What Moves the Dead (20)

I grimaced. I hadn’t given that any thought. If something in the tarn was poisoning Madeline, it was in all our veins now. I felt vaguely queasy, even though I knew it was my imagination. “I thought I saw lights in it, the other night.”

“Lights?” He looked over at me, surprised. I wished I hadn’t said anything. Clearly the livrit had loosened my tongue.

“Like reflections of the stars. Only it was overcast and there weren’t any stars to be had. I don’t know. And once I looked at them, they seemed to pulse. Reminded me of the lights you get in the sea sometimes.” I was downplaying it tremendously, but it sounded completely mad when I said it aloud. I should have spoken to Miss Potter first, and gotten some scientific words to use as a talisman. “The Englishwoman that’s been roaming around painting mushrooms thinks there’s some kind of algae in the water.”

“Huh.” Denton looked down into the water. “It doesn’t surprise me, I suppose. Any damn thing could grow in that lake, and it wouldn’t surprise me.”

I joined him in gazing down over the edge. It was dark and still and silent.

“Madeline nearly drowned in that lake a few months ago,” said Denton absently.

“What?!”

“Roderick didn’t tell you?” For a moment he looked as if he, too, wished he hadn’t said anything. Then he shrugged. “She claims she doesn’t remember. Had an episode and fell in. Roderick was certain she’d drowned when he pulled her out, but ironically, the catalepsy may have saved her. She didn’t draw any water into her lungs, you see.”

“Christ’s blood.” I remembered the white shape of Madeline on the shore of the lake. Why was she still visiting the thing alone? I should speak to her about it. Though surely she must be aware of the dangers.

I was caught up in my thoughts and almost missed a greenish flicker in the depths. “There! Did you catch that?”

“I saw something … there it is again! Be damned.” Denton leaned so far over the railing that I thought I might have to grab him and pull him back. “Huh.”

We both gazed into the water for a long time, but there were no more lights to be seen. Eventually we parted ways and went back to our respective beds. I don’t know how Denton fared, but for me, sleep was still a long time coming.



* * *



It was early morning when I heard the floorboards creak again. Christ, the bloody things were better than doorbells. This time the steps were halting and slow and I knew it wasn’t Denton.

I had actually managed to sleep a few hours, and I am ashamed to admit that for a moment I thought of simply ignoring the sounds and going back to sleep. Livrit has a bite like a distempered mule, even if you’re used to it. But chivalry demanded that I get up, because those light, tentative footsteps could only have been Maddy.

She had left the hall by the time I had pulled on my dressing gown, but it did not matter. I had a fairly good idea where she was going. I caught up to her halfway down the stairs.

Her walk was stiff and strange, starting and stopping the movements at odd places. It put me in mind of something, though I couldn’t think of what. More importantly, it meant that she was slow on the steps, and my stomach clenched at how easy it would be for her to fall.

“Madeline, you’re sleepwalking again.”

She turned to look at me, her eyes again bright but unfocused. “Whoooooo?” she breathed.

“It’s me. Easton. Remember?”

Madeline swung her head from side to side. It didn’t look like she was shaking her head, exactly. Her whole neck moved. I was reminded of the way that Hob swings his head to shake off flies. “Tooo…’annnyyy…” Another odd swinging motion.

Too any?

Realization dawned. Too many. Her lips moved as if they were stiff, and the “M” sound was barely there, while the rest were drawn out. Too many. Too many what?

“Whooo?” She stretched a hand toward me, pointing.

Too many words? I tried to simplify. “Easton. Eeeast-uhn.”

Madeline seemed to relax, as if I had finally grasped what she was asking. “Eeeestun.”

“Yes. That’s right.” Was it the catalepsy? Denton had said that she became paralyzed to the point of coma, but was this another symptom? Were her lips and perhaps the joint at the top of the neck unable to move? Could she not focus her eyes and see who I was? Or was she still sleepwalking, and this was all a symptom of the dream? I took her arm in case she might fall. I barely dared to touch the skin, but I could feel the fine, dead white hair tickling against my palm.

“One,” she said. “Two … thhhhreee…’our…’ive … sixsss…” She paused as if thinking. “Se’en … eight … nnnine … te-uhn.” She looked at me. “Gooood?”

“Very good,” I said, wondering what the hell was going on.

She nodded, throwing her head up and down as violently as a horse fighting a bit. “Hhharrd,” she said. “Vreath ’ooving hhharrd.”

Breath moving hard, I translated internally, after a moment of puzzlement. Was she saying it was hard to breathe? Had she been counting breaths?

Then she smiled and it was terrible.

Madeline’s lips pulled up at the corners in a terrible parody of good humor, her mouth stretching painfully wide, her jaw dropped so far that it looked almost like a scream. Above that awful grin, her eyes were as flat and dead as stones.