cross over to the country of the Dead?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Show me.”
“Caro—” Lord Robert began.
“Show me now. Here.”
I said wildly, “I must have . . .” I couldn’t say it, but I had to say it. “I must have pain. I can do it myself.”
“Then do so.”
I laid my little bundle on the polished table and unwrapped it. Lord Robert, now looking elaborately bored, smiled condescendingly at the plain nightshirt made from a bedsheet. I took my shaving knife and plunged it into my thigh. Pain burned along my nerves. Even as I made the necessary effort of will, I heard the queen cry out as my body toppled, and dimly I felt Lord Robert, cat-fast, catch me as I fell.
Darkness —
Cold —
Dirt in my mouth —
Worms in my eyes —
Earth imprisoning my fleshless arms and legs —
For the first time in half a year, I crossed over.
The palace was gone. Only the river remained, wide and calm as in the land of the living, but the ring of jagged western mountains had vanished; they must be farther away here. Everything had stretched out. The island was so huge I could not see across it, and trees dotted the vast plain on the opposite bank, where there had been farms and fields. Trees and groves and ponds and the Dead.
There were many more of them than there had been in the countryside, but the huge plain didn’t seem crowded. Perhaps—and it wasn’t the first time I’d had this idea—the very earth expanded to accept however many died. More of the Dead were well-dressed than in the villages where Hartah had set up his booth. Silk gowns, burnished armor, old-fashioned farthingales, brocade cloaks and doublets, all alongside strange white robes or crudely stitched clothing of leather and fur. People had lived by this river for a very long time.
No matter what they wore, these Dead behaved like all the others: sitting in circles, gazing at the grass or sky, doing nothing. I tripped over a soldier in peculiar copper-colored armor and went sprawling. He said nothing, just went on staring at the featureless gray clouds. Scrambling to my feet, I saw blood on my hand where I had just cut it on a stone, blood on my leggings from the knife I had thrust into my thigh. I was the only one here who could bleed. And yet I felt no pain. That would not recur until I went back.
Frantically I raced among the silent groups. I needed an old person, preferably a woman, or a newly arrived Dead—someone who would talk to me. “I will have the truth, and there are ways of obtaining it. They are not pleasant ways. . . .”
A man suddenly materialized a few yards away. One moment he was not there, and the next moment he was. He wore a long white nightshirt of rich cream-colored linen and a woolen nightcap, and on his shriveled finger was a ring set with three huge rubies in intricately wrought gold. He gazed at me wildly. “Where am I?”
I thought quickly. “You are safe, sir.”
“I died! I am dead!”
“Yes, sir. And I am your guide in this place, sent to greet you.”
“I am dead!”
“Yes. And I am your guide. You must come with me.”
I think it was the strange yellow dye on my face that convinced him. He stared at me, shuddered, and followed.
I led him to a little grove where no one else sat. He looked at his arm, withered but without pain, and said wonderingly, “My illness is gone.”
“It’s over, sir. And you must answer questions for me.”
He nodded, still too bemused to question my completely false authority. That state of mind would not last. I must move quickly.
“What is your name, sir?”
“Lord Joseph Deptford.”
“And your position at court?”
“A gentleman of the bedchamber to Prince Percy. Although since I became sick . . . Who are you , boy?”
“I told you, sir, I’m your guide in this place. For the sake of being judged fairly, you must answer just a few more questions. What was your last illness?”
“Weakness in the heart. I—”
“Is the young prince
“Yes,” I said.
“Show me.”
“Caro—” Lord Robert began.
“Show me now. Here.”
I said wildly, “I must have . . .” I couldn’t say it, but I had to say it. “I must have pain. I can do it myself.”
“Then do so.”
I laid my little bundle on the polished table and unwrapped it. Lord Robert, now looking elaborately bored, smiled condescendingly at the plain nightshirt made from a bedsheet. I took my shaving knife and plunged it into my thigh. Pain burned along my nerves. Even as I made the necessary effort of will, I heard the queen cry out as my body toppled, and dimly I felt Lord Robert, cat-fast, catch me as I fell.
Darkness —
Cold —
Dirt in my mouth —
Worms in my eyes —
Earth imprisoning my fleshless arms and legs —
For the first time in half a year, I crossed over.
The palace was gone. Only the river remained, wide and calm as in the land of the living, but the ring of jagged western mountains had vanished; they must be farther away here. Everything had stretched out. The island was so huge I could not see across it, and trees dotted the vast plain on the opposite bank, where there had been farms and fields. Trees and groves and ponds and the Dead.
There were many more of them than there had been in the countryside, but the huge plain didn’t seem crowded. Perhaps—and it wasn’t the first time I’d had this idea—the very earth expanded to accept however many died. More of the Dead were well-dressed than in the villages where Hartah had set up his booth. Silk gowns, burnished armor, old-fashioned farthingales, brocade cloaks and doublets, all alongside strange white robes or crudely stitched clothing of leather and fur. People had lived by this river for a very long time.
No matter what they wore, these Dead behaved like all the others: sitting in circles, gazing at the grass or sky, doing nothing. I tripped over a soldier in peculiar copper-colored armor and went sprawling. He said nothing, just went on staring at the featureless gray clouds. Scrambling to my feet, I saw blood on my hand where I had just cut it on a stone, blood on my leggings from the knife I had thrust into my thigh. I was the only one here who could bleed. And yet I felt no pain. That would not recur until I went back.
Frantically I raced among the silent groups. I needed an old person, preferably a woman, or a newly arrived Dead—someone who would talk to me. “I will have the truth, and there are ways of obtaining it. They are not pleasant ways. . . .”
A man suddenly materialized a few yards away. One moment he was not there, and the next moment he was. He wore a long white nightshirt of rich cream-colored linen and a woolen nightcap, and on his shriveled finger was a ring set with three huge rubies in intricately wrought gold. He gazed at me wildly. “Where am I?”
I thought quickly. “You are safe, sir.”
“I died! I am dead!”
“Yes, sir. And I am your guide in this place, sent to greet you.”
“I am dead!”
“Yes. And I am your guide. You must come with me.”
I think it was the strange yellow dye on my face that convinced him. He stared at me, shuddered, and followed.
I led him to a little grove where no one else sat. He looked at his arm, withered but without pain, and said wonderingly, “My illness is gone.”
“It’s over, sir. And you must answer questions for me.”
He nodded, still too bemused to question my completely false authority. That state of mind would not last. I must move quickly.
“What is your name, sir?”
“Lord Joseph Deptford.”
“And your position at court?”
“A gentleman of the bedchamber to Prince Percy. Although since I became sick . . . Who are you , boy?”
“I told you, sir, I’m your guide in this place. For the sake of being judged fairly, you must answer just a few more questions. What was your last illness?”
“Weakness in the heart. I—”
“Is the young prince
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