Dumont languidly reached over and gathered the loser’s mound of tokens to himself. He glanced over it, and raised a golden eyebrow.
“Doesn’t look like there’s enough here to cover what you owe me,” he commented.
“But I don’t have any more money with me,” the broken man whispered, his head drooping and finally sinking into his trembling hands.
“Well, that is unfortunate,” Dumont commented in a maliciously bright tone of voice. “But perhaps you ought to have thought of that before you began to play.”
“I’d been on a lucky streak …” Aubrey Helson’s voice trailed off.
Dumont grinned like a famished tiger. “Looks like your luck just ran out. I’ll give you a moment to think about how you might want to settle that debt. If anything occurs to you, just tell my friend Dragoneyes over there.”
He nodded in the half-elf’s direction. The golden-eyed first mate glanced up at the sound of his name, caught Dumont’s expression, and nodded ever so slightly before returning his attention to his whittling.
Light glinted off his knife. Helson cringed visibly.
The night air was clean and cool, and the night sky brimmed with stars. As he stepped out on the deck, however, Dumont discovered that he didn’t need to search the heavens for ethereal beauty.
It was quiet on deck. Most of the patrons were either in the theater watching the performance or else gambling in the lounge like Helson. Alone on deck, the white-haired girl was dancing, keeping perfect time to a rhythm only she could hear and performing solely for her own pleasure. Her hair, which had been tied back in a ponytail, was now loose and floated about her like a cloud shot through with moonlight.
The harsh orange-yellow gleam of the night lanterns detracted from the sight, but not greatly. Little Larissa Helson still managed to look fey and wild, swaying and leaping and turning, graceful and unpredictable as a feather caught by a wanton breeze.
Dumont watched her, enraptured. In a few years, men would pay a great deal to see that child perform. With that mane of white, she was a natural for the Lady of the Sea. Once this graceful girl became associated with La Demoiselle du Musarde, Dumont’s fame would be secure. Thoughtful, he went inside.
Helson’s whipped expression had not changed. Dumont eased himself into the chair opposite the wretched gambler and waited patiently until Helson raised his eyes.
“Your daughter has a gift,” Dumont stated bluntly. “I would like her to stay on as a chorus girl. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think she’d have a chance at the leading role in a few years. You could consider her your payment. She’d be well-treated and would lack for nothing.”
What color lingered in Helson’s sallow face vanished. His mouth opened and closed. “No,” he managed at last. “She’s the only thing I’ve got left to … No.”
“You’re holding her back,” Dumont pressed. “Didn’t you see how her face lit up as I mentioned her dancing with us? She was born to be onstage, man. Anyone can see that.”
“No.” Helson shook his head decisively. “I’ll find some way to settle the debt. Just give me a day or two, please, for pity’s sake …”
Dumont’s green eyes searched Helson’s pain-filled blue ones. “Very well,” he said finally. “But we will keep the girl on board until you return, as surety.”
Helson looked as though he would protest, but before he could articulate his feelings Dragoneyes was there. The half-elf laid a hand on the gambler’s shoulder. “You heard the captain, friend,” he said in an amiable, soft voice. “I think it’s time you went home.”
Dragoneyes’ other hand grasped the knife with which he had been whittling. It was not held to Helson’s throat, but the message was clear.
The man slumped for a moment, then raised pain-filled eyes to Dumont. “May I say good-bye to her?”
Dumont leaned backward and leisurely packed his pipe. “No, I can’t let you do that. Dragoneyes will escort you to the shore.” He nodded, and the mate slipped a hand beneath the gambler’s elbow, firmly pulling the man to his feet. Helson looked back at the captain.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. I have some things I can sell. Tell Larissa that I’ll be back as soon as I can, so she won’t worry.”
“Oh, certainly,” Dumont agreed smoothly. He snapped his fingers, and Helson gasped as the captain’s index finger blazed with a small blue flame, and he proceeded to light his pipe with it.
“I will be back,” Helson repeated. “Tomorrow morning. Tell her.”
Dumont didn’t reply, and Helson and Dragoneyes left.
The captain rose once they had gone, and went on deck again to watch the dancing child. The half-elf returned a few moments later.
“He’s taken care of,” Dragoneyes said in a low voice.
“Excellent,” Dumont replied, taking another puff on his pipe.
Dragoneyes’ gaze followed his friend’s. “New dancer, eh, Raoul?”
“What do you think about training her for the Lady of the Sea?”
The half-elf nodded. “Perfect.”
Dumont’s eyes never left Larissa. “What did you do with him?”
Dragoneyes grinned coldly. “There are a lot of hungry wolves in Arkandale. I left him near the fringe of the forest. Won’t be more than a skeleton by morning.”
“Bright boy, Dragoneyes, bright boy,” Dumont approved. “Wait half an hour, then get the fox. We’ll run his damned legs off. I want to be out of here by dawn.”
“Aye, Raoul.” Dragoneyes melted away quietly. Dumont went out onto the deck.
“Larissa?” The girl stopped and turned her innocent face up to his.
“Yes, Captain?”
Dumont hesitated, letting a sympathetic expression form on his face. He laid an avuncular hand on her slender shoulder. “My dear, I’ve got some very bad news.”
A sharp knock startled Dumont out of his reverie and back to the present. He rose slowly and weaved his way to the door, opened it, and peered out.
Willen saluted smartly. “Good afternoon, Captain. I was wondering if perhaps you’d give me permission to take the yawl and scout around for Miss Snowmane. I know the swamp well, sir. No offense to the rest of the boys, but … they might slow me down.”
Dumont tightened his grip on the doorknob for support. He took a deep breath and demanded that his vision clear. It didn’t. “Bit dangerous out there for a lone man, isn’t it?” His voice, at least, was steady.
Willen grinned. “Not if you grew up here, sir.”
“Oh, that’s right. Yes, that’s a fine idea, Will. How long do you think you’ll be gone?”
Willen thought about it, gnawing his lower lip. “I should be back by morning. You can send the boat on ahead and I’ll catch up.”
“Good. We’ll see you in the morning. Oh, Will—”
The youth turned around. “Aye, sir?”
A muscle in Dumont’s cheek twitched. “What does the term ‘whitemane’ mean to you?”
Willen’s expression didn’t change. “Nothing, sir. Should it?”
Dumont shook his head, wincing at the sudden pain that shot through it at the gesture. “No, no. Just some damned nonsense Lond was spouting, that’s all. Go about your business, boy.”
“Aye, sir.”
Dumont closed the door and leaned against it for a moment while the room swam. Carefully, he made his way back to the bed. No sooner had he lain down than an urgent pounding came on the door.
Dumont swore loudly. “Curse your mother, come in!”
Lond swept into the room, closing the door behind him. Dumont’s stomach tightened. He was becoming increasingly uncomfortable around his alleged ally.
“The swamp boy is taking the yawl!” Lond cried. “You must stop him at once!”
“I told him he could. He knows the swamp, and he’s going in search of Larissa.” Dumont narrowed his eyes. “And as for that trumped-up yarn of yours, Lond, I don’t believe a word of it. Will said he’d never even heard of a whitemane, and he oug
ht to know.”
Lond’s body shook with anger. With an effort, he calmed himself.
“Captain Dumont,” he said in deceptively silky tones, “you are the biggest fool it has ever been my misfortune to come across. Of course he would lie about the whitemane! Of course he would want to scout ahead all alone in the middle of a dangerous swamp! He’s one of them and he’s gone to warn Larissa!”
Unwillingly, Dumont felt his trust in Willen waver. When the boy was around, it was impossible not to like him. But now, alone and with his head hurting from too much alcohol, Dumont began to doubt. If Lond was correct about Larissa’s swamp magic, then the wizard might be right about Willen.
Still, Dumont felt obliged to defend the trust he had placed in the boy. “He’s been quite loyal so far, and the crew loves him.” It sounded lame, even to his own ears. A thought suddenly occurred to him. “Why didn’t he shake the scouting party earlier if he’s a spy?”
“I’ve no idea,” Lond snapped, pacing back and forth and rubbing his gloved hands together. “Perhaps to prove his trustworthiness, to lull you into a false sense of security. Obviously,” he sneered, “it worked. It’s too late to stop him now, but perhaps we could follow him.”
“No,” replied Dumont. “He’d notice anyone on his track and lose them.” He paused, lost in thought. “There is someone who can track him,” the captain said at last.
Lond smiled grimly in the masking shadow of his hood.
SIXTEEN
Gradually, Larissa’s young, strong body became used to the unusual movements of the dance magic. She even grew to like them. The wild swaying and leaping was much different than the old choreography, and she relished not having to do a certain step at a certain time. True enough, there were movements that meant things—sort of a magical shorthand. For the most part, however, Larissa just enjoyed the freedom to follow the drumbeats as her body saw fit.
The Maiden had instructed her to build a small fire, and now Larissa gazed into it intently. The flames were dancers themselves, hypnotic and compelling. The young woman lost herself in observing the flickering tongues of heat and light.
“Fire burns,” came the Maiden’s voice, “fire cleanses, destroys, purifies. Out of the ashes comes rebirth, out of the flames, heat that could save a life. I want you to make this tiny fire a bit larger. Dance the flames.”
Slowly, keeping her eyes on the fire, Larissa rose and began to move. The dancer swayed, her arms rising of their own accord. Her fingers fluttered, mimicking the licking of the flames.
She began to smile a little to herself. This was easy, so much easier than water, Larissa thought, letting go and tumbling into the sensations. Fire burns.…
The young woman felt hot, burning up with energy. Her body responded, her arms swirling and fingers fluttering like tongues of flame. Fire burns.…
A gigantic crack and a sudden flush of heat brought Larissa abruptly out of the trance. She blinked dazedly and then saw what had happened. One of the old cypress trees by the pool had exploded into flame. Ashes flew into Larissa’s face, and the fire, snapping and roaring dangerously, threatened to spread to the other trees. Larissa stared, transfixed with horror.
Fortunately, the Maiden reacted swiftly. She hastened to the pool, immersed her slim, strong body, and called the magic herself. A huge wave exploded from the river. Much of the fire was put out, but the tree’s right side still burned brightly. A second wave reared up, drenching the tree and finally extinguishing the crackling flames.
The Maiden returned to the bank, digging her root feet into the soil. Dirt erupted from near the dead tree’s roots as if thrown by some giant burrowing creature, and the sizzling embers were safely covered with earth.
For a moment, both women stared at the still-smoking, blackened trunk. Larissa realized it was the tree who had first permitted her to travel through it.
The Maiden shook her head sadly. There was no need for her to say anything to Larissa. The girl knew what she had done, and why it had happened.
“I’m so sorry, Maiden,” Larissa whispered, her face still frozen in horror. “I’m so sorry.”
The Maiden slipped an arm about the girl’s waist. “I know. Look well upon what you have done and learn from it. Then, let it be.”
They stood in silence, gazing at the dead tree. A few days ago, Larissa would hardly have cared about one burned cypress. But she knew this tree, had traveled through it, and it had trusted and accepted her. Now she realized how the tree fitted into its environment, what creatures had called it home. And she, with a careless slip of her concentration, had destroyed it.
“Come, child,” the Maiden said briskly. “It is time for your dinner. Deal with fire in a more mundane fashion, and prepare yourself the rabbit Deniri so graciously caught for you.”
Still flushed with guilt, Larissa turned from the skeletal wreckage of the tree. She skinned the rabbit clumsily, for she had never had to prepare meat before, and managed to contrive a spit upon which to roast the animal. Soon, it began to give off a scent that made Larissa’s mouth water.
“That smells wonderful. Got enough for two?” came a cheerful voice. Larissa’s head whipped around, and to her shocked delight she saw Willen. He was walking toward her, a swarm of feu follets dancing around his head.
“Willen!” she cried, scrambling to her feet and running toward him. They collided clumsily, and she embraced him with a fierce pleasure. The feu follets blinked rapidly, flitting about and changing colors. “Willen, I’m so glad to see you!”
“So I gathered,” the youth joked, though he clasped her as tightly as she did him. “Did the feu follet come for you?”
Larissa nodded happily. “Yes, and a quickwood saved me, and Longears brought me to—”
“Whoa, slow down!” chided Willen. “This is a tale best told over supper, and I’m hungry.”
“Welcome, Willen,” said the Maiden, stepping beside them. “Eat and refresh yourself, and all tales will be told.”
They made a circle of light in the darkness as they ate. Willen encouraged Larissa to tell of her adventure in the swamp, and laughed with delight when he heard that Longears had accepted her.
“He doesn’t make friends easily,” Willen said. “If you call someone ‘as cautious as Longears,’ it means they take a long time to trust anyone.”
“As you probably planned,” the Maiden noted, “Larissa has agreed to learn the dance magic. She is doing quite well.”
“I have a good teacher,” she said, deflecting the compliment.
“Then …” Willen paused, then continued hesitantly. “Then you know who you are? You remember your first trip to Souragne?”
The dancer nodded, licking her slightly burned fingers. Willen’s voice held an odd tension, and she wasn’t sure why. “I’m not afraid of the swamp anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.”
The young man was clearly relieved. “You don’t know how pleased I am to hear that, Larissa.” She looked up at him and again was snared by the sweet mystery that lay in the depths of his dark eyes.
“What of the riverboat?” came the Maiden’s voice, interrupting the moment. Willen’s expression darkened.
“Lond is moving swiftly,” he answered. Larissa started to shiver, despite the humid warmth of the early evening. Willen moved closer to her and put a comforting arm around her. She looked up at him.
“How many?”
“Almost all of the crew now,” he said. Gently he stroked her white hair. “The cast, except for Casilda, seems pretty much untouched, though soon they’re bound to figure out that something’s gone very, very wrong. I’ve discovered that you can hear the music from the show in the prisoner’s hold. I think there’s some kind of spell in the music, and Lond’s smart enough to know that a living throat imparts something to a song that a zombie can’t.”
“Then why did Casilda become …” Larissa couldn’t even finish the sentence. Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard.
“She may
have seen something they didn’t want her to,” Willen replied.
“Yes, that’s it, I’m sure of it now. I think Dumont’s killed … inconvenient cast members before. Liza, the woman Cas understudied, was murdered, and they never found out who did it. She probably happened onto his slaves.” She shook her head sadly. “What a wretched, foul mess.”
“How are the prisoners?” asked the Maiden.
“Enduring. Not abused.”
“And Bouki?”
“He and the fox loah are best friends now. I think Bushtail would fight his own brother for the little fellow.” He grinned impishly. “Longears will have a fit.”
“How much more time can you buy us?” the Maiden inquired.
Willen’s grin faded. “I don’t know. I’ve taken them on as roundabout a route as I can without Lond growing suspicious. He knows the swamp, remember. I can still claim things about river depth and such, but if I stall too long, he’ll catch on.”
The Maiden shook her mossy head. “He always was too clever for his own good,” she said softly. “What do you say? A week? Two?”
Willen was silent for a moment. His sober brown eyes gazed into the fire, then he looked directly at the Maiden. “A few days at the most.”
The Maiden closed her eyes in pain for a moment. “Larissa needs more training.”
“We don’t have the time.”
The Maiden turned abruptly and walked to the edge of the clearing. Beyond the ring of flickering orange firelight Larissa could see her slim shape. The Maiden stood quietly, not moving at all.
The dancer turned her attention back to Willen. “I’m glad you have avoided trouble. I was afraid that you’d be suspected.”
Willen smiled. “Not at all. I am universally trusted. It’s extremely convenient.”
Larissa chuckled slightly. The feu follets continued to dance around Willen, as they had since he arrived.
“The feu follets like you,” she commented. “This is the first time I’ve seen them since I came to the island.”
Willen assumed a wry expression. “They ought to like me, since I am one of them.”
Dance of the Dead Page 19
