The River of Night's Dreaming Read Online Free Page A
Author: Karl Edward Wagner
dressing table made a rich glow, and the gay pastels of the curtains and wallpaper offset the gravity of the high tinned ceiling and parquetry floor. Small oriental rugs and pillows upon the chairs and chaise longue made bright points of color. Again she thought of a movie set, for the room was altogether lacking in anything modern. She knew very little about antiques, but she guessed that the style of furnishings must go back before the First World War.
Camilla was arranging a single red rose in a crystal bud vase upon the dressing table. She caught her gaze in the mirror. "Did you sleep well, Cassilda? I thought I heard you cry out, just as I knocked."
"A bad dream, I suppose. But I slept well. I don't, usually." They had made her take pills to sleep.
"Are you awake, Cassilda? I thought I heard your voices." Mrs Castaigne smiled from the doorway and crossed to her bed. She was dressed much the same as the night before.
"I didn't mean to sleep so long," she apologized.
"Poor child! I shouldn't wonder that you slept so, after your dreadful ordeal. Do you feel strong enough to take a little soup?"
"I really must be going. I can't impose any further."
"I won't hear any more of that, my dear. Of course you'll stay with us until you're feeling stronger." Mrs Castaigne sat beside her on the bed, placed a cold hand against her brow. "Why, Cassilda, your face is simply aglow. I do hope you haven't taken a fever. Look, your hands are positively trembling!"
"I feel all right." In fact, she did not. She did feel as if she were running a fever, and her muscles were so sore that she wasn't sure she could walk. The trembling didn't concern her: the injections they gave her every two weeks made her shake, so they gave her little pills to stop the shaking. Now she didn't have those pills, but since it was time again for another shot, the injection and its side effects would soon wear off.
"I'm going to bring you some tonic, dear. And Camilla will bring you some good nourishing soup, which you must try to take. Poor Cassilda, if we don't nurse you carefully, I'm afraid you may fall dangerously ill."
"But I can't be such a nuisance to you," she protested as a matter of form. "I really must be going."
"Where to, dear child?" Mrs Castaigne held her hands gravely. "Have you someplace else to go? Is there someone you wish us to inform of your safety?"
"No," she admitted, trying to make everything sound right. "I've no place to go; there's no one who matters. I was on my way down the coast, hoping to find a job during the resort season. I know one or two old girlfriends who could put me up until I get settled."
"See there. Then there's no earthly reason why you can't just stay here until you're feeling strong again. Why, perhaps I might find a position for you myself. But we shall discuss these things later when you're feeling well. For the moment, just settle back on your pillow and let us help you get well."
Mrs Castaigne bent over her, kissed her on the forehead. Her lips were cool. "How lovely you are, Cassilda," she smiled, patting her hand.
She smiled back, and returned the other woman's firm grip. She'd seen no sign of a TV or radio here, and an old eccentric like Mrs Castaigne probably didn't even read the papers. Even if Mrs Castaigne had heard about the bus wreck, she plainly was too overjoyed at having a visitor to break her lonely routine to concern herself with a possible escapee—assuming they hadn't just listed her as drowned. She couldn't have hoped for a better place to hide out until things cooled off.
The tonic had a bitter licorice taste and made her drowsy, so that she fell asleep not long after Camilla carried away her tray. Despite her long sleep throughout that day, fever and exhaustion drew her back down again—although her previous sleep robbed this one of restful oblivion. Again came troubled dreams, this time cutting more harshly into her consciousness.
She dreamed of Dr Archer—her stern face and
Camilla was arranging a single red rose in a crystal bud vase upon the dressing table. She caught her gaze in the mirror. "Did you sleep well, Cassilda? I thought I heard you cry out, just as I knocked."
"A bad dream, I suppose. But I slept well. I don't, usually." They had made her take pills to sleep.
"Are you awake, Cassilda? I thought I heard your voices." Mrs Castaigne smiled from the doorway and crossed to her bed. She was dressed much the same as the night before.
"I didn't mean to sleep so long," she apologized.
"Poor child! I shouldn't wonder that you slept so, after your dreadful ordeal. Do you feel strong enough to take a little soup?"
"I really must be going. I can't impose any further."
"I won't hear any more of that, my dear. Of course you'll stay with us until you're feeling stronger." Mrs Castaigne sat beside her on the bed, placed a cold hand against her brow. "Why, Cassilda, your face is simply aglow. I do hope you haven't taken a fever. Look, your hands are positively trembling!"
"I feel all right." In fact, she did not. She did feel as if she were running a fever, and her muscles were so sore that she wasn't sure she could walk. The trembling didn't concern her: the injections they gave her every two weeks made her shake, so they gave her little pills to stop the shaking. Now she didn't have those pills, but since it was time again for another shot, the injection and its side effects would soon wear off.
"I'm going to bring you some tonic, dear. And Camilla will bring you some good nourishing soup, which you must try to take. Poor Cassilda, if we don't nurse you carefully, I'm afraid you may fall dangerously ill."
"But I can't be such a nuisance to you," she protested as a matter of form. "I really must be going."
"Where to, dear child?" Mrs Castaigne held her hands gravely. "Have you someplace else to go? Is there someone you wish us to inform of your safety?"
"No," she admitted, trying to make everything sound right. "I've no place to go; there's no one who matters. I was on my way down the coast, hoping to find a job during the resort season. I know one or two old girlfriends who could put me up until I get settled."
"See there. Then there's no earthly reason why you can't just stay here until you're feeling strong again. Why, perhaps I might find a position for you myself. But we shall discuss these things later when you're feeling well. For the moment, just settle back on your pillow and let us help you get well."
Mrs Castaigne bent over her, kissed her on the forehead. Her lips were cool. "How lovely you are, Cassilda," she smiled, patting her hand.
She smiled back, and returned the other woman's firm grip. She'd seen no sign of a TV or radio here, and an old eccentric like Mrs Castaigne probably didn't even read the papers. Even if Mrs Castaigne had heard about the bus wreck, she plainly was too overjoyed at having a visitor to break her lonely routine to concern herself with a possible escapee—assuming they hadn't just listed her as drowned. She couldn't have hoped for a better place to hide out until things cooled off.
The tonic had a bitter licorice taste and made her drowsy, so that she fell asleep not long after Camilla carried away her tray. Despite her long sleep throughout that day, fever and exhaustion drew her back down again—although her previous sleep robbed this one of restful oblivion. Again came troubled dreams, this time cutting more harshly into her consciousness.
She dreamed of Dr Archer—her stern face and