do it, would be to walk around just this side of it, always prepared. When anybody came along, or any spell was sighted, they could then duck in there and continue around the problem, then re-emerge. The trouble is, walking around the stuff by that route, even at the southern end, is like a hundred and eighty miles.”

“I could make forty-two miles of relatively flat terrain, even with snow, in less than twenty hours, weather willing,” Joe told him.

“Uh-huh. With a couple of pounds of ice strapped to your boots?”

Macore’s solution, once given, was so obvious neither Joe nor the others could imagine why they hadn’t thought of it before.

“First, I saw that the spells were in fact below the ice. Not far, but below. Then I checked out how disturbed they could become by throwing ice balls into the area. Nothing happened. There’s a layer of snow on top that’s deep enough to give some traction and cushion weight. Then I cut blocks of ice out from the untouched section, strapped them to my feet with the thongs, and practiced a little walking. When I had it, I went in and walked around. No problem. It’s really very pretty in there, if a little weird. So long as nothing actually melts, you’re fine.”

“What about dragging some blocks of ice along in a sledge?” Joe suggested. “They could serve as seats and replacement blocks just in case.”

“Uh-uh. A sledge might not cause problems in and of itself, but it will cause friction,” the thief reminded him. “And friction is heat and heat melts ice. Add to that the idea that a sledge would clear away some of the snow and you have a prescription for real disaster.”

“We could travel pretty light,” Joe told him. “So the real problem is where and how to rest.”

“That’s about it. Just sitting down on the ice, even with nice furs on, might well transfer just enough heat to attract one or more of those things to you the way lightning’s attracted to the ground.”

“If you’ve solved this much, we’ll have to find a way to solve that other,” Joe said. “For now, what about—inside there? Any bumps, mounds, ridges, or crevasses?”

“No, it’s pretty smooth and level, at least on this side. No telling what it’s like much farther in or on the other side. Every once in a while you hear this little click or pop and then some really weird noises, from screams to yells to sounds like lightning makes through the air, but that’s about it.”

Joe nodded. “Well, we’re going to have to think this through today, that’s all. We either have to figure out how to gain more speed or how to rest.”

Macore nodded. “Somehow. I can’t figure out why you can’t fly into and over that, though, except that it’s attracted to heat and motion. Maybe flying through it creates enough friction in the air to draw it. I dunno.”

At the insistence of the security officer, Macore returned, was stripped and locked back in his cell, and it was there, in relative privacy, that they continued the conversation.

“What about Marge?” Joe asked. “Is she immune?”

“I doubt it. Not to the spells, anyway. Spells of that kind cover just about anything, even rocks and trees. I doubt if she’d need the blocks of ice, though. Anybody who can walk around here stark naked and jump into pools of lava back home isn’t going to give off heat—so long as she doesn’t fly. What about your girl?”

“Mia? I don’t know. She feels warm, and I’m not sure I’d like to risk her without the ice sandals. But she doesn’t feel the extremes. She walked barefoot on the ice pack! She rolled in the snow without effect!”

“Okay, that’s a break, then. It means she has normal body heat only relative to other living things. She touches you, it’s normal. She touches ice or snow or a hot poker, she’s got instant protection. The odds are very good she wouldn’t need the ice blocks, and also pretty good that she could carry ice. How strong is she?”

“Strong legs and back, fairly weak arms. Why?”

“If I’m right, she could carry a block of ice on her back.” He snapped his fingers. “Yeah, that’s part of it! We all carry ice with us. Except Marge, of course. A decent square would be enough to sit on and keep our warmth insulated.” He paused. “Uh-oh.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Joe, you ever see a dog do his business in the snow? It comes out at body temperature. It’s like pouring hot water or hot coal on the ice. We have to deal with that, too.”

“Well, we better deal with that fast,” he told the thief. “Their missing sergeant is due back in two days, and dear, sweet Lieutenant Quasa of security here doesn’t see any reason why sentence shouldn’t be carried out on you, pointing out that, as a slave, with Sugasto’s protective spell, you would still have all your old skills for what we need.”

Macore gulped. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t have what
need. Let me work on it today and tonight. If anything, we probably should make our start at nightfall anyway. It’s never warm enough on the ice out there to melt stuff of its own accord, but direct sunlight has to have an effect. Marge is better at night and you and I have the Sight, so it’ll be lit up like a celebration in there anyway. Still, we’re down to technical problems. We have the basic method.”<
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“I hope,” Joe replied, leaving him to his planning.

Mia had been spending most of her time helping the other slaves there. There were five in all for the detachment of thirteen women; all were native to Hypboreya, but, although slavery was an institution here, none had been born into it. They were all, effectively, political prisoners, sentenced to slavery for offenses against the interest of local sorcerers and high priests of cults, and, as such, had also been placed under spells of obedience, which she lacked. They were compelled to do exactly what they were told, and ask permission for just about anything else.

Mia thought them just a cut above the army of the living dead she had seen lined up on that plateau, and perhaps worse. They knew what had been done to them, and lived in daily humiliation with no hope of redemption.

She was down behind the bar helping with some cleaning and minor repair when the two women came in, and at first she paid them little attention and they, for their part, did not see her. She recognized one of the voices as that unpleasant and officious little witch of a security officer, Quasa.

“So what are you going to do?” the other woman with her asked the security chief. “That big man is dangerous.”

“He must eat and drink,” Quasa replied. “If we cannot make a decent potion that will put him out cold without his noticing, then we do not deserve membership in the Sisterhood.”

“Why not just let them go off in the Devastation?”

“He and the mad one have done what he says he was sent here to do—find a security breach to the palace. I am certainly not about to let the mad one go, unless enslaved. A mind that can work out that sort of thing would be of even more danger, should he make it in, and, being mad, he might be uncontrollable. If that happened, we would be blamed. As for the big one, we have nothing but his word that he is official, and I have never seen anyone in the empire who operated without clearance. He had to acknowledge knowing the other one because the little one, being mad, might well recognize and spoil his cover. It is no more difficult and much more efficient to enslave two at one time.”

“But what if he is truly working for the Master of the Dead?”

“Then we did our duty, and it is his fault for not insuring our cooperation. The man will have failed in his mission, thanks to us, and that will go well for our records, while he will have paid the price of failure. I would much rather answer for following procedure, in any event, than have to explain why and how I allowed possible spies to make it to the palace.”

“All right, but do we have to cut him, too? It gets so lonely here sometimes, and he’s so good looking …”

“Not only does the law mandate it, but it also would be taken wrongly if we did not, by those to whom we must report. I would rather follow regulations and do without a while longer rather than risk joining his status. As for his bitch, we’ll drug her, too, so that she does not try and protect him. Once he is converted, she will be common property and we can bind her to the coven.”

“When do you plan to do all this?”

“I told him our sister was due back the day after tomorrow. As you well know, she is due back any time now, and certainly by tomorrow. I say tomorrow night, moon or no moon.”

Mia crouched there, hardly daring to breathe, hoping against hope that the staff slave would not betray her. She waited, pretending to keep working, until the two women finished their drinks and left, then got up and went out the door.

Finding Joe wasn’t hard in that tiny place; finding him alone, when he was the only sane man around for hundreds of miles who was not in the palace, was more difficult. She had trouble unobtrusively separating him from the crowd, but finally managed.

“Master, in the bar, I overheard this Quasa woman saying

that they were going to drug both of us and enslave us both to them as well as Macore,” she whispered excitedly to him.

He stiffened. “You’re sure?”

She nodded.

“Did they see you or know you were there?”

“No, Master.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow, Master. Their missing one arrives a day early. You are deceived.”

He sighed, thinking. “Then we will have to go tonight. After dinner, I should think. They won’t do it tonight, since they’d have both of us to take care of for a day and night. Get together the supplies, everything we’ve talked about. Meet me behind the security shack as soon as you can with what you can manage. Food, but only one small wine flagon. We’ll use snow.” He shook his head, thinking about what they were going to attempt. “I sure hope Macore worked out those details.”

Marge had found a clever hiding place in the supplies building, where the slaves went to get what was needed. Now Joe headed there, knowing that he’d have to awaken her early, but she had to be ready.

He startled her so much when he shook her that she changed three shades of color before she realized it was him. Quickly, though, he outlined the changed situation.

“Joe, I’m not going to make it,” she told him. “You know we aren’t great walkers, and I haven’t fed in two days.”

“If you stay here, you’ll die. Same reason.”

“I know. Joe—we’ve been through a lot together. We’ve been as close as we could as comrades. I’m only alive and here in this world now due to your kindness long ago on a lonely road in West Texas. I’ve tried as much as possible to pay you back. Now I need something from you. Now. Right here. They won’t be coming back in tonight; I know their routine and what they already got.”

“Marge! Here? Now? I—”

She was changing, becoming a vision of an idealized Tiana, mixed with Mia, and now with every vision of every woman he’d ever loved or wanted to love. She was Venus, and Diana, and Lust herself.

“It is finally time, Joe,” the vision whispered to him, those big eyes holding him. “Make love to me, Joe. Make love to me now.”

Joe feigned an upset stomach at the end of the meal and excused himself, saying it was definitely not the food or the cooking, but rather an old ailment coming back.

Marge and Macore waited for him behind the security shack. He stared at the little thief, all dressed in thick furs, gloves, hat, and boots, although only the boots, being his originally, fit right.

“How’d you get out?” he asked the thief.

“I told you I could walk any time I wanted. That place couldn’t hold a baby.”

“Who told you about the advanced schedule?”

Macore looked positively rhapsodic. “Mary Ann! She came to me, Joe, as if in a vision, saying she loved me!”