 XIV. Yayn 1:00 AM After Xanthia finished complaining that the ground was too hard to sleep on and that Diana was right in that she wasn’t cut out for camping, Reine finally drifted off to sleep with Tuesday curled with her in her sleeping bag along her shoulder. They had brought two tents with them, round waterproof cloth igloos that the Baron had found while scrounging around in the boathouse for supplies. The men had taken the larger tent, but even that was not big enough. While the Baron, Marcus, and Hadrian were trying to get into their sleeping bags, Reine had poked her head in to see if they were all right since she heard much cursing coming from their direction. They turned out to be packed like sardines. She and Xanthia shared the other tent. The astrologer had decided to go back to the outhouse again to change into some silver pajamas. She kept her turban on her head, complaining that it was too cold to sleep without one. Normally, Reine would not have thought anything about it, but the astrologer had also insisted on piling the rest of her wardrobe on top of herself to keep herself from freezing. A noise, something that sounded like a clap and the whistle of the wind woke Reine from her short rest. She had been dreaming of dark, dirty places filled with bones and skulls and coffins. She was relieved, as she stared up at the tent roof, that she was no longer stuck in those catacombs. I should tell Ira about them, she thought. They were on her property and would be a dangerous hazard for tourists and guests alike. Tuesday was an inert lump of fur nestled along her shoulders. She could hear the astrologer mumbling and shifting in her sleep. The air inside the tent was cool but still bearable. She raised her arm and pressed a light to illuminate her watch. It was one in the morning. Tuesday protested quietly as she got up to go to the outhouse. The air outside was much cooler. Apparently the tents also provided some insulation. With her flashlight, Reine made her way without incident to the little shack at the edge of the woods. But as she finished her business and went outside again, the wind started up, rustling the pines so that their branches clacked and creaked like wooden floorboards and old bones. The trees swayed as if dancing to a mysterious rhythm that only the wind knew. Reine looked up at the sky and the clouds were racing across the heavens, the stars winking in and out like tiny switches. The full moon cast an eerie silver light across the landscape. Even with the naked eye, she could make out blotches, which were moon craters. With a more creative bent of mind, she could easily envision it as a face. But it wouldn’t be the smiling man in the moon as depicted in children’s fairy tales and nursery rhymes. Oh no. This face had a more malicious cast to its features. Reine climbed up the stony incline to the campsite. The fire that the Baron had built had completely burned out—not even a persistent ember remained to help light the path. The wind whistled again, but she wondered, was it really the wind or the howl of a wolf? But she almost immediately discounted that idea. There was no way a wolf could find its way to the island. The only way to the island was either by boat or by swimming. And even if a wolf had somehow found its way to the island, there would be nothing for it to eat. The island contained no large game, at least no large game that the Baron had mentioned or that she had seen. At the two dark outcroppings that she had recognized as the two tents, a dark loping shadow loomed in front of her. Soon it stood upright as it sensed her presence. Suddenly nervous, she fumbled with her flashlight. The beam fell upon the figure and she saw, with relief, that it was the astrologer. In the light, her silvery pajamas were enough to give a reasonable person eyestrain. The astrologer herself put a hand up to her face to shield her eyes. “What are you doing up?” said Reine. “I should be asking the same question,” Xanthia replied. “And quit shining that damned light into my eyes.” “Sorry.” Reine turned the flashlight off. “I just came back from the outhouse. I see that you have discovered that it’s not so cold out here.” “It’s colder than inside the tent,” the astrologer retorted. “Anyways, perhaps I was a little hasty in trying to keep myself warm. I was beginning to get stifled in there.” Reine refrained from saying an “I told you so” but said instead, “You can use my flashlight it you want.” “I’m fine,” the astrologer sniffed, apparently uneasy that she had admitted another weakness. “The moon is giving out enough light for me to see. I have excellent night vision.” As she moved away, Reine cast a glance over to the larger tent and smiled. She could hear snores coming from that direction. I was most likely that the men had not heard their exchange. She stepped into her own tent and found that Tuesday had taken up her sleeping bag by sprawling over her pillow. She sighed and pushed the sleeping cat over and slid into her sleeping bag. Tuesday meowed in her ear. “Sorry, I don’t have any food with me.” She yawned. “Wait until tomorrow morning, will you? I’m sure Hadrian packed some bacon with him.” The cat responded by readjusting to his former position along her shoulders. The two of them fell back asleep, unaware that the astrologer came to the tent to take her sleeping bag out but never came back to the tent for the rest of the night. © 2002, S. Y. Affolee |