“We could have been killed!” said Gertrude.
“But we weren’t,” said Catherine.
Lady Gertrude sniffed loudly. “I haven’t been able to identify a single birdsong or butterfly since we stopped, my poppet. And the trees are just so . . . big. Almost overpowering . . . It’s all so different from the gentle woodlands of our own dear Redhart. It’s all so . . . rural. Unplanned. Untamed. I don’t like it.” She looked through the far trees, at what remained of the old manor house. “I wonder what family lived there . . . and why they chose to live all the way out here, so far from anywhere civilised.”
The walls of the manor house had collapsed inwards long ago, leaving the roof to fall in on top of them, and all kinds of intruding vegetation had forced its way in through the shattered windows. It didn’t look strange or mysterious, like one of the sinister ruins in Catherine’s books; instead, she thought, it looked sad, and lost. A great thing brought low by neglect and the passing of years.
“This must have been the family graveyard,” she said. “And given how many graves there are, the family must have lived here for generations.”
“Really can’t see why,” said Gertrude sniffily. “A most inhospitable place, my sweet. We shouldn’t be here.”
“Nowhere else to be,” said Catherine. “And at least it is . . . interesting.”
Gertrude rolled her eyes up to Heaven at the use of that word again and sank down heavily on the nearest headstone—which fortunately held up under her weight—with the air of someone washing her hands of the whole affair. Catherine wandered happily among the headstones and markers, trying to find at least one intact name. It was all very quiet, very peaceful, and she liked to think everyone there was at rest.
When she first saw the ghost, she thought it was another of the skeletal attackers. She glimpsed something white and glowing out of the corner of one eye, looked round quite casually, and then her head came up sharply as she found herself looking straight at a gently shining figure. It jumped, startled at being so suddenly picked out from its surroundings, looked frantically back and forth, and then hid behind one of the larger headstones. Which wasn’t big enough to hide most of it. Catherine could still see its glow quite clearly, and more than enough of it to tell it wasn’t any man with painted-on bones. She walked right up to the headstone and glared at the white shining figure fidgeting behind it.
“You! Yes, you—who else would I be talking to? Come out from behind that gravestone at once! Who are you?”
There was a long pause, and then the whole figure emerged slowly into the light, shuffling his bare feet and looking bashfully at her. He was faint, almost transparent at first, just a human shape with few details. But the more Catherine looked at him, the more the ghost seemed to come into focus. As though he were clear and distinct only when someone living was there to see him. His face was soon clear enough, every detail present and correct, but the rest of him remained stubbornly unfocused. Or perhaps, undecided. The face was that of an old man, with long white hair and a full white beard, kind eyes, and an uncertain smile. There was nothing scary or threatening about him. He looked more like some long-lost uncle, unsure of his welcome. Or even his right to be there, in that graveyard. He shone with a gentle light. He smiled at Catherine, and nodded several times.
“Hello. Yes. Nice day, isn’t it? I’m a ghost. Who are you?”
“Come away, Catherine!” called Gertrude, just a bit shrilly, from the far side of the cemetery. “Never talk to ghosts, my poppet! It only encourages them!”
“I always wanted to meet a ghost,” said Catherine, studying the shimmering form before her with great interest. “Castle Midnight was supposed to be lousy with the things at one time, but I never saw any. And not for want of trying. What’s your name?”
“Ah,” said the ghost. “Starting with the hard ones first, are we? Bit of a problem there, I’m afraid. I don’t remember. I’ve been a ghost for so long I’ve forgotten whose ghost I am. Who or what I was when I was alive . . .”
“How long have you been haunting this place?” said Catherine.
“I don’t know,” said the ghost. “I used to haunt that old manor house, until it fell apart so much I didn’t feel comfortable there anymore. Too many shadows, and too many unexpected noises . . . So now I just hang around here, and talk to the stones, and the graves. Not that they ever answer back, of course. In fact, I think I’d find it rather upsetting if any of them did. I think . . . my name might be Jasper. Yes. There’s a stone just over there, with that name on it . . . and the name does feel oddly familiar. Like it might mean something.”
“Well, Sir Jasper,” said Catherine. “I think . . .”
“Sir Jasper!” said the ghost delightedly. “Oh yes! That sounds right! Sir Jasper! Yes. I like that. Still doesn’t ring any bells, though.”
“Have you always haunted this part of the Forest?” said Catherine. “Were you a part of the family who lived here?”
“Perhaps,” said Sir Jasper. “I suppose so. I’ve been dead so long it’s hard for me to be sure of anything. Certainly I don’t remember being anywhere else, before being here. But I think I’m going to have to leave this place soon. I don’t want to, but . . . I don’t feel safe here anymore. The Darkwood isn’t far from here, and it’s started growing again. Just a little. Just recently. I can sense it. And that makes me very nervous.”
“But you’re a ghost!” said Catherine. “What have you got to be nervous about?”
“I don’t know!” said Sir Jasper. “That’s what’s so worrying!” He sighed, then bestowed his gentle smile on Catherine again. “I’m afraid that as ghosts go, I’m a bit rubbish. And more than a little chicken. I’d jump at my own shadow, if I still had one.”
“Are you really frightened of the Darkwood?” said Catherine.
“Oh yes,” said Sir Jasper, looking down at his bare feet poking out from under what might have been a nightgown. “In the night there are things moving, in the shadows that shouldn’t be there. And I can feel the strength of the Darkwood, where it’s always dark and the sun has never shone. I can feel its growing power. The Darkwood has an influence on all the things around it. I don’t want to be . . . what it would make of me. So I can’t stay here. But I don’t know where else to go.”
“Well, that’s easily settled,” Catherine said briskly. “You’re coming along with us, to the Forest Castle.”
“What?” said Lady Gertrude.
But Sir Jasper was already jumping up and down on the spot in excitement, clapping his pale hands together. “Can I? Can I really come with you?”
“Of course you can,” said Catherine.
Sir Jasper looked past her, and lost some of his enthusiasm. “Ah . . . I don’t think your companion agrees.”
Catherine looked round to find that Gertrude had retreated to the farthest end of the graveyard. She was standing with her arms folded very tightly across her chest, shaking her head vigorously.
“What is the matter with you, Gertrude?” said Catherine. And then she stopped and turned back to the ghost. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sir Jasper. We haven’t introduced ourselves, have we? I am the Princess Catherine of Redhart, on my way to a forced marriage with Prince Richard of the Forest, and that is my companion, Lady Gertrude.”
“Delighted to meet you!” said Sir Jasper. He put out a hand for Catherine to shake, but her fingers passed right through his. Sir Jasper withdrew his hand and looked at it sadly. “Old habits die hard. Even when you’re dead . . .”
“Come away from him, my Princess!” said Gertrude loudly. “It’s not at all proper for you to talk with strange people without your chaperone present.”
“Then come over here and join us,” said Catherine.
“No thank you,” said Gertrude very firmly.
“Don’t let appearances fool you,” said Catherine.
“Trust me, they haven’t,” said Gertrude.
“He’s quite harmless, really,” said Catherine.
“I would,” said Catherine. “Come here, Lady Gertrude.”
The Lady came very slowly forward, one reluctant and highly apprehensive step at a time. The ghost smiled at her in a hopeful sort of way.
“This is Sir Jasper the ghost,” said Catherine. “He’s coming with us to the Forest Castle, and I don’t want to hear any arguments about it. It’s always possible someone there might be able to help us find out who he is. Or rather, who he used to be.”
“Why doesn’t he know?” said Gertrude suspiciously.
“He’s a ghost!” said Catherine. “Who knows what’s normal, where ghosts are concerned?”
“Why is he wearing a nightshirt?” said Gertrude.
“Why is everyone talking about him as if he wasn’t here!” said Sir Jasper.
“I was hoping you’d take a hint,” said Gertrude.
Catherine stopped, and turned to look at Sir Jasper. His form had become much more definite, perhaps because now there were two people looking at him. He appeared to have a perfectly normal body now, wrapped in an old-fashioned nightshirt, which covered him from the buttoned-up top collar all the way down to his bare feet. The nightshirt was so detailed that Catherine could make out every single button, and even the touch of lace at the sleeves. Sir Jasper’s face was as pale and colourless as the nightshirt, and he still shone with a gentle ghostly light.
“All right,” said Catherine. “Why the nightshirt?”
“It’s traditional,” said the ghost, with great dignity.
Catherine looked him over, trying to decide whether the new appearance was an improvement or not. “Traditional?” she said finally.
“I remember a few things, about ghosts in general,” said Sir Jasper. “What’s proper, and what isn’t. I did try walking around with my head tucked underneath my arm, for a while. But I couldn’t see where I was going, so I kept bumping into things. And once I dropped my head, and I couldn’t find myself for ages . . .” The ghost shuddered delicately. “I’m pretty sure what I look like depends on who it is that’s looking at me, and since there hasn’t been anyone here for ages, I have to say . . . this is probably all your fault. Have you been reading those awful gothic romances?”
“The carriage must be ready by now,” said Catherine. “You can ride with us. Unless you can fly?”
“No,” said Sir Jasper, very firmly. “I’m not exactly substantial, you see. Not a lot to me . . . One good headwind and who knows where I’d end up.” He peered at Catherine thoughtfully. “I have to ask—what will the people of Forest Castle make of me?”
Catherine grinned. “I can’t wait to find out.”
• • •
They made their way back through the trees to the carriage. Catherine and Gertrude stuck to the trail, such as it was, while Sir Jasper just ambled along, walking through anything that got in his way. He even drifted through some of the larger trees, because he was so busy looking eagerly around him that he genuinely didn’t see them coming. Apparently he’d been in the graveyard so long he’d forgotten what everything else looked like. All the surrounding wildlife took one look at him and then ran like fury in the opposite direction. While Sir Jasper in his turn tended to jump at sudden noises, and actually hid behind Catherine when a squirrel threw its nuts at him.
Moths, on the other hand, loved Sir Jasper. They came fluttering from everywhere at once to fly round and round him. Perhaps they liked his gentle glow. Either way, Sir Jasper was charmed by them, and even tried putting out a hand for them to land on, but they just dropped right through it. Eventually they all flew away at once, and Sir Jasper watched them go, wistfully, till they were all out of sight.
When the three of them finally emerged from the trees and approached the carriage, the Sombre Warrior turned round sharply, and stopped what he was doing to take a good look at the ghost. Sir Jasper studied the huge warrior in his featureless steel helm with great interest.
“Is there anything in there?” he said.
“Yes,” said the Sombre Warrior. He turned to Catherine. “Who is this, your highness? And why can I see through him?”
“Sorry,” said Sir Jasper. “I go all transparent when I get nervous. At least I don’t leak ectoplasm anymore . . . Hello! Yes. I’m Sir Jasper. I’m a ghost. Why haven’t you got a face?”
“Lost it in a poker game,” said the Sombre Warrior.
“Oh, that’s terrible,” said the ghost. “And very unlucky.”
“I’ll say,” said the Sombre Warrior. “I wouldn’t have minded, but he only had two pair . . .”
“If you two have quite finished trying to weird me out,” said Catherine, in her best brooking no arguments because I am after all a Princess voice, “Sir Jasper is with me.”
The Sombre Warrior nodded. “He’s your pet, your highness. Keep him on a short leash. We’re ready to leave when you are.”
“Well, really!” said Sir Jasper, but the Sombre Warrior had already turned his back on all of them, to look the carriage over and make sure everything was as it should be. The ghost pouted, hurt. “I am not a pet. I am an aristocrat! Or at least, I’m pretty sure I used to be.”
Catherine looked at Lady Gertrude. “I’m sure you have all kinds of objections as to why I can’t take Sir Jasper with us to Forest Castle. Let us take it for granted that I have listened to them all carefully and then dismissed them out of hand because I’m Royal and I can do that. He’s going with us. I’ve got to get some fun out of this situation, and Sir Jasper should shake up the Forest Court nicely!”
“Can I just ask . . . ,” said Sir Jasper, diffidently. “Neither of you seem particularly bothered by the fact that I’m dead but not departed. Why is that?”
“Castle Midnight was famous for its many ghosts, back in the day,” said Catherine. “But they’d all disappeared by the time I came along. I read all the stories, listened to all the songs, including the really old ones you used to sing to me when I was still small, Lady Gertrude . . . and as soon as I was old enough to get about on my own I used to go wandering through all the darker corridors, in the early hours of the morning, searching for ghosts and spirits and anything that looked like it might go bump in the night if you prodded it hard enough.”
“That’s right, you did, you little . . . poppet,” said Gertrude. “Just a small slip of a thing, and already you knew your own mind. You never found anything, but it didn’t stop you looking. We had to lock you in your bedroom at night, just to make sure you got your proper sleep. Oh, the kicking you used to give that door . . .”
“I spent a lot of time confined to my rooms, as a child,” said Catherine. “For one misdemeanour or another. Until I got old enough to charm one of my guards into teaching me how to pick a lock; after that there was no stopping me. I’ve always had problems with authority figures. Even though I am one.” She stopped, and frowned. “Or at least I used to be. If I had any real power, I wouldn’t be here. On my way to an arranged marriage with a man I haven’t even met. I’ll bet he’s short and fat and eats biscuits in bed.”
“Crumbs,” said Sir Jasper. It was the best he could manage at short notice.
• • •
They arrived at Forest Castle by early evening. The Royal carriage, with Princess Catherine, Lady Gertrude, and Sir Jasper inside it, and the Sombre Warrior out in front on his great black charger. The six soldiers surrounded the carriage, sticking close and keeping their eyes open. The driver was back in his place. The Sombre Warrior had tracked him down after he ran away, and drove him back with harsh language and entirely convincing threats.
They’d made good time, and arrived with almost an hour of daylight to spare. Only to find that the drawbridge wasn’t down, so they had no way of crossing the moat. Everyone took a good look at the Forest Castle. Catherine and Gertrude leaned halfway out of the open windows of the carriage, while Sir Jasper just stood up and stuck his head through the carriage roof. And for a while none of them said
anything.
“I didn’t know . . . ,” said Catherine. “I didn’t realise, I had no idea . . . It’s so big! Much bigger than Castle Midnight!”
“This isn’t a castle,” said Gertrude. “This is a town in its own right! Maybe even a city. The outer wall goes on for miles, and look at all the towers and stonework and . . . We should have been told. We should have been warned . . .”
“Buck up!” said the Sombre Warrior. “You can’t afford to show weakness in the face of the enemy. Especially if you’re marrying one of them. Size isn’t everything. Look at the state of the outer wall. Cracked and pitted stone, moss and ivy everywhere . . .”
“Yes,” said Catherine immediately, feeling just a bit relieved. “My father would never let Castle Midnight get into such a state.”
“And one day, all of this will be yours,” said Gertrude. “Maybe you could have it painted a more pleasant colour . . .”
Sir Jasper sank back down into the carriage, and hovered just above the seat next to Catherine. He looked thoughtful.
Catherine pulled her head back in the window, started to say something, and then looked at the ghost. “Are you remembering something, Sir Jasper?”
“Perhaps,” said the ghost. “I think . . . No, I’m sure. I have been here before. When I was still alive.”
“I suppose you must have,” said Gertrude, “if you really were a knight of the realm. A knight serves his King.”
“Yes,” said Sir Jasper. “But which King? How long have I been gone . . . ?”
The Sombre Warrior had been bellowing at the empty battlements for some time, and finally managed to attract the attention of a lone guard. Who looked down from the lofty height, recognised the Royal crest of Redhart on the side of the carriage, and immediately had a loud and very satisfying fit of the vapours. He disappeared from the crenellated battlements, shouting loudly for help and assistance.
Sir Jasper walked through the side of the carriage and strode out across the moat. His feet made no impression on the surface of the water. Not even a single ripple. He stopped abruptly, halfway across, and peered down into the dark and murky waters.
Once In a Blue Moon Page 27