Dance of the Dead Read online

  Dumont had named the boat for the Musarde, the river on which he’d grown up. La Demoiselle had not been the only paddleboat on the river, but it had been the best. Twenty-two years had passed since Dumont had begun its construction. He’d given the boat a special theater room and rehearsal halls, made storage areas, and seen to it that most of the cast members had their own cabins—no small feat on so contained a space.

  The fog moved slowly about Larissa, hiding and revealing the flickering light of gas lamps, and the moonlight turned the water of the river a silver hue. Larissa forgot the menacing press of the swirling mist and the bone-chilling damp that wafted to her from the river. She saw only the beauty of La Demoiselle. Home, she thought to herself.

  Dumont had walked down the road a few paces before he realized she was not at his side. “Larissa?” His voice was gentle and concerned. He extended a hand to her.

  The dancer smiled wearily, scurrying to catch up to her guardian and taking the proffered hand. “She’s just so beautiful in the moonlight.”

  Dumont squeezed her hand. “Aye, she is,” he agreed.

  * * * * *

  As she knew she would, Larissa slept late. It was past noon when she finally woke and, as usual, knocked loudly on Liza’s door to awaken her for lunch.

  “Larissa!” yelped Casilda, coming up behind the dancer. “I heard that Liza and the baron …” She glared meaningfully at her friend.

  Larissa went crimson. What if Sardan had been right and Liza had been giving a “special performance” for Tahlyn last night?

  Casilda Bannek, a tall, dark-haired young woman who was Liza’s understudy, planted her hands on her hips. Then her red lips twisted into a grin and her hazel eyes sparkled. “Well, too late now!”

  Giggling, the young women knocked on the door again. There was still no answer. Larissa hesitated, then reached for the knob. Somewhat to her surprise, the door was unlocked. She glanced at Casilda and raised an eyebrow. For her part, Cas was fighting back laughter so hard that her face was quite red.

  “One, two, three,” whispered Larissa. She and Casilda pushed open the door and yelled “Surprise!”

  Casilda screamed and turned her face away, sobbing. Larissa, her eyes huge, clutched her friend’s shoulder.

  Liza was inside, and alone. Her face was as white as the sheet upon which she lay. She was still in the same formal clothing she had worn to the dinner last night, though her long hair was unbound and spilled about her face in a riot of color. There was a ring of purple and blue about her white throat.

  She had been strangled.

  * * * * *

  Ten minutes later, Dumont had called an all-hands emergency meeting. In the theater, deck hands and cast members sat nervously in their seats while Dumont paced before them in the stage area.

  Dragoneyes, the golden-eyed half-elf who was Dumont’s closest friend, as well as his first mate, leaned against the hull of the boat. Concentrating on whittling a small piece of wood, he appeared totally unconcerned by the goings-on. Soft silver hair fell into his strangehued eyes as he worked. Larissa knew that Dragoneyes was not ignoring the situation. The half-elf was shrewd and calculating. As much as the young dancer loved her guardian, she had never grown very fond of Dumont’s first mate.

  “For those of you who haven’t yet heard,” Dumont began as soon as the crowd had quieted, “Liza Penelope was found strangled in her cabin this morning.”

  He paused, and many of those assembled gasped with astonishment. A few sobs broke out. Dumont waited for quiet, then continued. “Baron Tahlyn and the local authorities have been notified, and they assure me they’ll have this … matter solved swiftly. Apparently the constables in this country are not people one would wish to cross.”

  Dumont smiled thinly, pleased to see a few answering, if halfhearted, smiles in return. Most people, even strangers such as the cast and crew of La Demoiselle, had heard chilling tales of the Kargat, Darkon’s secret police. They answered only to Azalin, the lord of the land, and were, indeed, not to be crossed.

  “Needless to say, we’ll be closing down for a while … out of respect for poor Miss Penelope’s memory. When we do open again, Miss Bannek will be singing the role of Rose. I ask you to give her your full support.”

  Casilda glanced down and bit her lower lip. A tear crept down her cheek, and Larissa squeezed her friend’s hand reassuringly.

  “I feel like it’s my fault somehow,” Casilda whispered. “I wanted the part of Rose so badly … but never like this, Larissa, never like …” She couldn’t go on.

  Larissa was miserable but could do nothing to comfort her friend. She remained dry-eyed, not because she didn’t care about Liza, but because she never wept. She had cried all her tears long ago.

  “Are there any suspects?” asked Sardan.

  Dumont shook his head. “I can’t think why anyone would want to do this. But,” he hastened to add, his gaze sweeping the crowd, “I’m certain that it was someone from the town. We’re like family here on La Demoiselle. I hope everybody knows that.

  “We have been asked to remain on board until the investigation has been completed. I hope that’ll only be a few days, but we’ll have to wait and see. Representatives of the law will be coming aboard this afternoon and questioning everybody in turn. Please give them your full cooperation. Remember, even in this time of grief and shock, we have a reputation to maintain. People knew the name of La Demoiselle du Musarde before Liza came aboard. They’ll remember it when this unpleasantness has been forgotten. That’s all. Dismissed.”

  Soberly, silently, people rose and left. Hushed muttering began as they ascended the wide, carpeted staircase. Casilda wiped at her face, muttered, “ ’Scuse me, Larissa,” and hurried out.

  Larissa rose and went to her guardian, wordlessly holding out her arms for a hug. Dragoneyes and the singularly ugly chief pilot, Handsome Jack, respectfully stepped away. Dumont embraced her tightly.

  “What do you think, Uncle?” she asked, her face pressed against his crisp white shirt. Beneath her cheek she felt his chest heave with a sigh.

  “I think,” he said, “that our host, the baron, might not be the kindly figure he wants us to think he is.”

  Shocked, Larissa pulled away and looked up at the captain. “No! I don’t believe it. He seemed—”

  “He came to visit Liza last night,” Dragoneyes interjected smoothly. “I was on guard duty on the dock. No one else came aboard.” Larissa gazed into the half-elf’s strangely slitted golden eyes, searching for a hint of truth or lie, then returned her troubled gaze to Dumont’s.

  “Think about it for a moment,” Dumont continued. “You saw how enamored he was of Liza. Maybe he asked her to stay, become his paramour, perhaps even his wife, I don’t know.” He shrugged and shook his gold head sadly. “She refused. After all, she’s got a career. He grew angry, and …”

  A dull horror began to seep through Larissa. It did make a frightening sense, but she could not shake the memory of the tender look in Tahlyn’s eyes when he had gazed at Liza.

  Dumont turned his attention to Dragoneyes. “When the authorities come aboard, see if you can’t get permission to go into town and purchase some livestock. If we’re going to be confined on the boat for a while, I’d just as soon not starve.” His voice dripped with resentment, and Larissa could imagine how he chafed under the official restrictions.

  Dragoneyes nodded. “Aye, sir. If I may make a suggestion?” The courtesy was for Larissa’s sake; Dragoneyes never asked permission to speak frankly when he and Dumont were in private. Dumont nodded. “Take a few moments and visit everyone personally. We’re going to start getting the curious coming around to look at the murder boat, and everyone ought to be prepared.”

  Dumont nodded again. It was a sound idea. He patted Larissa’s back and eased her away from him. “You’d best go to your cabin and get ready,” he told her. She nodded, and slowly made her way toward the stairs. Dumont’s green eyes followed her.

  A tou
ch from Dragoneyes brought the captain back to the present, and he banished thoughts of his alluring young ward. There were more urgent matters that needed his attention.

  It was a difficult day for everyone aboard La Demoiselle. Nerves were strained, and arguments broke out readily. Larissa sat in her cabin, trying not to think about Liza, but failing. She lay on her bed, hands clasped behind her head, and stared at the ceiling.

  Her cabin, like all except for Dumont’s comparatively lavish quarters, was tiny. There was enough room for a bunk, a small wooden chest of drawers, and a table and chair. She did not have many personal belongings, only a trinket or two that had caught her fancy in some port or other. The dancer retained only one item from her past. Hidden in one of the drawers was a silver locket. It contained a wisp of blond hair, the locks of a child—her own hair before it had turned white.

  The room was spartan, but that suited Larissa. It was all that she needed. Her joy lay in her dancing.

  A sharp knock on the door broke her reverie, and she opened it to admit a tall human woman in her early forties. The woman’s raven hair was streaked with gray and tied back in a ponytail. She was clad in a well-worn leather tunic, underneath which she wore a mail shirt. A bright purple sash at her waist proclaimed her to be in the local militia. She wore a sheathed sword, and her face and gray eyes were as hard as her steel.

  “Miss Snowmane, I’m Captain Erina. I’ve come to question you about the murder of Miss Liza Penelope.”

  * * * * *

  Dumont had noticed that Baron Tahlyn had sent high-ranking members of his militia to interview the crew, and he didn’t like it one bit. All day he was on edge and busied himself with ordering repairs and such to keep the nervous crew occupied. Erina had agreed to let Dragoneyes and another crewman, Brynn, go ashore and load up with supplies, on the condition that it would be the last time anyone would leave La Demoiselle until the case was closed. Dumont agreed. Dragoneyes and Brynn came back with eight sheep, four pigs, two calves, and several chickens, as well as a great deal of fruit, vegetables, and grain. It looked as though they planned for a long stay.

  Or a long journey.

  That night, Dumont made his way silently to the bow of the main deck. He whistled four clear notes, and a tiny flame appeared on the index finger of his right hand. The blue fire danced without burning the finger, and he brought it to his pipe and lit it, puffing gently.

  The crowd of gawkers that had thronged the wharf earlier had gone. Dumont had yet to visit a port city where decent folk willingly ventured out after nightfall, and Nevuchar Springs was no exception. Wait … there was a movement over near the road. He narrowed his jade eyes. “Dragoneyes,” he called.

  “Aye?”

  “Come here. Tell me what you see over there.”

  The half-elf squinted in the direction that Dumont had subtly indicated. “Man. Not elven. Tall. Caped. Pale. He’s watching us.”

  “No sash?”

  “No, but he’s obviously here on somebody’s business.”

  Dumont swore softly and took a deep pull on his pipe. “Kargat?”

  “Could be.” The moon cleared a cloud and, for a brief instant, flooded the cobblestone road with milky light. The watching man stepped out of the light quickly, casually, but not before Dragoneyes had noticed something that made him tense.

  “Raoul?”

  Dumont frowned at the strain in his first mate’s usually laconic voice. “Yes?”

  “That man casts no shadow.”

  Dumont went cold inside. Only one being that he knew of failed to cast a shadow in full moonlight, and that creature was something he’d never tangled with before and prayed he never would—a vampire.

  “Well,” said Dumont after a long moment, “at least the cursed creature can’t cross water. Get Gelaar. Both of you meet me in my cabin in five minutes. We’ve got to get out of this trap. I think perhaps the Kargat have been ordered to detain us for good.”

  Larissa was asleep when the boat’s engines surged to life. Sensitive to changes in La Demoiselle’s status, she awoke at once. Her bunk was vibrating, enough so that she realized they were moving at peak speed. She grabbed a robe, struggled into it, and hastened outside.

  She was running barefoot along the deck when the night exploded with sounds. The escape attempt had not gone unnoticed by those on shore. Larissa went to the railing and glanced toward the wharf, which was falling to stern with astonishing speed. The militia had piled into the small boats docked near the shore.

  Shouting, directly below her, caught Larissa’s attention, and she looked down to discover that Dumont hadn’t even hauled in the ramp. Six crewmen were straining at the ropes, struggling to free the wooden ramp from the waters and pull it back onto the deck.

  “Larissa, what’s going on?” came Casilda’s cry.

  “I think we’re trying to escape,” Larissa answered, confused. “But I don’t know where Uncle thinks he can take us. We’re fast, but we’re in their country. Look.” She pointed at the small boats that were trying to catch up. “We’ll have to refuel sometime and—”

  “Larissa, we’re not going inland,” Casilda said in a strangled tone of voice. She was looking toward the bow. Larissa followed her gaze, and her heart sank.

  Ahead lay a bank of thick, swirling white fog. Dumont was steering La Demoiselle du Musarde directly into it. “He can’t be doing this,” Larissa murmured, horror slowly filling her beautiful face.

  No captain with any sense ever willingly sailed in thick fog. Navigation was impossible. But Dumont was doing even worse—he was taking La Demoiselle into the deadly, unnatural mists where few ships had ever traveled.

  The dancer could only stare in shocked silence as the whiteness closed about them and Nevuchar Springs disappeared from sight.

  TWO

  “Are you mad?”

  “You’ll kill us all!”

  “Captain Dumont, what is going on?”

  Questions flooded the theater as the captain entered. He looked tired, his green eyes rimmed with red and the lines around his mouth more prominent than usual. Dragoneyes followed him like a silent shadow.

  Brynn, a crewman with red hair and emotionless brown eyes, leaned on the door to the stairs and closed it heavily. The ominous sound caused some of the cast members to look around fearfully; the gesture had quite efficiently silenced them.

  “I am not mad,” Dumont began, pacing back and forth and keeping his keen eyes on his audience. “I am taking a calculated risk in steering La Demoiselle into the mists. Behind us we leave a constabulary that’s after my boat and, therefore, your livelihood.”

  He paused and drew himself up to his full height. “Sardan!” he barked. The tenor’s head whipped up, his face pale. “You think they’ll want you chasing those pretty elfmaids in Nevuchar Springs? And you, Pakris?” The juggler’s fear-filled gaze met Dumont’s. “How many jugglers could that small place handle? You want to try wandering around Darkon at night when you’re from the murder boat? Hmmm?”

  Dumont paused to let his words sink in, then continued. “It is my belief that Baron Tahlyn murdered Liza and tried to shift the blame to someone aboard La Demoiselle. It could be any one of us, just as long as someone hangs for it.” He shook his head slowly. “I’m not going to let anyone aboard this boat pay that kind of a price. We’re family, remember?”

  “So you’re taking us into the mists instead,” one of the chorus girls snapped.

  Dumont’s eyes went cold, and the impetuous young dancer visibly quailed before that icy green stare. “They won’t follow us into the mists. Both Gelaar and I have magical skills, and I have complete faith in my crew. We’ll reach land soon—and safely. Then all this unpleasantness will fade into memory.”

  Or into nightmares, Larissa thought unhappily. No one had ever navigated the dreaded border mists and returned to tell about the adventure.

  She felt Dumont’s eyes upon her and looked up into his face. A ghost of a smile touched her full lips. Then
again, Uncle Raoul had never let her down before.

  * * * * *

  La Demoiselle turned its great paddlewheel on the shore—and its dead—then steamed into the mists. The fog closed around the boat and swallowed it up.

  Larissa found it disturbing to go out on deck and be able to see nothing but the thick fog. She couldn’t even glimpse the water from any deck but the main one, and nowhere could her vision penetrate more than a yard into the shroud of white.

  More alarming still were the strange sounds—yowls, shrieks, and groaning noises that rent the air with no warning and abruptly died into silence. It seemed as though unspeakable creatures lurked just beyond sight, that only luck and mutual blindness kept the ship from being assailed by unnamed horrors. People took to speaking in whispers and venturing outside as little as possible. Only necessity took anyone anywhere near the rails. They were too close to whatever was out there.

  The least popular job was suddenly that of the leadsman. Drawing that duty now caused even the staunchest of crewmen to blanch. “Sounding” consisted of a crewman sitting alone for four hours on a yawl several feet to either port or starboard, testing the water’s depth with a weighted measuring rope. Each depth was marked differently, for ease in identification during dark nights—or thick fog. Four feet was marked by a piece of white flannel woven into the rope; six feet by a piece of leather; nine feet by a piece of red cloth; mark twain, or twelve feet—the ideal depth for a steamboat—by a piece of leather split into two thongs. At mark three, the leather was split into three thongs, and mark four was a single leather strip with a round hole punched into it.

  During the entire nerve-wracking trip, each leadsman sang out: “No bottom.”

  Dumont encouraged rehearsals for the cast and drills for the crew. At first it seemed that the ship was under a spell, perhaps muffled by the terrible fog. The crew hugged the inside decks and the leadsman called his casts in a harsh, croaking parody of his usual bold, musical tones. The players, even within the sheltered rehearsal areas, seemed afraid to raise their voices.