and around the slender bow, streaming between the strings of the violin. As they passed through the instrument, they stretched and bent, assuming the shape of three Vistani women. They were ghosts, ephemeral as smoke, as smooth as white glass. They rose through the air, and the music swelled to echo the rhythm of their whirling dance. Diaphanous white skirts trailed behind them like the tails of comets.
Soon Ramus closed his eyes and slowed his tune.
The women clasped hands, moving three as one. Their features were indistinct, but something about them suggested age and sorrow. They sank toward the ground. The soil steamed beneath them. Ramus continued to play, his notes somber and slow. The women's ghostly white heads began to melt away from their shoulders, dripping down their bodies like candle wax. Then their bodies sagged and slumped, and the shoulders disappeared, and the breasts, and the hips and the legs-melting away until nothing remained but a white cloud upon the ground. Then even that disappeared.
Ramus moved his fiddle from his chin and stared into the forest. Marguerite held her breath, not daring to move. She lay directly in the path of his gaze.
The gypsy walked across the clearing to where his black horse stood waiting. He slipped the violin into an embroidered satchel that hung from the saddle, then retrieved his round-brimmed hat from the pommel. The horse snorted, pawing nervously at the dirt. Ramus stroked the animal's muzzle and whispered something to quiet it. Then he turned once again toward Marguerite's hiding place.
'Lost again, Marguerite?' he asked, flashing a white smile. He tipped his hat.
Marguerite did not answer, hoping that if she remained silent, she might also be invisible.
'Mot coming out?' asked Ramus. 'Then you must mean for me to clamber in after you. A pleasant invitation indeed.'
Marguerite wormed her way out of her hiding place, feeling graceless and chagrined. She took a step forward, then stopped, leaving several paces between them. Still she felt his attraction, and it amazed her. She swayed, unsteady. And she said nothing, for suddenly nothing at all would come to mind.
'So we meet again,' Ramus said deeply. 'I hope you enjoyed my serenade.'
'I did,' she replied, almost in a whisper. 'It was magical.'
Meither of them spoke of the spirits. It occurred to Marguerite that Ramus had summoned them with a powerful spell. If she mentioned his magic, she might somehow fall prey to its power. The dance lay between them tike a secret, something intimately shared.
'Do you know the legend of the Vistani violin?' Ramus asked, reaching forward to stir the fire.
Marguerite shook her head.
'The first violin, it is said, was created to lure a lover. A young Vistana longed for the affections of a girl who spurned him. So deep was his desire that he sought the aid of dark powers to win her. The powers consented to help him. In payment, they demanded the spirits of the boy's brothers and sisters. The powers bound them into the strings and bow of the first violin, then gave the instrument to the boy, so that he might serenade his sweetheart. When the boy played, the violin filled the air with his family's pain, as well as their remembered joys, and the girl was spellbound. Unfortunately, she loved the musician only when he played, and eventually the sound of his victims drove the young man mad. He killed himself. But the next Vistana who took up the instrument found he could reproduce the sound with all its beauty. And so the violin was born.'
'What a sad story,' whispered Marguerite.
'Indeed. But only a legend.' Ramus looked up from the fire. 'So, what brings you out after nightfall, Marguerite? Was it me you sought? Did I lure you with my violin?'
'No,' said Marguerite, struggling to think of some excuse for her wandering. She did not want to share her secrets with Ramus. 'I was merely restless.'
'Ah. My kind well understands that feeling. But it must take a great deal of restlessness to drive a gior-gia from her cozy bed and into the forest after dark. Are you finding your home so unpleasant then, Marguerite, that you must escape into the night?'
'Not at all,' she lied. 'We are very happy at the keep.'
Ramus laughed softly. 'I am glad,' he said. 'Though I must say it is surprising.'
'And why is that?' she asked, indignant.
Ramus shrugged. 'Lord Donskoy's reputation suggests otherwise. But if he treats you well, I am glad to hear it. I must admit that you do not appear entirely abused.' He smiled a sly smile. 'Of course I myself could treat you better, and please you in ways you cannot imagine.'
She had anticipated the advance, but it unnerved her nonetheless. 'I'm certain I don't know what you mean.'
Ramus's dark eyes flared, and his voice sank low, 'And I'm certain that you do.'
Marguerite expected him to step toward her, to touch her, but he made no move. 'You mistake me,' she said, 'for another type of woman.'
'I think I understand you quite well,' he replied. 'But I am no fiend. Your answer is no, then?'
'Yes.'
He chortled. 'Yes?'
'No.'
'Such a pity for us both. But if you won't allow me to coax the music from your instrument, perhaps I can help you find what you are seeking.'
Marguerite blushed. 'I am seeking nothing. I told you I was just restless.'
'Indeed. Just as you were not lost the other day?
Your pretense is foolish. I saw you scrabbling about the forest floor, and I watched your face grow dark with the setting of the sun. If you are looking for something, you should let me assist. I know the woods well. Alone you may never succeed.'
Marguerite considered this for a moment. The Vis-tani spent their lives in the wild, and their reputation as trackers and woodsmen knew no equal. Perhaps Ramus could help her after all-if she could trust him. He stood beside his horse, smiling. He had summoned the dead, it was true, and made a few roguish advances, yet Marguerite did not fear him. Strangely, she did not dread him in the least. And she did not wish for him to leave her alone.
'Don't laugh,' she said, 'but I am seeking the web of a white spider.'
Ramus chortled. 'Not pregnant yet, is that it? And _ord Donskoy knows no patience.'
Marguerite's face grew hot,
'Perhaps I can help there as well,' he continued, 'and we won't be needing a spider.'
'You are too bold,' said Marguerite huffily. 'I don't want your help after all.'
Ramus stepped closer and touched her arm. 'Forgive me, Marguerite. I did not mean to offend you- ¦ru!y. Perhaps I spend so much time alone that rudeness comes easily. Please allow me to assist you. I Know where to look, and it is dangerous for you to continue this search alone.'
*****
Reluctantly, she accepted his help. Claiming they would do better on foot, Ramus took his satchel from his mount and slapped it on the flank; the horse vanished into the shadows. They wandered together into the woods. He explained that the spider she sought could be found only in a cave. Marguerite protested at first, thinking Zosia would surely have toId her as much, but she followed anyway. She had enjoyed no success on her own.
The pair walked down into the hollows, and then up again, until they reached a sharp outcropping of rock, jutting up toward the sky.
'A cave lies near the top,' Ramus said. 'Inside, I believe we'll find the spider you need.'
Carefully they picked their way up the slope. As promised, they came upon the mouth of a cave. Marguerite stooped, following Ramus's lead, then emerged in an immense chamber. A strange red moss coated the walls, lighting the cavern with a faint luminescence. Stalagmites rose up from the floor, reaching out toward their twins above. Between the pinnacles, great webs hung like lacy sails. Small white bones were scattered about the floor below.
Marguerite noticed a firepit near the center of the cave. A stack of kindling and small branches lay beside it. Someone had been here before-Ramus, undoubtedly. After all, the cave provided a natural shelter.
'Sit,' said Ramus, 'and rest a while. I'll build a fire. Then we'll wait for the spider to crawl into view. Ef we remain quiet, it shouldn't take long.'
