Dance of the Dead

by Christie Golden

  Larissa’s head came up in pleased surprise. Her first instinct about this curious youth had been right after all.

  Dumont swore, and Larissa heard his heavy stride fade away. She waited a few moments, then cautiously peered over the crest of the roof. The young man was beneath the sign again, still grinning up at her.

  “You … you didn’t give me away,” Larissa managed.

  “ ’Course I didn’t. He looked like he might be meaning you harm. Are you coming down, or do I have to climb up there?”

  Larissa laughed. “I can manage. You’ve rescued me once already tonight.” She edged down the roof and then dropped to the earth, landing lightly and gracefully. “Might the former damsel in distress inquire as to her savior’s name?”

  He looked totally surprised, and Larissa raised an eyebrow. “Um …” he said, glancing around. “It’s … it’s Willen.”

  She arched an eyebrow, not believing it for a minute. Larissa suspected that this was a young man not much given to lying, and he had just told a whopper of a falsehood. His manner and the way he averted his eyes reinforced her hunch.

  “Well, Willen, I’m Larissa Snowmane, and I am—”

  “The Lady of the Sea in The Pirate’s Pleasure. I was at the performance, remember?” His genuinely friendly smile took any sting out of the teasing. “It’s nice to properly meet you, Miss Snowmane. Although,” he added, glancing around and dropping his voice, “we may want to continue this conversation elsewhere.”

  The young woman felt a stab of apprehension mixed with a generous portion of annoyance. She didn’t want to spend the entire evening fleeing from unwanted male attention. A quick glance at her surroundings, however, soon set her mind at rest regarding his intentions.

  The poorly kept street stank of refuse. A woman wearing altogether too much makeup and too little clothing stumbled out of a nearby building. When she saw Willen, she leered and preened. Two men rounded a corner and paused, also eyeing the young pair.

  “You’re right,” she told her mysterious rescuer, “let’s go someplace else.”

  “Shall I take you back to La Demoiselle du Musarde?” Larissa nodded slowly. “Yes, but not right away. Is there a better part of town? I need some time to think.”

  “Whatever you like,” he said, touching her shoulder gently. A thoughtful expression crossed his face. “There’s a nice place a few streets down, where you can get something to eat. If you’re hungry, that is.”

  Larissa had just been thinking how nice it would be to silence the rumbling in her stomach. The dancer inevitably developed a terrible case of stage fright and couldn’t keep food down before a performance. Afterward, however, she was ravenous. When one danced as often and as intently as Larissa did, one didn’t have to eat lightly.

  “I’m hungry enough to eat an entire horse,” she told Willen.

  He frowned. “I don’t think anybody here serves horse meat, but we can ask.”

  Larissa exploded with laughter, feeling happier than she had since Liza had been murdered. Willen seemed confused for a moment, then grinned. He proffered his arm with exaggerated gallantry. She took it in the same manner, curling her slim fingers over his arm.

  They kept to the center of the cobblestone street, avoiding alleyways and dark entrances. Larissa didn’t like the area one bit and was relieved when the run-down buildings gave way to private homes and better-tended taverns and shops. At one point, Larissa suddenly became aware that the drums had stopped. She wondered how long it had taken her to notice that they had fallen silent.

  As they walked, Larissa asked, “What if Captain Dumont finds us?”

  Willen shook his head and tried to suppress a laugh. He failed, and it burst forth, a merry music on the hot summer’s night. “He won’t. I sent him down Old Cypress Way.” At Larissa’s blank look, he explained, “That’s where all the brothels are.”

  His dancing brown glances met hers, inviting her to join in on the joke he had played on the captain. Larissa did. By the time they reached the comparatively cozy little inn called the Two Hares, Larissa’s stomach hurt, and not just from hunger pangs.

  She glanced up and almost started laughing again at the comical sign, which depicted two rabbits with their forelegs on each other’s shoulders and goblets of wine in their paws. One still looked sharp and somewhat sober, while the other was so intoxicated even his ears drooped.

  Larissa’s pleasant mood faded when they entered. The room was dark, with only a few smoky lanterns and a fire for illumination. Conversation stopped, and the three musicians who had been playing halted in a jumble of discordant notes. There were not many patrons at this time of night, but the few lingering over their pints of ale stared openly at the young dancer. Suspicious eyes roamed over her shapely figure, and Larissa became acutely aware that she was still in her revealing costume from the play.

  She was about to suggest leaving, but Willen strode forward into the heart of the room, marching directly up to the enormously fat innkeeper behind the bar. The man paused in his task of cleaning glasses and glared at Willen with small, hostile black eyes.

  “Jean—it is Jean, isn’t it?—you are to be honored tonight!” Willen enthused. “We have one of the leading ladies from the showboat here, and she’s hungry for some of your wonderful food. I told her it was the best in Port d’Elhour.”

  Jean stared at Willen for a long moment, then his black beard parted to reveal stained yellow teeth. “Best in Port d’Elhour?” he scoffed. “The best in all of Souragne! So, my lady, you are from the showboat, eh?”

  Larissa was stunned at the change in atmosphere. Almost before Jean had finished speaking, normalcy returned. The musicians began to play again, and the patrons returned to their mugs, taking no further interest in her. “Yes, I am,” she answered the innkeeper.

  “Ah, yes, now I recall—the Lady of the Sea! By all means, sit, and I shall bring you a glass of our best wine.” Moving with more speed than Larissa had thought a man of his girth could manage, he cleaned off a small wooden table near the fire and motioned them to the hard chairs.

  “There’s a word for men like you,” Larissa whispered to her companion as they sat.

  Willen looked suddenly suspicious. “What?”

  “Charming!” Larissa announced.

  Willen smiled, relieved.

  “So, what’s good to eat here?” she asked.

  The young man looked perplexed. “I don’t know.”

  “Willen, you told me this was a good place to eat, and you don’t even know what they serve?”

  He shrugged. “I said this was a nice little place. I didn’t say I ate here.”

  Jean returned with their wine, fortunately too late to overhear Willen’s comment. “Our specialty, per the sign, is rabbit sautéed in a wine sauce, served with stewed makshee and cushaw.”

  Larissa recognized the words “rabbit” and “wine” and that was enough for her. “Mmm, that sounds wonderful,” she said. The innkeeper bowed and left them alone. The dancer critically surveyed her new friend.

  Willen was the strangest person she had ever met. He hadn’t yet bothered to explain how it was that he could see her when she was invisible. His reaction when she asked him his name was also peculiar. Why did he want to hide his name? In anybody else, such behavior would have warned her to be on her guard. Willen, however, had already proven himself a friend, someone she could trust.

  “Tell me about yourself,” she said impulsively.

  Willen smiled his easy grin. “There’s not all that much to tell. I’m sure your life’s been much more interesting than mine.”

  “I don’t know about that. Somebody who can see me when I’m invisible is someone I’d like to know more about,” Larissa replied, taking a sip of the wine and trying to hide a grimace. It was not a vintage year, apparently.

  Willen looked sheepish at her comment. “Point well taken. Well, let me see.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head, screwing his face up in co
ncentration. The contrast between the almost childlike expression and his handsome young man’s body was extremely appealing.

  “I was born on this island, and I’ve lived here all my life. My mother was from Port d’Elhour, but she didn’t much like city life and the people in town didn’t much like her. So, we went into the swamp when I was just a baby.”

  Larissa went cold inside, though outwardly she remained calm. Willen’s mother had taken him into the swamp. She had a fleeting impression of cypress trees dripping airmoss, of misty darkness and strange illumination that didn’t come from a torch. Annoyed with herself, she banished the image.

  “I can’t imagine what it would be like to grow up there,” she said, keeping her voice neutral.

  Willen shrugged. “I didn’t think it was so bad.”

  “Did you have any playmates?”

  He smiled strangely. “Well, yes, but they were … very different from the children of the town. The only drawback is, now that I’m here in Port d’Elhour, I sometimes say and do things that seem a little odd to most people.”

  “But how did you see through the pendant’s magic?” Larissa persisted.

  Willen started to reply, but fell silent as Jean presented their meal. Larissa sniffed appreciatively. The vegetables served alongside the juicy-looking meat were alien to her, but she attacked them with vigor and found them delicious. Willen watched her for a moment, then picked up his own knife and fork and began to eat.

  Larissa closed her eyes, savoring the tender rabbit flavored with wine. Willen had been right after all. “The pendant?” she reminded him, chewing.

  The youth countered with a question of his own. “How do you do magic? Or recognize it, or know how to combat it?”

  “Well, you study it, I sup—oh.” She stared, suddenly comprehending. The townsfolk had driven his mother away.… “She used magic—your mother, I—”

  “I memorized spells the way some children do stories,” he confirmed with a slight smile. “I sometimes forget myself.”

  “Like tonight.”

  He nodded with mock ruefulness. “Like tonight.”

  For a time they were silent, devoting themselves to Jean’s good food with the attention it deserved. Larissa felt better about Willen. His upbringing explained most of his strangeness. It did not, however, explain why she felt so comfortable around him.

  She glanced up, wondering how to articulate that question, and he met her look straight on. Larissa fell into his bright, clear gaze. That was the only way she could describe it: she simply fell into his eyes. The feelings with which she was inundated gladdened her, excited her, and frightened her to death. He was nothing like the men she had met before—smitten youths who wanted only to get her alone in some dark corner. There was respect and admiration in those brown eyes, and a marvelously compelling sense of … play.

  “I have to go,” she stammered. She automatically reached for the pouch she normally carried when she went ashore, then realized to her chagrin that she was still in costume.

  “Willen, do you have any …” Larissa’s voice trailed off as Willen sheepishly turned his own pockets out. Jean, seeing the gesture, appeared at their table.

  “I have money in my cabin,” Larissa began. “You can come with me, or come find me tomorrow, or I can come back here—”

  Willen turned the power of his radiant smile fully upon the innkeeper. “Yes, Jean, come by the boat tomorrow, and not only will you be paid in full but you’ll receive a tour as well. Isn’t that right, Miss Snowmane?” Willen almost turned his charismatic eyes upon her, but she kept her attention on the innkeeper and nodded eagerly.

  The big man smiled, revealing several missing teeth. “To walk on such a vessel! Yes, dear lady, I will come see you tomorrow—you and the magnificent showboat!”

  Larissa smiled, relieved. “Thank you, Jean. I’ll be sure to send everyone to the Two Hares when they come ashore.”

  At that moment, a distant rumbling noise was heard. Larissa tensed, thinking that the drums had begun again, then realized the sound was only thunder. She let her breath out in a quiet sigh of relief. Everyone else, though, put their mugs down, tossed money on the table, and began to hasten out the door. Even Jean turned a little pale and left without a word to start closing his tavern.

  Larissa was thoroughly confused. “What’s going on?”

  The youth looked solemn. “There’s a saying in Souragne that Death rides in the rain. Souragniens both long for and fear storms. There are no wells, because the water is tainted. And, of course, you can’t drink swamp water. So the rain replenishes the fresh water supply, but …” His voice trailed off. “It’s just as well that you’re leaving now, that’s all.”

  Larissa shivered, though she wasn’t sure why. She, too, was glad that they were heading back to the safety and familiarity of the boat. She thought that Willen would question her abrupt decision to leave, but he said nothing about it as they made their way back through the now-deserted market square.

  The thunder rumbled again as they walked, and the air smelled sharp and clean. They had almost reached the port when the heavens opened. Rain poured down with a vengeance, drenching the two almost immediately. Larissa gasped, shivering in the sudden, wet cold. Willen put an arm around her and shielded her with his body, ushering them into what little cover a closed storefront could afford.

  “Shouldn’t take long,” Willen said. “These things blow over pretty quick.”

  His body was warm, and, in spite of everything she’d been taught, Larissa felt it was safe to accept his warmth. His arms were protective and sheltering, nothing more. That only caused the dancer to start violently when Willen tensed.

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, no,” he said in a soft voice. He pulled her back as far as he could, then stepped in front of her. Panic sounded as sharply as La Demoiselle’s horn, and Larissa struggled. “Don’t look out there,” Willen said, fear tingeing his voice.

  Larissa ceased struggling, but couldn’t help gazing past Willen into the street. She heard through the pounding of the rain and the occasional sullen bouts of thunder another noise: a swift, clopping sound that drew closer and closer.

  A black shadow was silhouetted against the gray of the market square. A huge horse, black as a nightmare, galloped past, its hooves devouring the cobblestones. Of its rider Larissa saw nothing, save the swirl of an equally black cape. Then it was gone, the clatter of frantic hooves swallowed by the sounds of the storm. She wasn’t sure why, but the young dancer was extremely glad that she had been permitted only a brief look at the sinister, dark rider.

  “He’s gone,” said Willen gently, stepping politely away from her.

  “Who … what?”

  Willen shook his head. “Don’t ask,” he pleaded in a low voice. “Just be thankful he did not choose to stop.”

  Larissa desperately wanted to be back aboard the boat, where it was safe. “I’ve frightened you, haven’t I?” Willen said unexpectedly. “Not just with … with the rider, but me. I’ve frightened you.”

  The quick, polite denial was on her lips, but Larissa found that she couldn’t lie to that open, honest face and those troubled brown eyes.

  “Yes,” she admitted slowly, “but I honestly can’t tell you why. Maybe I’m just jittery tonight. Let’s go back.”

  They left the shelter of the storefront. The rain had died somewhat, and they reached the harbor in just a few moments. Larissa paused. The rain had now faded to a faint drizzle, and she wanted to say something before she left, but words escaped her.

  Willen looked at her for a long moment but made no move to touch her, respecting her confusion. Then, as if he had reached a decision, he tugged at a string around his neck and produced a crude-looking necklace of tightly woven threads. The necklace was strung through what appeared to be a root of some sort. Before she could protest, he had slipped it over her head.

  “It’s for protection,” Willen said quickly. “Keep it on you at all times. Pl
ease.”

  One slim hand reached up to finger the curious necklace as Larissa considered Willen’s actions. Dumont had always warned her about accepting gifts from strangers. Larissa’s full mouth went hard. Tonight, though, it had been Dumont she had feared, not this kind young man. She knew with a sudden inner certainty that, magical or not, the necklace could not harm her if it had come from Willen.

  “Thank you,” she said simply, flashed a fleeting smile, then scurried up the ramp. She did not glance back.

  Larissa went to her cabin, bolted the door, and prepared for sleep. Still sitting up, propped against the down pillows, she pulled the coverlet up to her chin.

  The young dancer didn’t fall asleep until dawn began to lighten the room. Neither did she remove the necklace the strange young man who called himself Willen had given her.

  * * * * *

  Marcel cursed to himself as he left the Two Hares. It had looked like rain earlier today, and he should have been prepared. Now, here he was, clear on the wrong side of town when …

  Angrily the musician wrapped his cloak around himself and his precious flute. The thin fabric of his cloak did little to keep out the oppressive wetness, and he was soon soaked. Marcel hugged the flute case to his chest, shielding it as best he could.

  He hurried, glancing about nervously and stepping into ankle-deep puddles. Soon he was partway across the market square. His home, such as it was, was just down the road from the Scolding Jay, and his heart began to lighten as he glimpsed the sign creaking in the sudden whipping breeze. He almost laughed to himself. By Bouki’s whiskers, he was going to make it.

  It was then that he heard the hoofbeats.

  His heart spasmed, and he almost dropped his flute case. Marcel broke into a quick trot, then into a dead run, his cloak flying behind him. He tried unsuccessfully to calm himself. Other people in the town have horses besides him … and maybe they’re simply hurrying home, just like I am.

  It was a melodious clopping sound now, the sound of a horse in full gallop on a cobblestone street. There was another sound, too, a sort of cracking noise that his mind couldn’t place.