Dance of the Dead

by Christie Golden

  Jaws busy with his own meal, the pseudodragon thought an image to Willen, of Dumont being tortured to death in a variety of painful ways. Willen grinned. At least the little dragon’s spirit wasn’t completely shattered.

  He sat back and watched the creatures eat. “Have any of you tried to escape?” he asked.

  Bushtail shook his head and swallowed a chunk of meat. “Escape without assistance is not possible. Several times have I tried to call my people, but Dumont somehow prevents it. I believe that these—” he pawed at his harness scornfully “—negate our magic. We are as simple creatures of the woods in this place.”

  Willen looked to Yelusa. “You say Dumont uses you to scout ahead. Why can’t you leave?”

  She still regarded him with a trace of mistrust. “He has my cloak of feathers. When I put it on, I become an owl. But Dumont also has plucked one of my feathers, and as long as he has that, I must return to the boat before dawn.” Her eyes were haunted. “So, yes, I’m free, but not really. It’s almost worse this way.”

  Willen touched her hand sympathetically, but she jerked it away. He wanted to linger, but could not afford to arouse suspicion. He had already been gone longer than was necessary to simply deliver the creatures’ food. He rose reluctantly.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Bouki, don’t give up. I’ll get you out of here.” He looked around the room, meeting the eyes of every prisoner evenly. “All of you. I promise.”

  * * * * *

  Three days passed before Dumont deemed Casilda well enough to see people. When Larissa went to see her friend, Cas was still in bed. She looked up at Larissa with dull hazel eyes.

  “How are you feeling?” Larissa asked, sitting at the foot of the bed.

  “Fine, thank you,” replied Casilda in a monotone. Her skin was pale, and she lay completely motionless.

  Seeing the normally lively Casilda so still was unnerving, and Larissa sought to fill the silence with chatter.

  “Your slender little understudy did a fine job singing, but she couldn’t do justice to your costume,” she said jokingly. “Nobody fills out that dress the way you do!”

  Casilda did not smile in return, but regarded Larissa steadily. Larissa continued, a bit thrown by the singer’s lack of reaction.

  “I wish we didn’t have to leave tomorrow. I’m not looking forward to traveling through the swamp. There will be far too many insects and snakes for my liking.”

  There was no response from Casilda.

  “Will you be singing tonight?” Larissa’s voice was starting to grow taut with tension.

  “Yes,” replied Casilda in that same awful, dull voice.

  “Well, I’d better let you get dressed then.”

  “Yes.”

  As she left Casilda’s cabin, Larissa took the long way around the sun deck to her own cabin. She passed by the pilothouse and glanced up at it. Jahedrin was instructing Willen in navigation, pointing at things and talking steadily, though Larissa was too far away to hear.

  She fixed Willen with an intent gaze, willing him to glance in her direction. When he did, she let concern flash in her eyes. His expression didn’t change, but he nodded ever so slightly. Larissa knew he had gotten the message that something was wrong.

  On this, their final performance in Port d’Elhour, Casilda performed well, but there was something missing. Larissa watched her intently from backstage, chewing her lower lip nervously. The notes were right on pitch, the lines spoken correctly. Larissa’s alarm increased with every scene and reached a new level when it came time for Casilda’s solo.

  As Rose, Cas knelt by Florian’s “dead” body. Her voice was pure, and Larissa tensed as she reached the final line. Unaware of what she was doing, she mouthed the lines along with Casilda.

  “Like a dream at morning,

  Like summertime, he dies!”

  Casilda hit the high C perfectly, her voice sweet and pure—and empty. The audience applauded spontaneously.

  Nameless terror shuddered through Larissa. She had always known the note was in Casilda’s range, but how had the singer conquered her fear of it? Willen, I have to talk with you! she thought desperately to herself. The music changed, and Larissa took a deep breath, took control of her own fear, and leaped on stage as the Lady of the Sea.

  After the performance, Larissa changed clothes and went onto the main deck to mix with the audience as usual. Dumont waylaid her before she had a chance to speak with anyone else.

  “My dear, you’ve been avoiding me,” he chided in a friendly tone as he gently took her arm and propelled her to the railing.

  Larissa smiled tightly. “I’m glad Casilda was able to perform on our last night in Port d’Elhour.”

  Dumont’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I’m glad she’s feeling better. But let us not talk of others.”

  Larissa’s heart sank, and she averted her gaze from his, looking out over the water. It was a clear night, though steamy, as apparently all nights were in the early summer in this land. The moon, which appeared huge, was full and yellow. Larissa felt that she could see every tiny wave on the calm gray surface of the water. Out beyond the harbor, the mists roiled, waiting, eternally patient.

  “We used to be so close, you and I,” Dumont murmured. Larissa felt Dumont’s hand sliding up her back, felt it playing with her long, moon-silvered hair. “We could be close again, my sweet. There are delights you have not yet sampled, and—”

  Larissa jerked away and fixed him with an angry stare.

  “Uncle, stop. This isn’t going to work. Not now, not tomorrow—not ever.” Her mind wailed, Slaver! Betrayer! But she kept the pain from showing.

  The captain froze. “I would not distress you, my dear, though I wish I still had your trust.”

  He bowed slightly and left, but Larissa caught a glimpse of black fury on his face before he turned it away from her. Fear began to penetrate her outrage.

  Willen had watched the interchange, had caught a few of the words. Now he followed Dumont like a shadow. In those he touched as he passed, Willen planted the thought: forget. They returned to their conversation, and the next morning would have no recollection of the handsome young man making his way through the crowd.

  As Willen had feared, the captain went to Lond’s cabin. Willen glanced around, but most of the crew was either in town for a final celebration before departure or else tending to the patrons on the main deck. The crewman pressed an ear to the door.

  “… know why my own magic doesn’t work, but it doesn’t,” Dumont was saying. He was raging, and his voice came through quite clearly. “I’m running out—damn it, have run out—of patience with the wench. I want her, and I want her now.”

  Willen had to strain to hear Lond’s raspy voice. “Well, it will not be tonight, Captain. I must tax that faded patience of yours a little longer.”

  “But soon?”

  “Soon.”

  The youth backed away in horror then hastened down the stairs to the main deck and Larissa’s side. Flashing a grin to the mayor, who was chatting with the dancer, he interrupted them graciously. Then he and Larissa stepped away from the throng.

  “I’ve been trying to—” began Larissa.

  “I know. I’m sorry. They’ve been keeping me awfully busy.” He took a deep breath and sorted through the thoughts careening around in his brain. “Larissa, you’re in danger.”

  “I know, you told me—”

  Willen shook his head. “No. Immediate danger from Dumont. Within the next day or so. You’ve got to get off the boat once we’re safely into the swamp.”

  Larissa was shocked. “Dumont’s going to kill me?”

  “He’s made some kind of bargain with Lond. Somehow Lond is going to use his magic to make you fall in love with Dumont.”

  “Can he do that? I mean, I would think that if Uncle—Dumont—wanted that, he’d have tried on his own.” Larissa felt horribly alone and trapped.

  Willen’s face went hard. “Larissa, you don’t know Lond.
I don’t think Dumont even realizes what he’s involving himself with.”

  “Wait a minute. Isn’t leaving the boat to go into the swamp like crawling out of a cauldron into a cook-fire?”

  Again, Willen shook his head. “The swamp won’t hurt you, not if you go on an errand for me. At least, I hope not.”

  “Very reassuring.” Her tone was flippant, but her heart had started to beat rapidly. She had been dreading the voyage into that steamy, dark marsh. The thought of fleeing La Demoiselle and wandering around in the swamp—

  Willen took her hand, and suddenly she was calm again. She saw the swamp through his eyes: a place of death to the unwary, fraught with dangers and watching eyes. Certainly, darkness and malevolence dwelled in sunless pockets, but it was also a home to many innocent creatures, a place where growth and death were part of a cycle, not in conflict.

  “I wish I could go with you,” Willen was saying as Larissa came back to herself, “but that’s just not possible.” Despite the reassuring vision Willen had sent her, Larissa remained hesitant.

  “Yes, you do have the courage,” he said in answer to her unspoken words. “Your life, perhaps even your soul, hinges on this. And the lives of others. Will you go, Larissa?”

  She licked dry lips, then looked into his concerned brown eyes with what she hoped was confidence.

  “Yes, I will. Tell me what I have to do.”

  * * * * *

  The guests had departed, and the cast members had retired to their cabins. Only Brynn, standing tireless guard duty, saw Dumont emerge from his cabin and go to the bow of the vessel.

  The captain unwrapped a scarf from his neck. He shook the white piece of fabric over the side, causing it to snap, then carefully rewound it about his throat.

  With a little ripple, a slim, beautiful young woman appeared on the surface of the water. Her golden hair was plastered to her head, and her emerald eyes were shiny with tears. She gazed up at Dumont, rosebud lips trembling as she treaded water.

  “Good evening, Flowswift,” Dumont addressed the woman. She stayed sulkily silent. “You’ve been trying to trick me again, haven’t you?”

  She shook her head. “No, Captain Dumont. I’d not do that.”

  Dumont’s voice was full of patronizing affection. “Oh, you little liar. I saw you with Caleb last night. You were trying to persuade him to steal your shawl back from me. Well, it didn’t work.”

  He gestured, and the boat’s youngest crewman approached. The zombie was newly made and easily passed for living. But the nereid saw that there was no light in Caleb’s eyes, and she whimpered at having been discovered. Dumont pursed his lips and a series of notes issued forth. Along the bottom edge, the shawl began to burn smokily.

  The nereid arched her back in pain, cramming the heels of her hands into her mouth to stifle her scream. Even in her agony, she knew that Dumont would torture her worse if she cried out.

  Then the fire was gone. “Now, perhaps, you’ll behave for a little while. I wish to go into the swamp. Swim ahead and let me know if there’s any problem. You know what I’ll do to this if you ground us.”

  Flowswift winced and nodded. She sank beneath the surface, vanishing at once without a ripple. Dumont smiled and went below. Between the nereid scouting ahead in the water, the owl maid exploring the land from above, and Willen’s navigational skills, the trip should be a smooth and uneventful one.

  * * * * *

  At dawn, they pulled away from the dock. It was a deceptively merry parting. The populace of Port d’Elhour had turned out despite the early hour, and they were determined to give the great boat a proper farewell. Several musicians played, and Mayor Foquelaine gave a speech in honor of the showboat and its cast. Larissa noticed that a few pretty young ladies were struggling to control tears and suspected that, even in this brief time, Sardan had managed to break his share of hearts.

  As the boat steamed away, it saluted the port with music of its own from the huge calliope that adorned the stern. Everyone on board was on the main deck, waving farewell to the hosting town. Slowly but surely, the dock fell away.

  Larissa always used to enjoy it when the big boat was on the move. The splashing of the paddlewheel, the gentle hum that continually vibrated through the boat—these things had always marked new beginnings for her. Now they heralded only fear. She had only one day left on the elegant vessel; she planned to escape tonight.

  The trees seemed to hunch over La Demoiselle as the boat steamed its way into the swamp. The sky was soon shut out by the gray-green, mossy canopy of cypress trees. Long streamers of airmoss and strands of creeper actually trailed against the vessel, catching in the railings and leaving La Demoiselle festooned as if with dirty, tattered ribbons.

  Larissa was on the main deck at the stern, watching the red paddlewheel churn steadily. The backwash from the wheel climbed up the myriad rootlets of the cypress trees and ebbed back out again, rising and falling like miniature tides. As she watched, she could have sworn the trees closed in behind them to seal them off from the harbor area. But surely, she told herself, that’s only my imagination. Trees can’t move.

  “Goodness, what a lovely sight,” Sardan drawled sarcastically, stepping up beside her and following her gaze. He crunched an apple and offered her a bite.

  An idea occurred to Larissa. She beamed up at the singer.

  “Yes,” she said flirtatiously, keeping her eyes on his face. “It is a lovely sight.” She accepted the proffered apple and took a small bite. If she were constantly in Sardan’s company until the time came to leave, she’d be less likely to be threatened by either Lond or Dumont.

  Startled out of his normal insouciance, Sardan stared down at Larissa, pleased with the unexpected attention. He stood a few inches taller, and his already broad chest swelled with self-importance. They chatted for a time, and Sardan pointed out items of interest. Most of the information he had to impart Larissa already knew, but she feigned wide-eyed interest. Once, to show off, Sardan pointed out a gnarled log floating in the water.

  “See that?” he said to her. “Looks just like a harmless log, doesn’t it? Well, watch this.” He tossed the apple core toward it. The water suddenly came to a frothy life as the creature, revealed now as a crocodile, snapped up the morsel greedily.

  Larissa gasped, startled. An instant later, though, the waters were frothing again. A tentacle had wrapped around the crocodile with astonishing speed and was dragging the frantically flailing reptile below the surface. Bubbles broke the surface for a few more heartbeats, then the water was calm again.

  Larissa glanced over at Sardan. He was deathly pale, and he gripped the railing so hard that his knuckles were white. Aware of her gaze upon him, the actor deliberately pried loose his clenched fingers.

  “I think,” he said in an admirably calm voice, “that I won’t be throwing any more food to the crocodiles.”

  All too soon for an apprehensive Larissa, the shadows began to lengthen. The swamp banks, forbidding even during the daylight hours, took on a new menace at night. As they had every night since she had arrived, the drums began as soon as darkness had settled upon the water. They were louder, harder to ignore now, as if they came from only a few yards away. Perhaps they did. Still, only the dancer seemed to hear their primal beat.

  Larissa forced herself to eat at dinner—who knew when she would have a real meal again—and stayed out as late as she could with the attentive Sardan. Finally, reluctantly, she went to her cabin.

  She had seldom removed the root necklace that Willen had given her on the night they met. Last night he had given her more of the magical, protective plant, as well as other herbs and pouches he called “conjure bags.” Per his instructions, Larissa had placed them in every corner of her small room. She knew that she was safer in her cabin than anywhere else on the beautiful boat, which was now starting to feel like a prison.

  She picked up one of the conjure bags. Kneeling by her closed door, she untied the bag and poured out a thin line o
f crumbled earth along the wooden floor of the cabin.

  “Nothing evil will cross the line, nor any of evil’s creatures,” Willen had told her. She prayed he was right.

  She rose and began to pack a few items in a sack, including the remaining conjure bags. As she was rummaging through her chest of drawers, she came upon the locket. Larissa sat on the bed, looking at it for a long moment. Dumont had proved that his word couldn’t be trusted, and his word was all Larissa had regarding her father. What had really happened between her father and Dumont?

  She started at a knock on the door. Heart hammering, she called in a voice that shook, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Casilda,” came the answer.

  Relief flooded through the dancer, leaving her momentarily so weak that her legs wouldn’t support her. She got her limbs under control and went to open the door. Casilda stared at her with that same dull gaze.

  “Come on in, Cas,” Larissa invited, returning to her bed and sitting down on it wearily. “I don’t think—” Larissa broke off, horrified.

  Casilda could not cross the threshold. The singer raised her hands, trying to push them into the room, but she kept hitting some invisible wall. Her expression didn’t change, but she continued to try to enter. Willen’s earth-magic thwarted her every attempt.

  Larissa stared at the ghastly spectacle. Casilda hadn’t been ill. Something had been done to her, to her mind. Willen’s words came rushing back: Nothing evil will cross the line, nor any of evil’s creatures.

  After about five minutes, Casilda stopped and gazed at Larissa with an unblinking stare. Hardly breathing, Larissa couldn’t take her eyes away from that horrible, empty gaze. Then Casilda turned and walked away slowly.

  Larissa sprang up and closed the door, leaning against it for a few minutes, then grabbed her sack of clothes. She and Willen had decided to wait until shortly before dawn, but after seeing what Casilda had become, Larissa was not about to waste another moment aboard La Demoiselle. All at once, the swamp seemed far more benign than the boat.