The Dragon Waiting: A Masque of History by John M. Ford

Author:John M. Ford [Ford, John M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General
ISBN: 9780575073784
Google: oOTpHAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0575073780
Publisher: Gollancz
Published: 2002-05-09T05:00:00+00:00

"Will you? You have said that you know how, but can you?"

"—scream. I do... know how... to scream." She stood absolutely rigid, save for a tiny tremor at the tips of her fingers.

"But who will hear? They are all at the wedding, or the prison. We are alone." His voice became very gentle. "Is that not the problem? We are both alone."

She relaxed just a little, and said slowly, "There are... quills... in my kit. I can help, Gregory. I'm a doctor. You're ill, that's all."

"That is anything but all. Even supposing it is a quill you mean to offer me, not the scalpel"—her eyes flicked sidewise—"do you think that is all I need? Hunger is only put off a while, I know that. I have not always drunk from chickens and pigs."

He looked at the darkened window, stroked the drape. "A city is an impossible place for one like me. Too many walls, too many lights, too many people close together. Like being smothered by food." He shook his head. "Have you heard of this country to the north, Scotland? They say the people live far apart. A traveler vanishes in the mountains, and a thousand things may have happened. It is cold, I hear, but cold is nothing to me. And they admire strength." He picked up the wavy knife, squeezed again. It broke with a sharp sound. Cynthia shuddered briefly, then controlled herself.

She said "I've known many people with chronic diseases." Her voice was quite steady. "They all have bad days, doubtful days. Why don't you—"

"A fascinating word, chronic. It means of time. A disease of time, that is the truth." He spoke intensely: "The only problem, the only one, is that one is such a long time lonely." He reached out, touched his white hand to her white cheek, tenderly.

"You had better go to your own room, Gregory," she said, with barely restrained anger. "You had better rest quietly for a while. That's medical advice."

He let his hand fall. "Perhaps not the only problem.... When one is strong, nothing taken by force has any value. The blood of dumb beasts. Do not think what you are thinking; I would not do that. I am patient. I can afford to be."

He put on his glasses, closed his gown, and went out.

She stood there until she began to tremble; then she sank down to the floor and sat. She did not scream, or cry, or do anything but breathe deeply and evenly. Then she kicked the broken pieces of the knife under the bed, and cursed in Latin.

Duchess Cecily was drinking tea and reading from Malory's Arthur when Gregory came downstairs. She looked up from her book without speaking.

"I cannot promise she will go to Wales," Gregory said, "but I do not think she will go to Scotland."

The Duchess nodded. "Are you all right, Doctor von Bayern?"

"I am all right. Though while I spoke to her..." He laughed once, ash-dry. "In fact, I am well. I told you, I have given this.

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