Somewhere Warm to Sleep (Margaret #2)

3

and I must go mad: ...
such sorrow I've had
for beasts of bone and blood!

- Anonymous, 13th century

Arthur wakes again, cocooned in the warmth of his dorm room. His posters are right where he tacked them up, his textbooks are all slotted neatly in the shelves, and the sun filters through the unbroken dorm room window, filling the room with golden light. It looks normal--why wouldn't it look normal? Pulling off his sheets, he notices his clothes are only slightly crumpled, free of dirt and snow and blood. The bathroom is similarly spotless. He brushes his teeth, shaves, and washes his face without anything leaping out at him from the mirror or ambushing him from behind.

Not knowing what else to do, he makes a cup of tea. As he sips his English Breakfast, thoughts whirl in his head: What was that all about? It couldn't have been a dream. It was too long, too solid. The calendar still reads 9th of January, 1983. And yet– And yet–

The day passes by in a mundane, grey blur. He finishes up an essay, does his reading, and picks up his rented suit (a size too big, but it's too late to change). All the while, he can't shake the feeling he's being watched: as if he's a character in the play, and the audience is holding their breath, waiting for the climax.

Later in the evening, before the ball begins, Arthur calls Darcy, but she doesn't pick up. Probably doing her makeup, he thinks. No big deal. He decides to head to Lizzie's dorm to pick her up first.

When he gets there, it's almost sunset. The evening paints the town a deep sapphire blue, punctuated with golden light spilling from windows and open doors. Lizzie–in a neon pink polka-dot dress, her dark skin brushed with glitter–stands outside her dorm with a few other people he knows from their Viking Age module, conversing under their breath.

"You look brill," Arthur tells her.

"You too." She smiles, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Hey, weren't you supposed to come with your other friends tonight? Alexander, Priya, Jonathan and–was it Doreen?"

"Darcy," Arthur corrects, then furrows his brow. "I don't think I've seen them yet. I've no idea where they are."

"They're probably just running late," Lizzie reasons. Her high heels click against the cobblestone. "There was a bit of a commotion at one of the other dorms earlier. St. Julian, I think." St. Julian was the biggest, newest dorm in the university, with a beautiful view over the nearby woodland.

"Yes, that's their dorm. I guess they're just tied up. I'll meet them when they arrive."

As Arthur and Lizzie duck into the event hall, he can't help but be amazed. A great, vaulted ceiling pulls the eye up, up, up. At the apex, a chandelier dangles, dripping with crystals. Seemingly the entire university has packed itself into the hall. Men in tailcoats and women in glittering gowns chatter about royal scandals or drift across the crowded dance floor to the strains of a string quartet playing an ABBA song.

Lizzie pulls him to the side and hands him a glass of wine. She thanks him for agreeing to accompany her on such short notice after she broke up with her boyfriend. Arthur nods, only half-listening, and takes a sip of the wine. A powerful stench of rot hits the back of his throat, and he can't choke it out fast enough. Lizzie glances at him out of the corner of her eye. The taste lingers, impossible to remove. Glancing down at the glass, he discovers it's coagulated, dark and thick. Small white dots float in it, fighting to keep themselves from drowning. Maggots.

He blinks, and they're gone. He takes another sip. It just tastes like wine.

They mingle around for a while before he hears a shout in the distance. The chatter shifts in cadence, becoming quicker, and more nervous. Even though the string band plays on, some dancers are coming to a halt, drifting to the sides. "What's going on?" Lizzie hisses. Barely five feet tall with heels, she cranes her neck futilely upwards.