Dance of the Red Death (Masque of the Red Death) (17 page)

I search the crowd for April, though surely she is already in the palace. Her carriage left the city long before ours.

Rubbing at the welt that the manacle left on my wrist, I follow the prince inside. And that’s where I spot her, standing in the shadows with a white bandage plastered to her forehead. So that’s how she’s hiding the contagion. At least for now, by candlelight.

Several courtiers stand near April, watching her suspiciously.

“Did something happen?” I ask, gesturing to the bandage, hoping she has a story.

“I was attacked. You know how it is, in the city.”

The listeners whisper to one another, seeming satisfied to be able to report that the prince’s niece was attacked by ruffians. That the city is as violent as they’ve heard.

We follow the prince’s entourage. When he takes his seat, the room goes silent for half a second. Just long enough for me to hear a familiar tune. Somewhere in this great echoing fortress, my mother is playing piano.

And yet the piano in this room is empty.

I look around, at a loss, but April summons a servant who ushers me through the castle, past the rows of rusty old cannons, to the tower. At the top I push past the servant into the room with the piano.

Mother is wearing a light-blue dress with a lace collar. She turns, and I watch the emotions cross her face. Relief. Shame. She doesn’t stand, and we don’t embrace.

“You’re alive,” she says, and for a moment I think she’s going to fall from the piano bench. “Thank God. I hoped . . . but the prince told me that the ship exploded. I didn’t know what to think.” So both of my parents believed that I was dead.

I look around the room at the textured wallpaper, the doilies that stand under oil lamps. It is warm and inviting, until you see the bars on the window. The piano dominates the room. It’s how I knew this was her prison, when Elliott inadvertently brought me here.

“I missed your childhood and the last years of Finn’s life in this room,” she says. The tone of her voice is neutral. As if she is expecting me to judge her for being a captive here.

And I did for years. I thought she chose to spend time with her rich friends instead of in the basement with Finn and with me.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “So sorry.” I collapse onto the rug at her feet, and she runs her hand gently over my hair. She doesn’t even say anything about the unnatural color of it. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen her and years since I let her comfort me. I can’t remember when I last slept. I know that I must find a way for April to escape and carry information to Elliott. And I must destroy this man who has ruined my family. But for now I let her lead me to her bed and tuck me in. As I drift off, her cool hand pushes the hair back from my forehead, and then she kisses my cheek.

A cacophony of hammering wakes me sometime later. When I walk over to the window, it’s impossible not to remember how Elliott put his hands on my shoulders last time I stood here, gently drawing my attention to various escape routes. All of which now might be gone.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Mother says from behind me. “You need to be fitted for your ball gown.” A woman is already in the sitting room, waiting with measuring tapes and pins.

The seamstress measures Mother first, clicking her tongue and remarking that Mother has lost weight. And then she measures me, writing numbers in a small book.

“The gowns will be ready tomorrow afternoon,” the woman says, and then she’s gone and Mother and I are alone, awkward and silent.

She hasn’t asked me about Father yet. Doesn’t she want to know if he’s alive? Does she care? Or has the Red Death finally given her too much to forgive?

“I usually play in the afternoons,” she tells me.

“Is that why he keeps you here, to play piano?” I’m not really sure what I’m asking her, what I want to know. But I feel the need to put her relationship with Prospero in some perspective. How did it happen? “How did you meet him?”

“I’ve known him since we were children. He likes having someone from that part of his life. Even then, he was driven, though not like . . . now.”

Driven? Is that the way to describe a megalomaniac? “Father is also driven,” I suggest, trying to determine how she is defining the word.

“Yes. Both of the men in my life have been consumed by a higher purpose.”

A higher purpose? They worked together to destroy the world. She sees the disgust on my face, and for once she stands up for herself.

“I didn’t choose to be his hostage. I’ve tried to be his friend because it’s the only way I could help. I kept him from hurting people when I could. I stood beside him in the throne room and begged him to stop. Occasionally he listens.”

“I don’t blame you,” I say. “It must have been terrible.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re alive. And we have to keep you that way.”

I give her a quick hug. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again.

“Come with me,” she says. “I play for the young ladies who like to practice their dancing in the afternoons. I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”

I’ve rejected her every time she’s acted motherly toward me since Finn died. I may not have many chances to make up for my cruelty. So I follow her downstairs to a ballroom with a gilded ceiling, hoping that April will find me there. Dozens of girls glide about the room, not waiting for the music to begin.

Mother sits at the piano, arranges her skirts, and begins to play. Beautiful dresses swirl this way and that. I settle in a corner to watch.

One after another, the girls approach me to ask breathless questions.

Have I come from the city? Was it frightening? Did I see anyone dying? Did I see anyone with the Red Death?

I answer honestly. I have seen people dying, and it was terrifying.

One of the girls puts her hand on my shoulder. “At least you are here now,” she says.

“Don’t even think about the outside world. I pretend it doesn’t exist,” says another.

“It’s safe here. We’re safe.” They grasp hands and start a dance that takes them in a circle.

What silly, deluded girls.

One of them glances out the window, then breaks away from the circle. At her squeal, everyone else follows. I join them warily. What horror is the prince constructing now?

“A new arrival.” The girls are pressed against the glass.

“He has to be the last,” another girl says. “My mother told me there are already one thousand. Someone must have died.”

“Or someone is going to die,” another girl suggests.

The girls laugh nervously, but they don’t turn away from the window.

“How are you safe, if this is what happens here?” I can’t help asking.

A blond girl frowns at me. “We’re safe as long as we don’t anger the prince,” she says, as if I might be stupid. “Or draw his attention.”

And then they are peering down at the guest once more.

“He is very handsome.” The wistfulness of the girl’s voice makes me think of how April and I used to admire Will.

Could he have come?

I push my way through to the window. The figure is on foot. Could Will have walked all the way from the city? Dark hair spills over the collar of the man’s coat. But that’s all I can see.

Mother has stopped playing. She watches me from across the room.

“He’s tall,” one of the girls observes. And then they are all talking at once. I will him to look up and show his face, but he never does.

“I’d give anything to dance with a young man,” the girl continues. The others agree.

“All the men our age have gone to the city,” another tells me.

Nervous excitement stirs in the pit of my stomach as the girls press in around me. I was sure that I would know Will anywhere, but now I’m afraid that I’m indulging in wishful thinking. I shouldn’t hope that it’s him. I shouldn’t want to see him as badly as I do. I must be strong for Mother and April. I don’t need Will to come and save me.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

T
HE GIRLS EVENTUALLY GO BACK TO DANCING
, with Mother playing the piano and smiling indulgently at them. They swirl around the small ballroom, and April finds me in the corner. Her bandage is smaller today, a white square affixed to her forehead. She’s arranged her hair to mostly hide it.

“Do you have a plan?” she asks immediately. “An escape plan? They say that no one has left. Not since Prospero put up the new gates and fences.”

“We have to find a way for you to leave,” I say. I glance around to see if anyone is listening, but all the girls are caught up in their dance, so I finish in a rush. “And you have to take a message to Elliott for me. You have to tell him that the pump is in the manor house. He’ll know what you mean.”

April blinks her blue eyes several times. “Wait, aren’t you coming with me? I need you, Araby.”

Her voice quavers. She’s been so brave. But I can’t go with her. I put my hand on her arm.

“We can’t let the prince continue,” I explain. “And if someone were to kill him, all the supplies stockpiled here would be free for Elliott.”

“What makes you think you can kill the prince?” April studies my face, frowning.

“I’m the one who has to do it. We can’t wait for Elliott or Will to rescue us,” I tell her. “Elliott is saving the city, and Will . . .” I’m not sure about Will, so I don’t say anything more about him.

A clock strikes, and the courtiers flock through assorted doorways toward the throne room.

“Time for dinner,” April says. “Someone will die before the night is over, but unfortunately, I doubt it will be the prince.”

A line of performers stands near the doorway of the dining room, juggling the porcelain heads of china dolls. The stuffing hangs from some of them. The performers do their juggling emotionlessly, not looking to the left or the right.

“Don’t distract them, Araby.” April pulls me along. “If one of them drops a head, the prince puts the juggler’s head in a vise. It’s . . . terrible.”

And that is what Prospero wanted to do to Elise. He wanted to make her one of his performers. In a little swan costume.

April and I sit across the room from the prince’s table, trying not to call attention to ourselves. I search the faces at each table, looking for Will. I don’t see him or anyone who looks like him, but the room is crowded and I can’t see everyone.

“The masked ball is tomorrow night,” April says. “They’ve been holding nightly parties for weeks. Decadent, horrible parties. But the real fun begins tomorrow.” She slumps for a moment, closing her eyes. She should be in bed.

Servants lead my mother across the room to the prince’s table. She seats herself calmly.

“You’d think he would’ve replaced her by now,” April murmurs. I’m not sure how to respond to such an observation. It never occurred to me before that if Elliott knew my mother, then April must have too.

“Why did you never tell me?” I ask. She raises her eyebrows. “That my mother was a hostage here?”

“Everyone is a hostage here. I just knew that the lady who played the piano, and who my uncle occasionally smiled upon, turned out to be our neighbor. I was pleased to learn that she had a daughter my age.”

A group of entertainers are escorted into the dining room, and I notice how they cower when Prospero turns his gaze their way. He shakes his head, and they slink back to the shadows.

“Trained in the orphanages?” I ask.

“Yes. And even here, people have heard that we saved those girls.”

“News carries fast.” I’m surprised that anyone here knows what we did in the city.

The prince turns to my mother, and she goes to the piano.

The song she plays is like nothing I’ve ever heard before. Haunting and sad, but also defiant. I feel like she’s speaking to me, like she’s trying to express everything that we’ve never been able to say to each other. The crowd is mesmerized.

Finally she raises her hands and pushes back. The prince stands, signaling that dinner is over.

While Mother’s song still echoes in my head, he leads us to the throne room. Each beam that stretches across the ceiling of the hall is in the likeness of a reptile—mostly dragons, but some are snakes or even crocodiles. I hadn’t noticed that during my previous visit. The stained-glass windows are familiar, and the odd artifacts and objects of torture that lie on tables beneath. Prospero has gaslights throughout his palace, but for this room he’s chosen open flames, which give the chamber a primitive, frightening look. The shadows are deeper and darker than ever.

April grabs my arm. “We should stay out of sight,” she says. “Elliott and I had hiding places when we used to live here.”

“Show me.” But we’re in the tide of hundreds of bodies moving in the same direction. We couldn’t turn and leave the room
without
drawing attention. A lady in an enormous dress pushes between us, and April is gone.

My mother stands by Prospero’s throne. Her face is white. She makes a quick gesture at me, as if shooing me away. Beside Mother, Prospero is smiling. I go cold all over. But even as I turn, more people surge into the room, and the enormous wooden doors swing shut. I’m trapped.

Everyone follows Prospero’s gaze to me. I back up until I’m against the great wooden doors, but they grab me, herding me forward to a red X painted on the floor. The crowd pulls back as a noose drops soundlessly from the ceiling. Before I can react, someone loops it over my head, cinching it around my throat.

I stand very still, trying to draw calm breaths, but can’t quite fill my lungs. My knife is still in my boot, but how can I get to it?

And then the noose begins to rise.

“I had some lovely children who could have danced for us tonight, but the scientist’s daughter robbed us of that pleasure,” Prospero says. “We shall see what sort of entertainment she can provide.”

Mother cries out. I’m on my toes, gagging, grasping at the rope. I can’t turn my head, but my eyes find her. Servants hold her back as she tries to run to me. Then she holds out her hand, offering it to the prince. “Not her.”

Around me, the couriers murmur expectantly.

“Your maternal affection does you credit.” The prince smiles, and the servants release her. Tears course down her face.

A boy with a hammer is pushed onto the dais. Mother tousles his hair with her left hand. Her right rests on the arm of Prospero’s throne. And I know instantly what’s about to happen. No! I can’t get my fingers between the coarse rope and my throat, but I keep clawing at it.

“Mrs. Worth has made her decision. Her daughter is more important than entertaining my guests. She no longer needs the use of her hands.”

The courtiers press forward. Mother considers them with cool disdain. The boy raises the hammer and then looks to the prince, who nods. I scream as the hammer slams down on Mother’s hand, but it comes out more like a croak.

When the boy raises the hammer again, it is shaking so hard that I think he might drop it.

“He’s new,” someone whispers.

The boy brings the hammer down again. I scream again, but my throat burns.

Suddenly the noose slackens, and I fall to my knees. A walking stick hits the floor beside me. In the silence, the sound reverberates through the room. Elliott. He came. To save me. Gasping, I look up, tearing the rope away from my throat. And it isn’t Elliott. Will stands among the courtiers, holding the thin, sharp blade that was hidden within the stick.

“Is this what passes for entertainment in your court?” he asks. His voice is calm, reasonable.

He holds out a hand for me, never taking his eyes off Prospero. I take it and stumble to my feet. Prospero smiles. Anyone with any sense would run. But Will isn’t budging, and I doubt we would make it far anyway.

“I’ve heard so many stories about this wonderful place, filled with marvels,” Will says. “Is this what impresses you, seeing a woman’s hand smashed with a hammer?”

The prince shakes his head slowly, as if we’ve disappointed him in some way. I stand so close to Will, he must feel how violently I am trembling.

Will finally looks over at me, and I see that he is as terrified I am. In one smooth motion, he has us running toward a small door at the side of the room. But we aren’t fast enough. Someone hits Will from behind, and he drops to one knee.

Blood dribbles down the side of his face.

“Come on,” I rasp, helping him back to his feet.

He pulls me close and swings out with his blade to clear our way. But we only get a few more steps before someone hits him again. I feel the impact this time too. Will wavers, but he raises Elliott’s sword. I pull the knife from my boot.

“Take him,” the prince commands, and the crowd surges forward.

Will thrusts and stabs a man in a purple velvet waistcoat. Blood pours out, splashing onto the floor tiles. But the blade is stuck, and in these close quarters Will can’t yank it free. I keep my knife low, slashing at anyone who gets too close, but then the guards are upon us, and they have guns.

Prospero’s men ignore me as they throw Will to the ground, chaining his hands behind his back. Our eyes meet for a moment. I reach out, and then drop my hand to my side.

And then the guards drag him away.

The throne room is completely silent, and as I look into the faces of the courtiers, I see pity on a few. I glare back. Some of these people purposely blocked our escape. Prospero shouts something about dancing, and then Mother is beside me. The crowd parts. They are letting us go. A servant leads us past the expressionless jugglers, out of the throne room. Once outside, the servant puts an arm around my mother and helps her up the spiral staircase to her tower room. Without saying a word to us, he locks us inside.

We stare at each other. Mother’s face is ashen, and I’m still holding my knife. Prospero will pay for that oversight.

“Let me see your hand,” I say, putting the knife down.

“It will heal.”

She hides her face. As always, she won’t let me see her pain.

“Mother . . .” I think it’s my broken voice that makes her turn back to me and place her hand in mine. It’s soft, from hours of soaking in scented oils. I probe it quickly, wincing when she does. It isn’t a formless mass, not like the clockmaker’s hand. Only one of the fingers is obviously broken, swollen over the others.

“See if you can move it,” I say, because that’s what Father would ask when Finn or I came to him with some injury. She can’t.

Both Mother and I jump at the sound of a key in the door. It swings open, and a servant enters with a tea tray. Followed by April. Wordlessly, the servant puts down the tray and leaves. I grab a delicate silver fork and one of Mother’s silk scarves and use them to make a clumsy splint for Mother’s finger. Father used to do this for neighborhood children. Before sending them off for a real doctor.

If Will were here, he could help me.

If Will were here . . . I blink back tears. Who knows what Prospero has done with him? The remains of Mother’s silk scarf fall to the floor.

“Fix her mask, too,” April says in a low voice. Mother’s mask has fallen askew. I reach up, but she adjusts it with her left hand.

Her eyes are dry, yet the way she sits, with defeat in every line of her body—I can’t help imagining this is what it would have been like if she’d been with me while I waited for Finn to die.

“I’m sorry,” April says. “I heard someone whispering. They could tell that I was diseased. I had to get out of there before they realized who I am. Then everyone would know.” She drops into an armchair and looks up at me from under her lashes. It’s a common pose for her, but her expression is not. “I think I may be dying.”

“No,” I say, as if my denial can change anything. “But you need to lie down.” I reach out to her, unsure what to do. Frustrated that we’re trapped here. I pick up the tea set and lead her into the bedroom.

“Have you come up with an escape plan?” I ask, crumbling a tiny cake beneath my fingers. The texture is so dry, I couldn’t possibly swallow it. “You have to get out of here.”

“Perhaps someone will rescue us.” April smiles weakly.

“Will tried,” I say. “And look how that turned out.”

“You and your mother got out of that room alive because of Will.”

“Do you think he’s alive?”

“Yes.” She says it too quickly, and I think she must be lying to make me feel better until she adds, “My uncle can keep people alive for a very long time.”

I discard the rag I was using for her face, and wet another one for her shoulders and neck.

“Why?” I ask. “He’s always stayed in the shadows before, keeping himself and the children alive.”

“Araby,” April says, “why do you think he’s done any of it? Why do you think he went to the city? Because he loves to walk around stinking piles of dead bodies and listen to Elliott’s snide remarks? He loves you.”

I squeeze the cloth hard, and water drips down onto the floor.

“Isn’t it wonderful, being in love?” she asks.

“No.” It feels like the rope is back around my throat, cutting off my air supply. And yet, to finally be sure, to know my feelings, even if they are desperate, even if I may never see him again—it’s terrible and wonderful at the same time.