Horrors of the Dancing Gods (21 page)

"What's that sign at the bottom of the gangplank?" Irving asked them. "It looks like Earth writing, but I can't read it."

"It's Latin!" Marge exclaimed. "A quote from Dante, I think. The fancy big letters say 'Abandon Hope All Who Enter Here.' The standard for Hell."

"Yeah'? Then what's that phrase in small letters below?"

"It says to have a nice day," Poquah told him.

They walked up the gangplank and onto the ship. Oddly, there was more of a
sense of embarking on an adventure than
of putting their fate in the hands of their worst enemies.

"Take a good, close look at some of those stained-glass windows," Irving bent down and whispered to her. "My old granny woulda freaked. Yours, too, I bet."

Marge took another, closer look at them and suddenly saw what he meant. Far from being totally abstract, they showed a
number of stylized scenes, not at all the sort you'd see in your local church but in some ways parodies of them, with demonic figures shown as all-knowing and all-encompassing angelic-type figures, and below them all sorts of wonderful excesses were depicted in rather graphic detail. Marge hoped that Irving was really as worldly a sixteen-year-old as
he seemed, or else this was going to be one heck of an education. Although some of the less interesting sins were depicted, such as greed and gluttony and sloth and the like, it was certainly the sexual ones that paid the most attention to detail and commanded the most attention of voyeurs.

Marge stared at one and wondered if what was depicted with such obvious relish was really possible. It was a Succubus depicted as
doing it in the glass pattern, of course, but except for being on different sides, they were sort of in the same business.

"Could you really
do
that?' Irving asked, somewhat appalled but still fascinated. The effect the scenes would have on him if his spell of celibacy was removed was something Marge was glad she didn't have to deal with right now. Hell, they were turning
her
on, and she was way past sixteen.

"Anything
they
can do, Kauri can do better, kid," she responded with a confidence she didn't really feel. Holy smokes! If this sort of stuff was on the passenger-deck windows, what in the
world
could be decorating the bar?

Somehow, this was one heck of a fancier ship than Charon was usually depicted as having.

A tall, gaunt figure stood at the main doorway inside. It
was dressed in a black robe and cowl but clearly was no demon by its shape and movement. A skeletal handliterally—emerged from
each sleeve, and they all got the very distinct impression that the rest of the figure was equally bony.

"Tickets, please," the thing said in a hollow voice that was all business rather than conveying any sort of threat.

Poquah handed the thing their documents, which suddenly erupted in a puff of smoke and flame and were gone.

"All in order. See the purser inside for a cabin assignment and meal information."

Irving shifted his pack, the only luggage they carried other than a small garment bag Poquah used, and muttered, "I wonder what they eat in their dining rooms."

"I believe 'don't ask, don't tell' would be most prudent as a
policy there," Poquah responded, and they entered the main ship.

Again, in spite of the decor, the cleanliness and overall gleaming opulence of the craft almost overwhelmed them. Even Irving, who had little sense of social graces, felt decidedly underdressed.

The purser proved to be a more conventional sort of demon but of about average height and with an above-average girth, wearing an official-looking gold-braided dark uniform similar to that found on fancy ships everywhere. Marge thought he looked like Uncle Fester, if he enlisted in the navy.

"Hmmm ... I think they made a mistake on you," the demon muttered, checking a clipboard and sounding jolly enough. "They only booked one cabin, number fourteen, for all three of you, but there are only two beds in there and not much room for more, I'm afraid."

"That is quite all right," Poquah told him. "I am more of the day, and the lady is of the night, while the boy can be either way. It seemed silly to book a second cabin when only two of us at best would be using it."

"Ah, yes! Very good, sir. A penny saved is a penny more we can take you for in the casino. Rather
boring
aboard in the daytime, though, sir, if I might say so. Not much of our clientele likes the sunlight, you know, and we get real hovecraft speed and comfort only at night—daytime is the more mundane and much slower kraken pull. Of course, there are always a few people about. You will dine in the forward restaurant, boat deck. It's the Purgatorio. Open all the time, anything you wish, any cuisine, any race. You will find the cuisine here the finest in the world." He turned and reached over to a huge wooden pegboard, took down a large key on a big polished wood key chain, and handed it to Poquah. "You may keep this inside or turn it in if all are outside the room," the purser added, pointing down a well-lit passageway. "Down amidships, then up the forward stairs to the top. It is quite a nice room."

The Imir bowed, and they turned and walked down the corridor. Irving took the key and looked at it. Even the key was a work of art, not just a key but a sculpture of a familiar form.

"Skeleton key," he noted.

Marge chucked. "Wonder if it'll open any door."

"I don't think we want to check that out," Poquah responded. "There are a number of guests who travel this route I should not like to disturb. Those throngs of the damned outside aren't here; they're crammed below in the holds. Besides, as with virtually any hotel or inn—and this is basically a floating version of a hotel—the key is primarily a formality. They could get in and out with passkeys any time. Elsewise, how could the rooms be cleaned?"

"You're really reassuring," Marge told him sourly.

He shrugged. "Remember, the one thing Hell depends upon is that it is as
good as its word and always honors its guarantees. If it did not, nobody would ever try and beat their system. We are warranted safe on this boat. Period. It is a condition of passage. There are no guarantees if we violate the basic rules of passage, which are in every case pretty much what one would expect from anyone—no vandalism, observing the privacy of others, that sort of thing—but there is also no fine print. You see, they count on this ship to bring their own people to Yuggoth and from there to the gates of Hell itself and to send their own agents back into Husaquahr. They control passage in
both
directions. Why should they risk anything on the boat? It is simply not in their best interest."

A few cabins were open in one area
,
and they revealed interiors very opulently decorated but with what looked for all the world like polished coffins where the beds should have been. Others seemed to have cages that didn't appear to be able to be opened from the inside. Their own cabin, however, turned out to have a king-sized bed in the center, surrounded by a pentagram on the floor and holders for candles and incense. There was also a washbasin with a small pump that actually could feed cold or hot water depending on which way it was pressed. There was also a fairly standard chamber pot with sealable lid.

"Why the pentagram?' Marge asked, looking it over. 'They call demons in the bed or something?"

Irving chuckled. "The demons stay in the cabins on
this
boat! Remember, you can use a pentagram to keep demonic forces inside or to keep them outside. Doesn't matter which. I think this is for folks who just might not trust that they didn't catch all the fine print."

"It is indeed mostly a psychological aid," Poquah agreed, examining it. "However, it might well be prudent to set it up, particularly for the night. Irving, you will have to decide if you want to sleep in or out before it is sealed, and Marge, I'm afraid that once it is sealed, you'll be as unable to cross as anything else. Of course, you can yell if need be."

"Fair enough," she told him. "Still, I kind of wonder what protects me when I roam this ship at night."

"Your wits," the Imir replied. "The same as protects you wandering the night skies of Husaquahr."

"You really don't sound worried."

"I'm not. The fact is, in this one and only this one instance, Hell and we are on the same side. Remember that there are more than two universes and that the others are even farther from the template of Earth than this one. The djinn you know; the other, reached through the worst depths of the Sea of Dreams, is that of Hell's nightmares.
That
is
the one that now threatens to come here. If it does, it is going to find Hell no more kin than Heaven; I would admit that Leviathan versus Cthulhu would be fascinating, but I am not certain that I would relish being on the same dimensional plane as the contest."

"Huh? You're saying Hell wants
us
to win?"

"No, no. By no means. They want the current threat to us all ended. They would most certainly rather do it themselves, but so long as we are serving their ends, I do not believe we are in mortal harm from the great principalities and powers of the air. That does not, of course, mean that they wouldn't like to see us come over to their side and point of view and enter into their service or that they wouldn't get rid of us if they could triumph for sure without our help. Still, I will lose no sleep on
this
leg of the voyage from worry that some ghoulie or beastie or demonic form is going to get me. I believe we should all simply get as much rest as we can, for I can foresee many long and difficult times ahead." He yawned. "Indeed, I believe I shall nap right now."

"Not me," Marge told him. "I'm in my prime time here. Irving?"

"I want to see the rest of the ship and how it moves," he told her. "No way I'm gonna sleep
now."

They left Poquah and went back to the hall, then forward and out one of the doors to the outer deck. Things were getting very busy very fast, and they could feel the boat shift against its moorings as people and things were loaded on board. Marge shook her head in wonder. "Do you feel that this is strange somehow?'

"Those
windows? And coffins in the rooms? Sure," he admitted.

"No, that's not it. You kind of
expect
that.
It's that most of this is
not
bizarre. There's no feeling of dread, of monstrous evil, blood and gore, all the rest. This could be any large, new luxurious craft going anywhere on the ocean. There's just something
wrong
about it."

"You mean you think we're being conned or something?' he asked.

"No, no! I mean that this
is
pretty much what it is, that
nobody's
conning us, but it isn't what it should be. Demon ships to a horror continent that is the gateway to Hell?
This?"

"So you think they get people over to their point of view by scaring them to death?" Irving asked her. "Heck, I mean, you heard that demon. They're at war. They see all that evil power stuff, all that blood and gore, as
striking at their enemy, but you wouldn't expect
them
to live that way. I bet you Satan's so beautiful, he'd make you cry, too."

"Huh?"

"He was in charge of all the angels, right? And he controls all the organized evil in at least two universes, right? That's
power.
These little guys, these demons or bad angels, they're just ones that got conned or suckered or maybe just talked into going with the revolt. No big deal. But I bet you the big ones, the princes, are something else—and their chief the grandest of all. You figure he's gonna sit back with the best wines and the finest foods and all the stuff anybody can enjoy in spades, right? Everything your preacher ever told you not to do, and no penalties, no aging, no guilt or nothin'. I bet he don't need a ship to be anywhere, but this is the kind you'd build for your people, right? Not the suckers—we saw them all chained up back there. The ones who really run things."

Marge sighed. "Maybe. Still, it just doesn't seem
right
somehow. Not to me."

Was it just her old cultural upbringing, she wondered, or was it the fact that she'd seen the evil those creatures could do and had learned of more? Hitler, Stalin, war, pestilence, disease, suffering—that was the business of those who owned and operated this craft. How terribly depressing to discover that they literally saw it as their business, nothing personal.

Still ... "If they're so powerful, why do they need us at all?" she asked him. "You're so smart, kid, you answer
that
one. Why can't the big man who can corrupt nations and enslave whole worlds and chuckle over a nice Chianti about it, him and all his princes who run things, take care of this turf war with somebody else muscling in? What could a sixteen-year-old green kid on his first outing and two faerie do that all that power and glory and such can't?"