I dreamed of a foundry, a vast grid of blackened walkways suspended across a scalding sesto cerchio of smoking pits. Poisonous plumes of sparks spiraled above hectares of glowing crucibles. I stood at the controls above a shimmering vat of molten lead. The gangway rumbled beneath my feet as galena gnashed in the teeth of distant giants. The walls of this place were the tuyeres of a blast furnace, they groaned as if some mad organist was playing the pipes. The panel was a confusing jumble of dials, levers, dip switches, and flashing buttons. The instructions were engraved in blackletter on a steel plate, eight dicta. When I tried to read them, the letters slithered into an inscrutable mess.

“Traitor!” hissed a voice in the darkness.

Shadows dangled above the pit. I threw a heavy knife switch, the circuit activated with a loud CLACK! Harsh spotlights burned overhead.

They’d all been hanged.

The other inmates swayed in the rising heat with chains wound around their necks. Their bodies had a charnel gradient, legs black and bloated, upper bodies pale and bloodless. Only Murderess survived. She dug her fingers beneath the noose and fought for every breath. Sweat bled from her naked body. The drops hissed and spat as they skittered across the searing lead.

“HELP ME!” Murderess begged. Her legs kicked as she clawed at the steel noose. High above us, the pulley clinked to life. Link by link, she sank towards the vat. I searched the panel for a way to save her. There were so many buttons, I didn’t know which to press.

“Please!” she gasped. The more she struggled, the tighter the noose wound.

I mashed a flashing red button. With a gear-grinding screech the chain lurched to a stop. I rushed to the rail, reaching out a hand but she was too far.

High above, there was a delicate ping, and the chain whirred. With a shriek, Murderess plunged into the molten lead.

The vat roared static like a deep fryer, heaving globs of boiling lead that exploded like grenades. Murderess’s last, flailing movement whipped through the chain in a wave, then it was taut again. The silvery surface of the pool was bubbling with indigestion, pools of dark blood were foaming and boiling off. It was all my fault.

The furnace pipes belched twelve bass strokes to greet midnight. The pitch swelled to a mocking scordatura tritone and the chain clinked upward, dappled with shining solder-beads. There was nothing left of Murderess but a skeleton. Her electroplated bones gleamed and seemed to dance as the chain reeled her up. I was eye-to-socket with the chromed skull. The jaw creaked open.

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“Traitor!”

I woke with a cry. Someone was shaking me. I tried to bat them away, but my arms had no strength. I was soaked in sweat.

“Traitor!” The voice urged again, in a low whisper. It was Pirate.

The dream stubbornly refused to fade. The red lights of the barracks were flickering like the forge. I was afraid to look up at Pirate, certain I’d find a bloodless corpse.

“You were screaming,” he explained.

I forced myself to sit up. Pirate was worried. Screamers got locked. The ones in my first training flight were all gone within a month.

“What did he do to you?” Pirate asked.

“Vászoly,” I muttered. Pirate didn’t get it and I was too upset to explain. I tried to poke holes in the nightmare, rationalizing that a body wouldn’t sink in lead like that. It didn’t help.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Pirate offered. He kept his voice low. His eyes darted to the door. If a drill burst in, he was done for. The other inmates had the good sense to pretend to be asleep.

The strange melody was stuck in my head. I realized I was really hearing it. The sound was barely audible.

“What is that?” I asked.

Pirate was too old to hear the music. I padded towards the latrine, searching for the source. Unexpectedly, Pirate followed me in. The sound was coming from the vent over the toilet, where I’d stashed my emergency rations. I climbed onto the bowl and listened to the distant notes.

“Careful!” Pirate hissed sharply. “If the drills come, you’re dead!”

“There’s music,” I said, ignoring his concern. It wasn’t like Pirate to be so anxious, Tsuros must have hit him harder than I thought.

“Listen,” I offered, climbing down.

Pirate looked uneasy, but he couldn’t resist his curiosity. He climbed up and bent his ear to the vent.

“I hear it,” he whispered.

“What is that?” I asked. Someone was committing a crime. Anything that could reproduce music had been forbidden.

“Danse Macabre.”

“Huh?”

“From old Earth. Saint-Saëns,” Pirate said quietly. “You wouldn’t know it. The Hezo purged it all.”

I knew more than I let on, but not this. We lingered in the stall, listening to the haunting tones until our courage ran out. I couldn’t place the instrument. The notes were too thin for a piano, too fast for a harp. I was glad Pirate heard it too, so I didn’t think I was going crazy. As we crept back to our bunks, he clapped me on the shoulder.

“Only a dream,” he assured me.

“Thank you,” I whispered, sincerely grateful. He didn’t have to help me like this. Pirate could have feigned sleep like the others, and let the drills drag me away. I vowed to remember his kindness.

Sleep was impossible. I stared at the ceiling through the slats of the vacant bunk above me. I strained to hear through the slumbering prisoners, but the dance had ended. Restless, I turned towards Murderess’s bunk. The crimson light flashed in her eyes.

She was awake and staring at me.

I choked back a scream.