Christie Golden - Ravenloft 03 - Dance of the Dead

"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 showboat 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.

CHRISTIE GOLDEN

"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 passionately, 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 passionate 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—-

DANCE OF THE DEAD 3

especially his twenty-year-old ward. Larissa—and wtth

customers, he was smooth and pleasant, and his force*

fulness came across as assured 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

passed 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 seashells,

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-

CHRISTIE GOLDEN

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 nobleman'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,

DANCE OF THE DEAD

whose illusions charm audiences night after night. To

the showboat'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 flustered 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

CHRISTIE GOLDEN

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 reassuringly, 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."

DANCE OF THE DEAD

"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

shivered 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-

cushioned 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

CHRISTIE GOLDEN

hint of sarcasm- "She and 1 may not always see eye to

eye, but, bless her high-strung tittle heart, she does

bring in the customers."

He settled back on the velvet cushions, 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 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

DANCE OF THE DEAD 9

own cabins—no small feat on so contained a space.

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 knob. Somewhat to her surprise, the

door was unlocked. She glanced at Casilda and raised

an eyebrow. For her part. Cas was fighting back taugh-

10 CHRISTIE GOLDEN

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 stiti 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 assembled 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 assure me

they'll have this . . . matter solved swiftly. Apparently

DANCE OF THE DEAD 11

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 reassuringly.

"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 CHRISTIE GOLDEN

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 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! 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-

DANCE OF THE DEAD

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 CHRISTIE GOLDEN

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 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

Christie Golden - Ravenloft 03 - Dance of the Dead

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