Demons of the Dancing Gods (13 page)

an entire crew of workmen came out each night and scrubbed

the place clean, removing trash, droppings, and just about

everything else, then even polishing the brick and scrubbing

the building^ facades. The air was crisp and clean-smelling,

with no hints of garbage or even horse droppings.

At that moment, Joe's horse relieved herself on the bright

roadway, and he felt suddenly very guilty for her doing so. He

hurried on a bit, and they were a couple of blocks up and at

the next circle before he halted at Marge's call. "Hey, Joe—

look back!"

He looked and saw dozens of tiny fairy gnomes emerge

from the trees up and down the whole block where his horse

had violated the scenery. They hurried quickly to the center of

the street, swept up the droppings and took them away, then

scrubbed the whole area and vanished once more into the treelined

sides of the boulevard. "It figures," he muttered, then

turned and continued on.

Although the hotel and entertainment district was in the dead

center of the city, the fancy hotels for the business clientele

who would be visiting those financial centers were all directly

on this main, wide boulevard, and the grandest of them was

the Imperial Grand, a huge, fancy structure that took up more

than a square block. Like all the buildings, it wasn't really

very high—though at eight storeys it was one of the tallest

buildings in the city—but it was fancy.

The front, in fact, was almost entirely of glass, rising from

street level up four full storeys, creating a massive atrium and

lobby which was like a glass-covered right angle viewed from

the side. This connected to a solid four-storey stone and stucco

block with balconies sculpted on its face, so that anyone coming

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out of any room would have a free view of the open space

area. On top of this were three four-storey cubes, giving the

whole building a distinctive look. It reminded Joe of some

fancy American hotels, as if designed by Mayan temple designers.

There was even a parking entrance on the side, which

led down below the hotel to an underground stable that looked

fancy indeed. Liveried attendants helped Marge and Joe off

their animals, unloaded saddle and packs, put small collars on

both horse and mule and a sticker on the saddle, then handed

Joe three embossed leather claim checks. Another packed up

their meager luggage in an odd-looking cart, and they followed

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him to a wide, beltlike structure rising at a steep angle. Strong,

thin boards were spaced about eight feet apart going up. They

were instructed to sit down, and the attendant then went over

and rang a large bell.

"A real bellman," Marge noted dryly.

Suddenly the belt started moving slowly upward. It so startled

them, despite the obvious intent of the gadget, that both

almost feil off. The bellman, as soon as they were clear, rolled

his cart onto the next plank below them and hopped on himself.

Joe looked nervously around and saw that they were going to

be raised just above lobby level, followed by a steep drop. The

ascent wasn't very fast, but they were traveling backward.

When they were most of the way up, the bellman reached

over and grabbed another rope, ringing the bell below once

more; just as Joe rose up so that his feet were clear of the floor

level, the device stopped and he and Marge jumped off. It then

moved again, and the bellman and his load were lifted up.

Joe looked at the bellman with unconcealed curiosity. "How

does it work?"

The bellman smiled, telling them both that this was his most

asked question. "There's a treadmill down there. Put some

mules on it every once in a while and it winds up a tremendous

spring. When we need to run it, we just take the brake off and

it goes up until we hit the brake. During the busy periods, we

just keep the treadmill going all the time. Smart, huh? Wait

till you see what else this place has. There's no other hotel

like it anywhere."

They looked around the broad, glass-enclosed atrium, but

there were few people about, and Marge remarked on it."Oh,

JACK L. CHALKER

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they'll start coming in big tomorrow," the bellman assured her.

"We're full up the next seven days. Tonight we'd normally be

about half full, but with most of the businesses down the boulevard

taking a holiday during the convention, there are only

some early arrivers like you now. Ah, you are here for (he

convention, right?"

They nodded. "We thought we were late, I guess we made

better time than we expected," Marge commented.

They followed him to the registration desk, a massive horseshoe-

shaped affair of stained and polished oak. The desk clerk,

dressed in almost regal splendor, eyed both of them with some

suspicion and a nose high in the air. "Yesssss..." he virtually

hissed at them, trying to avoid any sort of eye contact.

"We may be a little early, but we're supposed to have rooms

reserved for us here," Joe told him.

Now the beady little eyes focused first on Joe, then on

Marge. "Are you certain you have the correct hotel?"

"This is the Imperial Grand Hotel, I presume."

"It most certainly is."

"Well, we're in the right place, then."

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The clerk gave a bored sigh. "Very well, then. Name?"

"Joseph the Golden, Castle Terindell, Valisandra."

"How original," the clerk muttered patronizingly. "A barbarian

with a mailing address." He checked through his large

card file, then checked again, and finally said, "As I suspected,

there is nothing, and our hotel is booked for the next week."

Joe thought a moment. "We are with Ruddy gore of Terindell,"

he told the clerk. "We are a part of his party."

The clerk was unimpressed and yet he dutifully checked

and cross-checked his file cards once more. Finally he nodded

to himself. "Ah, yes. Ruddygore, Throckmorton P., party of

seven. Let's see... Yes, an Imir is already in as the advance

man for the party. I will send a runner up to approve you." He

turned and tapped a small bell on the desk. From a place

somewhere beneath him, a tiny pixie, no more than two or

three inches high, popped up and waited for further instructions,

its transparent multiple wings beating so fast they were virtually

invisible. The clerk jotted something on a pad, tore off the top

sheet, folded it in quarters, and handed it to the little creature.

"Lake Suite," he told it.

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JACK L. CHALKER

71

The creature was off in a flash, flying into one of a number

of round tubes that seemed to go into the wall in back of the

clerk.

"Those tubes go to every room in the place?" Joe asked a

little suspiciously. If pixies could use them, so could other

things, and they made nice sound conductors as well.

"Oh, my, no!" the clerk huffed. "They go to each floor of

each wing, and the messenger then rings a bell."

Joe nodded, feeling a little better. He didn't trust hotels at

all, and his experience with any of the larger ones in Husaquahr

had been less than pleasant.

"Madam," the clerk said as they waited, "we would appreciate

it if you would, ah, cover up while in the public areas.

The Portside, down at Lake Boulevard and Pier Six, is more,

ah, suited to your sort."

Marge got mad fast. "And what exactly is my sort? Do you

discriminate against fairies? Are we not good enough for you?"

"Oh, of course not! That's not what I meant at all."

"Then make your meaning plain. I am a Kauri, and we have

very short tempers."

"Exactly my point. I mean, with the convention coming in,

it's very bad for the hotel's image."

Joe, too, got a little rankled. "With what I hear about this

convention, you'll be lucky to have a hotel left when it's over.

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Are you going to be working through the next week?"

"Why, uh, I expect to. Whatever do you mean?" The clerk

was uncomfortable when the topic got personal and forced him

to the defensive.

"When the adepts get through with you, you might wish

you'd gone on vacation with an attitude like that. Now you've

insulted my partner and friend, and we weren't doing anything

but following your rules and making no trouble." He put his

hand to his sword hilt, but Marge stopped him.

"No, Joe. Just stand to one side for a moment. This is my

little problem."

Curious, the big man moved over and just watched. Marge

stared hard at the clerk, then brought her two arms up over her

head, fully extending her magnificent, soft wings. The clerk

started to say something, then stopped and became suddenly

dull and glassy-eyed. She smiled at him, and he smiled back,

although Joe was surprised that it didn't crack his face. She

rose, floated over the desk, and landed just in front of the

transfixed man, whose gaze never left her. Marge nodded, still

smiling, put down her arms, and began systematically to undress

the clerk. Joe—and, he couldn't help noticing, the bellman

and other employees in the lobby area—watched with a

mixture of awe and amusement. Within two or three minutes,

the clerk was completely nude.

At that moment, the pixie shot back through the tube, flew

up to the clerk, and stopped short, the look on its face one of

total incredulousness. Marge reached out and took the small

paper from the pixie and glanced at it, then turned and handed

it to Joe. It was a scrawled mess, but they recognized Poquah's

distinctive calligraphy and guessed what it said. "Well, we can

go up now," Joe suggested a bit nervously.

"Awww..." Marge pouted, sounding disappointed. She

leaned over, kissed the clerk lightly, and said, "You'll wait

right here just like that until I get back, though, won't you?"

The clerk nodded dreamily.

Marge smiled, floated back to the other side of the desk,

and looked at the bellman. "Let's go."

The bellman led them around the big registration area to a

hallway and into the main building in back. On one side was

an opening in the wall, revealing a small, gondolalike car.

They could see a second about halfway down the hall, and

guess a third at the end.

The thing proved to be something like a ferris wheel, but

very, very slow and driven, apparently, by the same sort of

treadmill-gear-spring device as the escalator from the stables.

. They went to the top, then had to transfer to a smaller, similar

device and do the whole thing all over again. "Uh—you do

have stairs," Joe said to the bellman hopefully.

"Oh, sure. This is mostly for the bigwigs and the luggage.

The top two floors of each tower are suites only, and the kind

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of people who have 'em not only usually have tons of baggage

but they don't walk no place."

"Um—just out of curiosity, what do you think of that little

scene down there?" Joe wanted to know as they reached the

top floor of the south tower.

The bellman chuckled. "Some people, they run outta town

when this convention hits. Me, I love to stick around. I mean,

I gotta work under guys like that for most of the year."

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Both Joe and Marge grinned. "And you're not scared of

something happening to you?" she asked him, trying to sound

nonthreatening.

"Naw. I been around magicians and stuff a lot, and overall

they're a pretty fair lot. Mostly they stick it to people who

really need it, and, I mean, most of us can't, right? This convention's

the payoff to all them types who do the same to

everybody, and I love it."

They both chuckled and followed the little man to a large

and ornately carved set of double doors. The bellman pulled

on a satin rope that dangled from a small recess. In a few

seconds, the door opened, and the familiar face of the warrior

elf Poquah looked out at them. The Imir was as outwardly

impassive as always; but when he saw Marge, his thick, rulerstraight

eyebrows that flanked his cat-shaped eyes at a fortyfive-

degree angle went up about an inch. It was as much of a

rise from him as either of them could remember. He looked at

Joe, nodded, then turned back to her. "And this is our old

Marge?"

She grinned. "No, it's the new one. Hello, Imir."

"Hello, Kauri. Come in, both of you."

They entered, and the bellman followed. Marge stopped

short when she saw the suite and gave a low gasp.

It was impressive. The walls were entirely of some sort of

tinted glass, apparently going all the way around the top of the

tower. There were drapes, controlled by long, thin ropes, that

could be lowered from recesses in the ceiling to cover them,