Ravenloft - Dance Of The Dead Part 1

Ravenloft.

Dance of the Dead.

Christie Golden.

"Liza's brilliant tonight, isn't she?" Sardan whispered to Larissa as he watched the star of the show perform.

The white-haired young woman glanced up at Sardan with a happy smile and nodded enthusiastically. Liza Penelope, the star of The Pirate's Pleasure, was alone on the stage of the s...o...b..at La Demoiselle du Musarde. in the midst of a set created by a mage skilled in illusion. Liza's bare feet'were dug into white sand, and swaying palm trees arched over her. There was even the distant lullaby of the waves to be heard, if one cared to ignore Liza's soaring voice. Such attention to detail-and Liza's vocal skill-had made La Demoiselle extremely popular with the port cities it visited. The beautiful soprano flung back her head and sang with full-throated enthusiasm. Her red hair flamed in the glow of an illusionary tropical sun. To Larissa, every note seemed to be even more pure, more powerful than usual. The young dancer and Sardan, the male lead, were watching Liza from behind the curtains. Larissa's part in the play was finished, but she lingered to listen to this last duet. Handsome Sardan adjusted his costume, brushed distractedly at his blond hair one last time, then strode onstage, arms outstretched to Liza. "May, fear not, beioued Rose, Thy loue's returned to thee, By forgiving hand and broken heart Of the Lady of the Sea" "Rose" turned, joy flooding her face as she ran to her beloved "Florian." Their voices, soprano and tenor, twined together. They kissed pa.s.sionately, and the audience whooped and applauded its approval. Larissa grinned in the dark- ness, safely hidden from view by a curtain that ap- peared to be a palm tree. Here was acting indeed, she thought wryly. She herself was fond of the rakish tenor, but it was well-known that Liza couldn't stand Sardan. As a result, Sardan made it a point to turn every on- stage kiss into a pa.s.sionate one, taking a devilish glee in the fact that Liza had to pretend to enjoy it. High- tempered Liza was always furious afterward. The stage went dark, and the audience saw the tropi- cal stars appear in the night sky. Then, suddenly, the il- lusion vanished, and all that could be seen was a bare hull and the smiling performers of The Pirate's Pleasure. As Larissa, who portrayed the evil Lady of the Sea, took her bow. her bright blue eyes scanned the audience. She found who she was looking for-Raoul Dumont, captain of La Demoiselle du Musarde. He smiled and nodded slightly. Raoul Dumont was a big man, six foot three and solid with muscle, if his blond hair was starting to gray at the temples and the tines on his sunburned face had deep- ened over the last forty-three years, he had lost none of his strength and quickness. Many captains grew fat and lazy once they no longer had to do physical labor, con- tent with commanding in name only. Mot Dumont. He was big in more than merely a physical sense. The well-formed frame and booming voice were matched by a domineering personality. With the players-- especially his twenty-year-old ward. Larissa-and wtth customers, he was smooth and pleasant, and his force* fulness came across as a.s.sured competence. The crew- men knew better. Seldom did the captain of La Demoiselle du Musarde have to resort to physical vio- lence, however. The flash of his sea-green eyes, the tightening of his sensual mouth, the clenching of the powerful, callused hands-these were warning signals enough for most. "Uncle Raoul" had reared Larissa since she was twelve and had given her the role of the Lady of the Sea. The young dancer was always anxious to please him with her performance. Larissa was certain that the de- manding captain was satisfied with the way things had gone tonight. Still, she tugged on Sardan's sleeve as he pa.s.sed and whispered, "You think he liked it?" The tenor looked down at her for a few seconds be- fore replying. Larissa was a true beauty, even more so than Liza; unlike the singer, the young dancer didn't quite realize her gift. Her blue eyes gazed up at him with trust, and her long white hair, braided with seash.e.l.ls, tumbled down her back. She was in excellent shape from years of dancing, and her body curved invitingly under the clinging garb of the Lady of the Sea. A smile tugged at a corner of Sardan's mouth. "As long as you dance, the captain will like the show." A few hours later, Larissa sat at Dumont's side, a guest of the local baron. The revealing costume she wore as the Lady of the Sea had been replaced by a chaste, high-necked dress. The cream hue of the yards of rustling fabric set off Larissa's clear skin to rosy per- fection and reinforced the whiteness of her long, thick hair. She had taken the stage name "Snowmane" be- cause of her oddly hued tresses, which were now braid- ed neatly about her head. A cameo was fastened at her throat. Their port for the next few months was a friendly one. Nevuchar Springs in the land of Darkon. Populated largely by elves, the small port town was as eaget for entertainment as other places La Demoiselle had sailed and even more gracious in expressing their thanks. Bar- on Tahlyn Redtree himself had come to the perform- ance tonight. The baron had insisted that the cast and Dumont Join him for a late supper at his home. Larissa, raised on the roughness of the boat, sat fid- geting with her napkin while others carried the conver- sation. She desperately wished her friend Casilda were here; then she might not feel so out of place, The hall in which they were dining tonight managed to be both warm and impressive. The mahogany table, draped with the finest linen tabtecloth, seated twenty. Carved wooden panels inserted into the marble walls depicted scenes from a n.o.bleman's life-hunting, hawking, and jousting. The fireplace was so huge that Larissa thought she could stand upright in it, and its red glow both illuminated and warmed the large room. Two delicate crystal chandeliers, crowded with candles, pro- vided even more light. The result was that a largely somber-colored room was bright and cheerful. Baron Tahlyn rose. His long, purple-and sapphire- hued robes swayed slightly with the graceful move- ment. The light from the chandeliers glinted off his belt and a pendant of silver and crystal. With a gesture that was almost boyish despite his many decades, the elf brushed a wayward lock of black hair out of startlingly violet eyes. Tahlyn's angular face eased into a smile as he lifted his jeweled goblet. "I should like to propose a toast," the baron began. "To La Demoiselle, a great and gallant vessel. To her captain, Raoul Dumont, whose foresight gave birth to the boat's magic and marvels. To my brother elf, Gelaar, whose illusions charm audiences night after night. To the s...o...b..at's wonderful cast, which has brought such happiness to my people. "And finally, if she will permit me-" here Tahlyn turned the power of his deep purple gaze upon a pleased Liza "-to Miss Liza Penelope. My dear, in this bouquet of talent, you are, in truth, the rose." He in- clined his head slightly, never breaking eye contact with the soprano, and drank from the golden cup. Choruses of approval filled the room as the flattered guests drained their own goblets. Larissa hid her smile as she watched her fellow performers' reactions to the toast. Sardan glowered, but drank. Dumont raised one golden eyebrow, but otherwise revealed nothing of what he was thinking. The elven illusionist, Qelaar, seemed fl.u.s.tered by the compliment. Larissa regarded the illusionist sympathetically for a moment. If La Demoiselle was Dumont's creation, from the specially designed paddlewheel to the magical wards the wizard captain had placed on the boat, then the show she was host to belonged to Gelaar. The small elf was directly responsible for the success of The Pi- rate's Pleasure. He conjured the sets, lighting effects, and "monsters" that appeared onstage. All this, despite the tragedy he had suffered a year ago. Qelaar's daughter, a lovely, sunny-haired girl named Aradnia, had run off with a roguish sell-sword one night. Gelaar had never quite recovered. Now the dark-haired, pale-skinned elf seldom smiled, but his quiet dignity and thinly concealed sorrow engendered immediate, if somber, respect from all who came in contact with him. Liza, on the other hand, looked like a lioness in the sunlight, a queen at last being paid proper homage. Yet the flame-tressed soprano was gracious in her accept- ance, smiling enough to encourage, but not more than was necessary. Larissa couldn't wait to get back to La Demoiselle and tell Casilda all about it. A few moments later, Sardan, who was seated on Larissa's left, leaned over and whispered, "We may have a new patron." Larissa's delicate white eyebrows drew together in a frown. "What do you mean?" she hissed back. "Look at those two," the singer continued quietly, in- clining his head in the direction of Liza and the baron. "A certain redhead I know is probably going to start wearing some expensive Jewelry in the next day or so." Larissa rolled her eyes. "Sardan, not everybody has ulterior motives! Besides, the baron seems very nice." "My naive little girl, he is nice. That's why he'll proba- bly give her the jewelry ... afterward!" When Sardan teased her like this aboard the boat, Larissa knew what to do: hit him. Sardan himself had taught her some protective moves against overeager admirers, and Larissa had no compunction about turn- ing them against her tutor. Here, in Baron Tahlyn's fine hall, however, she could only give him a sidelong glare and clench her linen napkin into a crumpled ball. Dumont noticed the gesture- His shrewd green eyes traveled from the sadly mangled napkin to Larissa's glare to Sardan's grin. The tenor felt the captain's gaze. and his mirth faded- "Something amuse you, Sardan?" Dumont inquired mildly, tearing off a slice of still-warm bread. "Some- thing about my ward, perhaps?" "(Jh. no, sir, nothing at all," Sardan stammered and hastily turned his attention to the food on his plate. Dumont kept his gaze on the young man a moment longer, then glanced at Larissa. Gently Dumont rested a big brown hand on her gloved one and squeezed. When she met his gaze, he smiled rea.s.suringly, the gesture emphasizing the crow's-feet around his eyes. "Don't let Sardan bother you like that," he said. his voice gentle. "You ought to come to me when he does." "He's just joking, Uncle." Larissa answered. Dumont narrowed his eyes, the smile fading. "That kind of humor is inappropriate for a young lady," he snapped. "Aye, sir," Larissa replied, taking care to keep the ex- asperation from her voice. Her guardian's overprotec- tiveness occasionally grated, but she always held her tongue. Dumont returned his attention to the baron. Throughout the rest of the meal, Larissa watched the baron and Liza. Although they were seated at opposite ends of the large table, there was definitely something going on. Their eyes met often; mysterious smiles and gestures were shared. Larissa still clung to her first im- pression of Tahlyn, though. There was a longing in his violet eyes that spoke of something gentler, steadier, than the kind of carnal craving Sardan had hinted at. it wasn't until the early hours of the morning that the dinner was finished and the guests returned to the boat. As she and Dumont waited in the courtyard for the car- riages to be brought around from the stable, Larissa s.h.i.+vered in the moist, cool anr. Fog moved slowly about her knees, hiding the stones from view at times. She had seldom been off the boat at night and wasn't at all sure she liked it. Everything, from the quiet servants to the magnificent building, seemed more sinister to her when draped in darkness. Dumont wrapped his cape about her. "Thank you, Uncle." She smiled as she gratefully bundled up in its warmth. The carriage, a lovely vehicle with a red- cus.h.i.+oned interior, clattered up. Dumont opened the door, which bore the heraldic red tree of Tahlyn's tine, helped Larissa in, then climbed inside himself. Smooth- ly, the carriage resumed movement down the winding lane that led from Tahlyn's mansion to the wharf. "The baron seemed to be enjoying himself," Larissa remarked cautiously, waiting for Dumont's reaction. "Ah, the lovely Liza," mused the captain, with only a hint of sarcasm- "She and 1 may not always see eye to eye, but, bless her high-strung t.i.ttle heart, she does bring in the customers." He settled back on the velvet cus.h.i.+ons, folded his brawny arms across his chest, and closed his eyes.* A faint rumbling sound issued forth after a moment, and Larissa sighed. When Dumont didn't feel like talking, he curled up wherever he was and went to sleep. It was an effective way of avoiding conversation. The young dancer surprised herself with a huge yawn. Well, they were in port, so there were no re- hearsals. She could sleep in tomorrow, she told herself. Telling Casilda about the evening's affairs could wait. A few moments later, the carriage halted near the dock. Bracing herself for the cold, Larissa smiled at the coachman as he opened the door and helped her down. She glanced down toward the Vuchar River, and her heart rose as always at the sight of La Demoisefie. The steamboat was a proud and beautiful lady, all right, from the mammoth red paddlewheei at the stern to the carved wooden figure of a golden griffin at the bow. Its wedding-cake frame had four levels, and the stem sported a calliope that blew magical, colored steam when it was played. La Demoiselle was large- two hundred feet long and fifty feet wide-but not os- tentatious. It glowed whitely in the moonlight, and Larissa could just make out the name written in flowing letters on the starboard side. The paddlewheei was mo- tionless, though it could propel the boat at speeds that no other riverboat could touch. Dumont had named the boat for the Musarde, the riv- er 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 pa.s.sed 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 s.p.a.ce. The fog moved slowly about Larissa, hiding and re- vealing the flickering light of gas lamps, and the moon- light 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 be- fore 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 k.n.o.b. Somewhat to her surprise, the door was unlocked. She glanced at Casilda and raised an eyebrow. For her part. Cas was fighting back taugh- ter 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 st.i.ti 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 Du- mont's closest friend, as welt 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 strange- hued 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 be- gan as soon as the crowd had quieted, "Liza Penelope was found strangled in her cabin this morning." He paused, and many of those a.s.sembled gasped with astonishment. A few sobs broke out. Dumont wait- ed for quiet, then continued. "Baron Tahlyn and the lo- cal authorities have been notified, and they a.s.sure 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 answer- ing, 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 rea.s.suringly. "I feel like it's my fault somehow," Casilda whispered. "1 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 com- fort 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. 1 hope everybody knows that. "We have been asked to remain on board until the in- vestigation has been completed. 1 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 unpleas- 12 . antness has been forgotten. That's all. Dismissed." Soberly, silently, people rose and left- Hushed mutter- ing began as they ascended the wide, carpeted stair- case. 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 sin- gutarly 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 s.h.i.+rt. 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! 1 don't believe it. He seemed-" "He came to visit Liza last night," Dragoneyes inter- jected 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 Du- mont'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. 1 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 per- mission 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 resent- 13. ment, and Larissa could imagine how he chafed under the official restrictions. Dragoneyes nodded. "Aye, sir. If I may make a sug- gestion?" The courtesy was for Larissa's sake; Dragon- eyes 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 go- ing to start getting the curious coming around to look at the murder boat, and everyone ought to be pre- pared." 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. Du- mont's green eyes followed her. A touch from Dragoneyes brought the captain back to the present, and he banished thoughts of his alluring young ward. There were more urgent matters that need- ed his attention. It was a difficult day for everyone aboard La De- moiselle. 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 for- 14 . ties. 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 s.h.i.+rt. 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. Alt 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 ash.o.r.e 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?" 15. "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 busi- ness." 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, ca- sually, but not before Dragoneyes had noticed some- thing that made him tense. "Raoul?" Dumont frowned at the strain in his first mate's usu- ally 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 be- fore 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 sh.o.r.e. Larissa went to the railing and glanced toward the wharf, which was fall- ing to stern with astonis.h.i.+ng speed. The militia had 16. piled into the small boats docked near the sh.o.r.e. Shouting, directly below her, caught Larissa's atten- tion, 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. "1 think we're trying to escape." Larissa answered, confused. "But 1 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. Du- mont was steering La Demoiselle du Musarde directly in- to 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 s.h.i.+ps had ever traveled. The dancer could only stare in shocked silence as the whiteness closed about them and Nevuchar Springs disappeared from sight. TU)0. "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 Demoiseile 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 etfmaids in Nevuchar Springs? And you, Pa- kris?" The juggler's fear-filled gaze met Dumont's. "How many jugglers could that small place handle? You want to try wandering around Darken at night when 18 . you're from the murder boat? Hmmm?" Dumont paused to let his words sink in, then contin- ued. "It is my belief that Baron Tahlyn murdered Liza and tried to s.h.i.+ft the blame to someone aboard La De- moiselle. It could be any one of us, just as long as some- one 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 1 have magical skills, and I have complete faith in my crew. We'll reach land soon-and safely. Then all this un- pleasantness 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 sh.o.r.e-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 19. sight, that only luck and mutual blindness kept the s.h.i.+p from being a.s.sailed 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 leads- man. Drawing that duty now caused even the staunch- est 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 s.h.i.+p was under a spell, perhaps m.u.f.fled 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, mu- sical tones. The players, even within the sheltered re- hearsal areas, seemed afraid to raise their voices- But Dumont had little patience for their fears. Merci- lessly he chided the singers back into full voice, urged the dancers and musicians to a more energetic per- formance. The crew he shamed with his own boldness, spurring them with his contempt and the unspoken threat of his anger. As the days pa.s.sed and nothing came from the mist save the same frightening cries and groans, the folk of 20 . La Demoiselle began to return to normal. Everyone threw themselves into their work, eager to take their minds off the unnatural mists and the eerie noises that haunted them. On the ninth day, Casilda rose early, planning to spend an hour or so before breakfast rehearsing her fi- nal solo. She stepped outside of her cabin, frowned at the ever-present, ghostly mist, and continued down the damp deck toward the stairs. Dragoneyes too was awake and about, sitting on the outer stairs that led up to the next deck. He alone of the crewmen seemed not to be distressed by the eerie mists. Casilda nodded a cool greeting and made as if to pa.s.s by. "Handsome Jack said he'd spotted land," Dragon- eyes offered, concentrating on the piece of wood he was whittling. "Off our port side, if you care to take a look and see what you think." Casilda paused. Larissa would be furious if she didn't wake her up for something as important as sighting land. Sighing, she turned back to Larissa's cabin and pounded on the dancer's door. "Larissa! Wake up!" A m.u.f.fled curse sounded from within, then, "What time is it, Cas?" "A little past dawn, Dragoneyes says there's land ahead. Don't you want to come see?" Casilda rubbed her own sleep-bleared eyes. There was no further sound from the cabin, and again she banged mercilessly on the door. Larissa swore, a trait she'd picked up through eight years aboard La De- moiselle du Musarde, and Casilda laughed outright. "Come on, sleepy!" A few seconds later the door swung open and Larissa emerged. Her eyes were still half-closed and her clothing-a voluminous red s.h.i.+rt and black trousers- had obviously been thrown on. She stamped her left foot a few times to get the short leather boot com- 21. pletely on and fumbled with a broad black belt that was too big for her trim waist. Larissa's long white hair was a total mess. She clutched a brush in one hand. For a mo- ment Casilda wondered if the dancer was going to hit her with it. "This better be good." Larissa muttered. Together the two young women went up to the bow. The promise of land and an end to this horrible journey overcame any lingering dread of what might lurk in the mists, and for the first time the women noticed that the frightful chorus of howls and moans was m.u.f.fled and distant, less loud than the soft creak of the s.h.i.+p's tim- bers and the rhythmic chuff-and-gurgle of her great paddlewheel. They leaned against the railing, staring into the grayness, hazel eyes and blue searching for a lightening of the claustrophobic mist. The early morning air was moist and chilly. Fog clutched wetly at Larissa's long white hair like the fin- gers of a drowned man. Unconsciously, the girl reached a slim hand to touch her tangled mat, as if to rea.s.sure herself that her locks were coated merely with mist and not something more foul. She set to work brus.h.i.+ng her hair, her eyes still peering into the fog, a frown of con- centration on her face. "Here, let me. You can't get all those snarls out by yourself," Casilda offered. She held out her hand for the brush. There was no point in both of them straining their eyes peering through the mists. "Thanks," Larissa said, handing her friend the brush and presenting her tangled white locks. "How's that so- lo of yours coming along?" she asked. Casilda dragged the brush through the snarls, and Larissa winced under her friend's less than tender ministrations. Casilda grimaced at Larissa's query. "Not well at all," she confessed. "That last high note always terrifies me. I know it's in my range, but I get nervous and don't trust my voice on it. Now, Liza's voice-" Casilda stopped, 22 . her voice going thick, and continued brus.h.i.+ng Larissa's hair with unnecessary vigor. Larissa did not urge her to continue. They stood qui- etly together, remembering the vivacious soprano. The silence was broken only by the rhythmic cry of 4he leadsman, calling out "N-o-o-o-o Botto-o-o-m!" A strained note in the clear calls betrayed the crewman's terror of working blindly in the mist. At last Casilda had finished with Larissa's white hair and stroked its silkiness enviously before starting to tie it up with a ribbon that had been wound around the brush handle. Suddenly Larissa jerked away from Ca- silda, making the other girl drop brush and ribbon. "Therel" shrieked Larissa, leaning over the railing and pointing excitedly. "It's clearing over there!" Larissa stepped up on the lowest rung and leaned out, her unbound hair whipping back in the sudden breeze. Casilda bent down and retrieved the dropped brush and ribbon. Traveling through the unnatural mists had bothered Larissa more than she cared to admit. Even dancing had not completely alleviated her tension as her lively imagination populated the mists with horrors to match each shriek and groan. With land in sight, though, she had to admit that it looked as if Dumont's wild foray in- to the unknown had been successful. Perhaps the tales of what lurked in the border mists were just that-tales, legends. It certainly seemed that way, except for the strange sounds. The mist was start- ing to thin, and Larissa could make out the large, dark shape of hilly terrain up ahead. Casilda stepped to the rail beside her friend. Without warning, she shuddered violently. It suddenly felt very cold here on deck, and the mist was more clammy than usual. The singer frowned to herself, and glanced out at the spot in the fog where Larissa had glimpsed land. Larissa had noticed the shudder. "Cas?" she said, 23. concerned. Casilda ignored her, keeping her eyes on the dark shape ahead. It still looked like hilly terrain, but with heart- stopping suddenness the whistle in the pilothouse shrilled loudly. The sound was repeated twice more, and Casilda and Larissa looked at one another in horror. Like everyone else aboard La Demoiselle da Musarde, they were well aware of what three blasts on the whistle meant-danger ahead. As they watched, the hill shuddered and began to move in their direction with a steady, awful sense of pur- pose. Casilda lurched backward so abruptly that she al- most lost her balance and went toppling to the deck floor. She caught herself by grabbing at the railing and clinging to it as if it were a weapon or s.h.i.+eld. "Kraken!" she yelled. Her eyes had grown huge and full of animal terror. The cry was taken up by the crewmen, who sprinted for the spears kept on deck. Casilda, still flooded with fear, began to breathe faster and faster. Larissa grabbed her friend and tried to pull her away from the railing, but Casilda's fingers clung stubbornly. "Look at it, Larissa, look at iti" Casilda babbled hys- terically. "That thing's huge, gigantic, the size of a mountain at least!" "Casitda, come on!" The dancer seized her friend around her waist and tugged with all her strength, but Casilda remained rooted to the spot, unblinking hazel eyes focused on the mountain of flesh that was drawing near the boat. The leadsman's musical, steady cry had ceased. Now Larissa and Casilda heard it rise in a shriek. "Pull me in!" the unfortunate crewman screamed. "It's coming! Please, please pull me-" There was a violent splash, then nothing more. A pulsating gray tentacle materialized out of the 24 . white mist and groped along the deck- It squirmed like some gargantuan slug, slapping wetly near Larissa's feet. Closing about a chair left on the deck from more pleasant times, it clutched hard enough to shatter the wood and pulled what was left off into the greedy white- ness. Casilda screamed, a high, piercingly pure sound that reminded Larissa of her friend's singing. The dancer, though, had had enough. She struck Casiida's wrists upward, knocking her hands away from the rail. Cas whimpered and cowered back, and Larissa seized her hand, yanking her away from the danger. "Come on!" Together they ran toward the stairs and the safety of the theater, deep within the boat. Casilda flew down the stairs, her feet clattering noisily. Larissa started to fol- low, but the kraken had no desire to lose so tender a morsel. The white-haired dancer gasped as a slimy limb brushed one of her long, muscled legs. Her heart pounding, she leaped upward before the horrid thing could close on her. The water that dripped from the creature's tentacle made the deck slippery, and the nor- mally sure-footed young woman lost her balance as she landed. One hand shot out and seized the wooden ban- ister before she fell down the stairs. The rubbery tentacle struck noisily on the deck, groping for her. Larissa scrambled the rest of the way down the water-slick stairs, with the kraken closing in on her. She hit the next deck running and dived for one of the spears. She heaved the heavy weapon at the questing limb with all her might and pinned the gray, pulsating flesh to the deck. The creature bellowed in pain. With a mammoth wrench, it pulled the harpoon free and retracted its in- jured member, dragging the weapon along with it. With- out thinking, Larissa dived after the rapidly disappearing spear, her hands closing on the shaft. To 25. her distress, it stayed firmly in the grasp of the mon- ster's moist flesh. For a fear-fraught instant she thought the kraken would drag her and the spear with it into the unseen waters below. Then strong hands closed about her, pulling her back, away from the railing. Larissa stubbornly clung to the spear, managing to tug it free. The tentacle was swallowed up by the fog, but not before Larissa noticed that the spear didn't appear to have harmed it at all. She glanced back to determine who her savior might be and encountered the furious face of her guardian. Before either could speak, four crewmen ran past, armed with spears, grim determination on their fea- tures. They appeared to have recovered from their ini- tial fear and swore with a new earnestness as they battled the creature. Dumont opened the door to the theater lounge, shoved Larissa inside, and pulled the door shut again. Larissa peered out the door's window, watching the struggle and wis.h.i.+ng desperately that she could help. A few yards away, a tentacle closed around a hapless deck hand and lifted the squirming figure into the air. The gray limb tightened, and there was an awful popping sound that Larissa heard even from inside the boat. The sailor's struggles ceased. The corpse was flung to the deck, knocking down two other men. A small, slight figure hastened to join the battle, and Larissa's white eyebrows rose in astonishment. What could Gelaar hope to do against a kraken? He was just an illusionisti As she watched, the elf began to cast a spell, waving his thin arms and closing his eyes in con- centration. All at once the fearful kraken was gone. A swirling shape of mist, a slightly darker shade of gray than the surrounding fog, appeared in its place- "An illusion," Larissa breathed. "Its form was just an illusion!" Yet the dark cloud of mist did not dissipate. The kra- 26 . ken form had been an illusion, but only to hide their at- tacker's true form. Dumont, pus.h.i.+ng Gelaar away from the ent.i.ty, whis- tled a few clear, sharp notes that sliced through the ca- cophony of battle. A huge wave welled up beside,La Demoiselle. For an instant, Larissa felt sure that the wall of water was going to come cras.h.i.+ng down on the river- boat. Instead, it smacked the mist creature with a re- sounding clap. The creature, startled, dissolved completely into mist and rapidly blended with the eerie but harmless fog. There was a pause, but nothing fur- ther happened. The crew, relieved, began to cheer. Larissa, also relieved, opened the door and stepped onto the deck. She felt a strong grip on her arm and looked up to meet Dumont's fury-darkened face. "d.a.m.n you to the bottom of the Sea of Sorrows, girl!" Dumont spat angrily, fear and apprehension stain- ing his rage. "I've told you what to do if ever this boat was in danger, haven't I? Haven't I?" He Jerked on her arm for emphasis, and the girl winced- "Aye. Uncle, but there wasn't time for me to get be- low deck, and the spear was right there-" "Don't talk back." Dumont relaxed his grip and glow- ered down at his ward. "I saw that you had time to get Casiope out of the way." "Casilda." she corrected. Dumont exploded again. "Don't interrupt me!" Laris- sa towered her blue eyes, but amus.e.m.e.nt quirked one corner of her mouth. The crew might ali run from his bl.u.s.ter, but Larissa knew that Uncle Raoul would never do a thing to hurt her. "Now then," Dumont continued, his tone softening. "You might have been hurt, child, and you know I couldn't bear that. So next time, just you get your pretty little self below deck and let the crew handle it, ail right?" "Yes, Captain. Sorry, sir." 27. He slipped a strong, tanned hand underneath her chin and tilted her face up to him. "And besides," he said Jokingly, his handsome features crinkling into a smile, "who would play the Lady of the Sea? No one else has your sea-foam hair." Larissa smiled, and amus.e.m.e.nt lit up her face until she glowed. Dumont inhaled swiftly. G.o.ds. but the child had grown up, hadn't she? Into such a beauty, too. Momen- tarily lost in his ward's loveliness, the captain found himself staring into her blue eyes. "Is it gone, Captain?" The young crewman who had dared interrupt gazed earnestly at his commander. Abruptly Dumont remem- bered the mist horror, gone for the moment but no doubt reforming itself for a second attack. Without a word he left Larissa and went below deck. A few mo- ments later. La Demoiselle surged ahead with a sudden burst of speed. To Larissa's delight, the true landscape began to take shape in the distance. Dragorreyes had been right about sighting land, and Dumont's gamble had paid off. Larissa leaned against a pile of rope, conscientiously staying out of the way of the scurrying crew members, and watched the new territory emerge. It seemed to be rather flat country, and as they drew nearer she saw that there was a fairly large town located near the sh.o.r.e. It had a long wharf that was home to several small boats and a few larger vessels. Some of them were out going about their business, closer to the steamboat than to the sh.o.r.e. Larissa caught glimpses of the sailors and waved at them in a friendly fas.h.i.+on. Normally, the arrival of La Demoiselle was a happy occasion, and the cry "Steam- boat a-comin'l" preceded the boat's docking. Here, however, no one was expecting the magnificent, magi- cal s...o...b..at, and judging by the frightened, suspicious 28. looks on the faces turned toward Larissa, no one wel- comed her arrival. Larissa's grin faded as the boats made haste to turn their sails and flee from La De- moiselle du Musarde. Discouraged, the dancer turned her attention back to the approaching town. She could see more of it now, and something about it seemed curiously familiar to her. The dancer frowned and leaned against the railing. Surely she was just confusing the port with another she had seen in her eight years aboard the boat. Something else caught her eye, drawing her atten- tion away from the dock area. The citizens of this place had only partly succeeded in keeping nature at bay. To the right of the town, a verdant forest dominated the landscape- Yet it was unlike most forests the girl had seen. The trees were huge and grew right up to-and in-the marshy water. Qnarled roots broke the tea- colored surface, looking for all the world like an old man's knees. A strange substance that looked almost like gray-green hair was snarled in the tops of the trees. Plants clotted the water at first, but Larissa could see the river opened up as it wound inland. Larissa frowned to herself. How could this landscape be so strange and yet so familiar? The dancer did not like to think about the years before she had become Captain Dumont's ward, before she had found her home aboard La Demoiselle. Now, however, a memory surged to the forefront. She shook her head in vain denial, her hands clutch- ing the railings for support as her legs suddenly went weak. She recognized this coastline, knew the name of this island, that town. As Larissa fled to her uncle's cabin, more frightened by the innocent-looking coast- line than the horrid monster in the mist, she heard the heartbeat sounds of drums in the distance. Dumont's cabin was located directly beneath the pi- lothouse. Larissa pounded on the door with both fists, 29. fully aware that she was behaving like a child, but too terrified to care. "Uncle!" she cried, her voice a sharp cry. Dumont opened the door at once. His face changed from brusque to concerned when he realized who his visitor was. "Larissa, sweetheart, what is it?" Larissa merely stared at him, cheeks ashen. "1-1- the island-" Dumont frowned, extending a hand to gently pull her inside. "Come on in and tell me," he soothed. Dumont's room was the largest private cabin on the boat and was furnished lavishly. There was an ornate wardrobe that had an expensive mirror mounted on it, two plush chairs, a large, canopied bed, and a carved mahogany table. Wares from over a dozen lands clut- tered the room, from tapestries to carvings to strange items that no one who visited even dared to identify. The captain steered his distraught young ward to the bed and sat her down. "Take a deep breath," he told her in a comforting tone, "and when you're a bit calmer, tell me what has upset you so much." The dancer obeyed, her breath coming in short gasps. "I know this place," she said thickly. Dumont quirked an eyebrow. "Indeed?" She nodded, her tangled white hair falling into her flushed face. "1 was here once, long ago, with my father. It's an island called Souragne. My-my hair turned white here. My father said something bad almost hap- pened to me in the swamp." She looked up at Dumont with an imploring gaze that nearly broke his heart. "I'm frightened, Uncle. 1 know it's silly, but..." Tenderly, Dumont placed an arm about her, drawing her head down to his chest and resting his cheek on her white hair. "There, ma pet.i.te',' he soothed, "I'm taking care of you now, not your father. I won't leave you like he did. You know that, Larissa." He felt her nod against his chest. "And anything out 30. there that tries to hurt you is going to have me to deal with." She laughed, albeit shakily, then drew away. "I know it's foolish of me," she repeated, "but seeing that coast- line ... Uncle, I can't remember a thing, but somehow I recognized the place. And those drums!" She shud- dered. "They're eerie," Dumont frowned- "Drums? I heard nothing." Larissa went pale. "I thought 1 heard ... well, it must have been my imagination, I suppose. I can't hear them now." Her guardian laughed, a deep, rumbling sound- "What an odd little thing you are! You tackle creatures from the mist without so much as a by-your-leave and yet a marshy little island frightens you. There's nothing here that's going to hurt you, child. 1 promise. You don't even have to leave the boat if you don't want to." His voice had changed, taken on the slightest tinge of condescension. Larissa's pride, which had fled before the island's appearance, surged back on a hot wave of embarra.s.sment. It was more important to her that Du- mont think well of her than that she be comforted. "No, Uncle, that won't be necessary," she replied crisply. She rose, steadying herself. "I'm fine now. I'm going to my cabin for a bit. Thank you." Dumont watched her as she let herself out of his cabin, closing the door firmly behind her. There was grace and an innocent power in her movements- Slowly, a smile twisted the captain's lips. Larissa's frantic visit had given him a marvelous idea. THREE. To Handsome Jack, the amazingly ugly chief pilot of La Demoiselle du Musarde, the coastline was anything but a nightmare. There was plenty of room for the boat's docking, and already a crowd was gathering on the pier. Because of the attack of the mist monster and the subsequent excitement of sighting the real coast- line, he was alone in the pilothouse for the moment. The pilothouse was larger.and more habitable than most. The pilots-Handsome Jack, Tane, and Jahedrin-rotated six-hour s.h.i.+fts. Generally, two pilots, or a pilot and a first or second mate, were in the pilot- house during a s.h.i.+ft. The wheel was huge, bigger than any of the men who maneuvered it, and hard to turn. Often a pilot would find himself standing on one of the spokes, using his own weight to help turn the wheel. This physical requirement of piloting eliminated the clever but slender Dragoneyes from the post, though few of the true pilots could navigate quite as well as the sharp-sighted half-elf. There was a comfortable chaise for those who were in the pilothouse merely to keep the pilot company. The whistle was within easy reach of the wheel, as was the voice tube and s.h.i.+p's telegraph, by which the pilot com- municated with the engine room in the stern. Large win- 32 . dows provided a full view of the river directly in front and to port and starboard. Behind the pitot, a narrow stairway led directly to Dumont's cabin. Jack reached over and pulled the lever on the boat telegraph to "siow." He grinned to himself. The thcee livid white scars, running the length and breadth of his face from right temple to left ear, wrinkled grotesquely with the gesture. The tall, beefy Handsome Jack was quite proud of those scars. He bragged that he had gotten them in a hand-to-jaw struggle with a wolf back in Arkandale. When he was drunk, which was often, the tale grew in the telling until his opponent was a werewolf-"An' very highly placed in society he was, too, 1 tells you. Hoo, I could tell tales of the riverboats in that country!" he'd slur. Those within hearing who were sober enough to wor- ry about such things would exchange glances. Hand- some Jack might well be telling the truth, they'd mutter to themselves; G.o.ds knew he'd shown up one night on La Demoiselle, shaking and begging for a Job that would take him out of Arkandale.... "Ah, she's a pretty maiden, aye, A pretty maiden she, But my poor heart's already bound To the Lady of the Sea!

The Lady of the Sea, hey, bey, Has put her spelf on me, I'm doomed to loue no other than The Lady of the Sea." What Handsome Jack's voice lacked in musical quality-and it was a great deal-was more than made up for in enthusiasm and sheer volume. This was his fa- vorite number from The Pirate's Pleasure, and, in his 33. own pleasure at finally sighting land after floundering in the fog, he belted out the number with gusto. "d.a.m.n you, Jack, you know you're not supposed to sing on my boat!" exploded Dumont as he climbed up the stairs from his cabin. Jack cringed like a whipped dog. Every captain had his superst.i.tions, and one of Dumont's was singing on the boat. Only cast members were permitted to sing, and even they had to restrict themselves to songs from the show. "Sorry, Cap'n. I just forgot, that's all. You know I'm not meanin' no harm, sir." Dumont's displeasure did not fade. Handsome Jack's statement was true enough, as far as it went. He never did "mean no harm." Not when he was drunk and came perilously close to grounding the boat. Not when he leered at some of the more attractive patrons, causing them to bridle and complain and swear never to set foot on La Demoiselle again. Not when he sang contrary to direct orders. Jack had his uses. When sober, he was the finest pilot aboard the boat. Not even Dragoneyes possessed Jack's instinct for negotiating unknown territory. He'd been loyal and worked hard, almost pathetically grate- ful for the job Dumont had given him. "Yes," Dumont sighed at last, "I know you meant no harm, Jacky my lad." Handsome Jack grinned with relief. "You're a gentle- man, sir, through and through, that's what! always said. Here, Cap'n." Stepping aside, he offered the bigger man the wheel. It was Dumont's custom to always bring La Demoiselle into port himself, though the rest of the time he left the piloting to Jack or the other pilots. Dumont took the huge wheel, which was taller even than he. His strong hands closed about it possessively as he gazed at the approaching dock. He reached up af- ter a moment and pulled on the whistle, causing it to 34 . shrill loudly. "Jacky," mused Dumont, his eyes on the dock as he turned the wheel gently to starboard, "did you see the battle with the mist creature?" "Aye, sir, that I did. What a brilliant move, to use the waves against the-" "Yes, yes. But did you see Miss Snowmane risking her life down there?" Jack gulped. It was obvious that Dumont wanted to hear something specific, but the pilot wasn't sure what. "Oh . . . aye, sir, I did." He hazarded a guess. "Mighty brave for a girl, don't you think, sir?" Dumont turned his hard gaze upon his pilot, and Jack shrank back even farther. "G.o.ds, man, she's my ward and my leading dancer. Brave or not, she shouldn't be on deck when there's danger!" He took a deep breath to calm himself. "I need to teach Miss Snowmane a lesson, and I'd like you to help." Jack's eyes bugged. "Me, sir? 'Course, sir!" Dumont suppressed a smile. He kept his voice calm and friendly. "I'm glad you're willing, Jack. We'll be docking in a few moments, and I'll be going ash.o.r.e to meet with the leader of the town. Then, tomorrow, we'll have our-" "Parade!" Jack answered happily. "Cap'n, you're goin' to let me see the parade?" The thought of actually seeing the performances Jack heard each night through the walls of the sailors' quarters thrilled the pilot. It was customary for the river- boat's cast to parade down the main avenue in costume, and then perform a scene or two from the show. Many of the towns they came to were so starved for entertain- ment that a glimpse of the magic and music they could experience aboard La Demoiselle was generally more than enough to ensure a packed house. Dumont had always been careful to segregate the players and the crew, and he had never permitted crew- 35. men to watch the parade. Apparently, and to Jack's dis- appointment, this time was to be no different. "No, Jacky, I'm afraid I can't do that. You know the rules." Jack's face fell, the remorse on his homely fea- tures causing him to appear even less attractive. "As 1 was saying, we'll have the traditional parade. Afterward, when the cast and the townsfolk are milling about, Miss Snowmane will be accosted by a, shall we say, rather shady character." He looked meaningfully at Jack. Jack's thick brows knotted together ponderously. "Me?" "You. Jacky lad. Disguised, of course. You shall threaten poor Miss Snowmane, and I'll hurry to her res- cue. Then you'll run away into the darkness and back to the boat while I tell Miss Snowmane how dangerous it is to take foolish risks." He intensified his gaze. "I can count on you, can't I, Jack?" Handsome Jack nodded vigorously, "1 thought so. Why don't you go to the dining room and let Brock cook you up something? Tell him I said it was all right." "Thank you, sir." Handsome Jack touched his greasy forelock and left, licking his lips at the thought of Brock's fine food. Dumont watched him go, a sneer of contempt twist- ing his strong features- He had had enough of Jack and his lapses, and what he had planned after the parade would finally free him of the fool. The captain returned his attention to the dock. There was a good-sized crowd on the pier now. The boat was close enough for Dumont to see faces that registered understandable suspicion. He'd lay their fears to rest soon enough, he and the dazzling performers of La De- moiselle. Reaching up, he pulled a rope and the river- boat's whistle blasted forth again. The captain smiled as some of the people on the dock jumped, startled. Some of the denizens of this place-what was it Laris- 36 . sa had called it? Souragne, that was the name-were extremely well-dressed. One young, dark-haired dandy sported what appeared to be a silk tunic and fine leather boots. The youth turned to get a better view of the steamboat, and something glinted in the sunlight. Jew- elry, Dumont noted with a sharp eye. The dandy's com- panion, a comely dark-skinned la.s.s, was equally well attired. Earrings dripped from her ears, matching the sparkle of the jewels about her long, slim throat. Standing right next to the wealthy couple was a thin, tall man in shabby clothes. The pair maneuvered away from him, distaste on their aristocratic features. Here and there were the haunted, grimy faces of street chil- dren, peeking out carefully and curiously. The dazzling sight of La Demoiselle du Musarde had distracted the ur- chins from their usual job of picking pockets and had apparently caught the attention of the whole town. Dumont sounded the whistle once more and pulled the riverboat to the dock with a smoothness born of years of practice. From his vantage point, he could see his crewmen scurrying to place down the ramp. The people on the dock drew back, fear replacing curiosity. Dumont's mind was not on the activities of his crew, but on the people and place he was about to encounter. The town appeared to promise diversity- Dumont could see stately manors in the distance that contrasted sharply with the shabby buildings that huddled along the dock. It appeared that the agricultural community fared better here than the fishermen did. Probably that soft-looking young dandy hailed from one of those lav- ish mansions, bred to a life of ease by his great- grandfather's labor, or perhaps the unsavory sweat of slaves. The dock area's run-down appearance spoke of shadier doings and more immediate wealth-and danger. Such a lovely jumble of things from which to choose. Dumont mused to himself with a slow smite. There 37. would be many new and exciting things here for him to experience-new customs, new ideas, new creatures. Many an attractive woman had wondered why the hand- some, wealthy Dumont hadn't settled down in one land-or at least confined himself to one waterway.

But variety called with a siren song that drowned out any other call: variety in people, place, terrain, knowl- edge. adventures. That keen pleasure forbade Dumont from making any one place his home. The tall, strong captain was too much in love with diversity. As for business, the dandies and their mansions boded well for the financial success of The Pirate's Plea- sure, while the seamy underbelly of the town promised evenings rife with less wholesome entertainment. Dumont's smile widened into a predatory grin. The crewmen secured the boat to the dock, and the captain hastened down the ramp. The first thing Dumont noticed when he stepped out- side the pilothouse was the humidity and heat. It was still early in the day, but already the air was warm and thick. It had been chilly in Darken, but here summer was well on its way. A thin layer of perspiration began to coat his face before he had even set foot on land. A small, spidery man, clad in a splendidly embroi- dered blue tunic that seemed a bit too large for him, moved toward the front of the throng. An ornate silver chain was draped about his scrawny throat. The crowd parted to allow him pa.s.sage. When he reached Du- mont, the man craned his neck to look up at him, hooked his thumbs in his well-tooled leather belt, and cleared his throat- "My name is Bernard Foquelaine," he said in a thin, high-pitched voice. "I am the mayor of Port d'Elhour, here on the island of Souragne. We do not often have strangers in our land, as you might imagine. What is your purpose in visiting our isle?" So, Larissa had been right about the place's name, 38 . the captain thought to himself. Dumont put on his best smile, the one that showed off his white teeth to advan- tage. He stuck out a big hand. Tentatively, Foquelaine took it in his own moist palm. "Mayor Foquelaine, I am very pleased to visit your lovely town. I am Captain Raout Dumont, and this is my vessel, La Demoiselle du. Musarde. She's a s...o...b..at, sir, with the finest entertainment available in any land. We come as visitors, friends, and honest performers." Foquelaine's watery blue eyes brightened a bit, but he remained tense. Behind him, the crowd began mur- muring excitedly. "What kind of entertainment?" he queried. Sensing the s.h.i.+ft in attention. Dumont began to ad- dress the crowd. "Why, all kinds, ladies and gentlemen. We have a musical, The Pirate's Pleasure, that features dancing, singing, and the best in thespian skill. There's always an honest game of cards to be had, and-" "Ye got any fire-eaters?" called the man who had stood next to the wealthy couple. He was every bit as grubby as Dumont had suspected, and smelled as if he hadn't bathed in far too long. Without missing a beat or losing his smile. Dumont turned and pointed at the man. "Indeed, sir, we do, and a host of fine magicians who will perform acts that will amaze and astonish you. Mayor Foquetaine, may I have your permission to dock here in your fair port and en- tertain your populace for the most modest of fees?" Foquelaine hesitated, blinkin