Serpents and Stairways

Chapter V - Part 2

The lower their cabin descended into the rocky depths, the clearer they could hear the redstart clicking of the Dodgson counter—an instrument that measured aether tension.

"The poor girl is back in the coffin, and the dragon flew off," Dinah thought, twiddling the stiff wool of not-her trousers, "So what's making that thing yell?"

Even before the start of the expedition she had set the instrument threshold to 42 Dsn. 

Which meant that it shouldn't have emitted a sound until it read above that value—quite a high one at that. A street of a sizable city was usually about 30. Yet, they were in the mountains, and for many miles around them there were no books, no newspapers, rumors, cinemagraphs, or even embroidery patterns. What's with that background noise? What's driving that tension, if yesterday, before they opened the coffin, the instrument hadn't made a single sound? Even shepherds wouldn't normally come to these heights, and even if they did—what kind of a piper could make the Dodgson counter sing along?

In usual circumstances one could expect... 6 Dsn? 8? Dinah hadn't opened the box to check since the beginning of their journey but—based on a feeling—not any more than that. Was it broken? Or had something changed in the dead girl's condition after all? Well, you won't know until you check.

It was dark in the gorge. The boxes split open, and their contents, breaking free, scattered on the gloomy rocks. Dinah looked around—In one direction the black of darkness seemed more radiant than in the rest.

A cave?

While the man and the automaton were loading into the cage everything that Tamara could've needed up there, Dinah extended the cane's rabbit foot and, exploring the space in front of her, paved with debris and deceit, started towards the instrument's sound. Yes, she tripped a few times. Yes, one time she actually fell and painted her knees and palms with dirt: compared to the still calm of sidewalks that she was accustomed to, the surface of the gorge was way too wavy, and Dinah's steps were adrift in its storm.

And still—several Servantes's callouts and a scratch on her pride later—she found what she was looking for: a box of veiny rosewood, equipped with a handle on the top and a small glass tube on a cord dangling from its side. Dodgson's counter. The girl hurriedly felt the device for cracks or damage—it seemed intact. Alright. Now for the victory lap.

Dinah slowly, one by one, walked a few steps in different directions, extending the tube in front of her, and then finally pointed it at the darkness. The rate of its clicking went up. Well, it's not like anyone doubted that. "Servantes. When you're done, could you take a peek at the gauge for me?" Dinah said and sat on one of the rocks.

Waiting, she touched the smooth stone in her pocket.

The dead girl's body felt so unlike a human's. All that talk of changes happening to the dead, of livor mortis and everything else, then, before the storm, had no effect on her—well, maybe only a bit. Dinah had never seen any of it with her own eyes, and could only imagine in the vaguest terms, at least until Georg had gone too far with his descriptions.

But touch... Dinah thought that the deceased would be cold and unnaturally stiff, but the corpse of that girl, shaking with pain and screaming, felt... flabby? It had changed there, underneath her skin. Dinah had to shove her body more than once, pressing on it with her weight, pushing back into the crystal the corpse that was leaving something thick and dreary on her fingers, something very unlike blood. A putrid liquid of scarlet brown that smelled like the deadest of words.

Dinah pressed her knees to her forehead with all her might. No. She shouldn't think of that right now. It's better to imagine that young Miss Laplace... What could her actual name be? Doesn't matter, they weren't acquainted, so calling her by her father's surname was acceptable, was it? No, wait. Don't spiral back, think of something completely different, come on! Shift the gears!