Read Dance of the Red Death (Masque of the Red Death) for Free Online

contaminating the water. The Weeping Sickness was released into that madness.
    I skim these pages quickly, but as I reach the second half of the book I force myself to slow down. By then, all Father wrote about was the disease.
     
Prospero is collecting scientists and holding them in his castle. He claims that one of his men has found a way to rid the city of the encroaching swamp. He told me over dinner, laughing to himself. He’s been keeping the poor fellow in his dungeon, in chains. “Perhaps,” he said, “perhaps I’ll allow him to complete his life’s work. It will make the city much more pleasant for your children, if they live to adulthood, don’t you think?”
As always, I ate my soup without comment. “Take care of my rat problem,” he said. It wasn’t a request.
I told him the disease is volatile. Unpredictable.
“The city won’t miss a few immigrants,” he said. “More come in boats every day.”
     
    Now all the boats have rotted and fallen to bits in the harbor.
    I keep going, absorbing as much as I can, until I turn to a mostly blank page inscribed with the words
    My son is dead.
    I lay my head against the back of the couch, trying not to think. Even with my eyes closed, I can see my twin brother. I won’t think of his bloodless hand, how I let go but then lunged back and tried to grab it after we dropped him into the corpse collector’s cart.
    When I open my eyes, Will is watching me. He’s sitting across the room, with his back against a wall of exposed brick. Once again, his hair has fallen forward, but it isn’t enough to hide his concern.
    The misery in this room is palpable.
    I force myself back to the journal, past that terrible page.
     
Prospero lied to me. He’s done nothing to check the rise of the swamp, and I do not know the location of the pumping station that he promised would cleanse the water. He won’t distribute masks to the people. I have only one threat left, and I don’t think he believes me.
     
    And then the last pages are about the Red Death.
     
While the Weeping Sickness is passed through the air, the Red Death is contracted through both the air and the drinking water. I have nothing more to threaten Prospero with. All is lost. He’s taken my wife. My son is dead. I will not be the one to save the city.
     
    I shut the book and stare into space for a long time. What about me? Did Father think I was lost too? Was he right?
     
    I wake to the thump of a footstep against the wood floor and sit up, clutching the journal to my heart.
    The room is still shadowy, though light is streaming in through the hole in the roof and the filthy windows.
    “Good morning.” Elliott stands a few feet away, silhouetted by the light that’s filtering in.
    “Good morning,” I reply, trying to hide my surprise. I dart a glance to Will’s corner, but he’s gone. I tuck the journal under my skirt and gesture toward the rest of the couch. “Do you want to sit?”
    He collapses beside me so quickly that I’m surprised he waited for my invitation. Elliott isn’t one for waiting. The skin under his eyes looks bruised. He hasn’t slept.
    “The storm is over?” I prompt.
    He nods. “April is watching the swamp. She’s the best shot, and she was feeling restless. I think she wanted to get away from the children.” He gives me a sidelong look. “We’ll be leaving today.”
    “To go back to the city?”
    “Araby . . .” He reaches out, as if to embrace me, but I put out my hands to hold him back. So he twines his fingers through mine, and the way our hands fit together feels extremely personal in just the way I wanted to avoid.
    “We need to talk,” I say.
    “Do we?” His expression is sardonic, but I ignore it. I have the right to voice my opinion.
    He has to realize that if we go to the palace, everything is lost. The echo of my father stops me before I even start.
    Thom pokes his head around the corner. “Did you move the prisoner? The door is open. And he’s