Moonlight and Ashes

by Sophie Masson

  ‘They did that?’

  ‘They did indeed. Do you wonder that it’s easy to make a case against you?’

  ‘You think I’m a spy,’ I said blankly.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ he said wearily. ‘Do you think I’d be talking to you right now if I really thought it? I’d never do anything that might endanger the empire.’

  ‘And yet you’re in a prison reserved for enemies of the empire,’ I said.

  He sighed. ‘Yes. But then so are you.’

  ‘Not for that reason. Whatever you might think, I’ve not been arrested as a spy, but for quite another reason.’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘If you can have secrets, then so can I,’ I said tartly.

  He smiled for the first time. It lit up his whole face with great warmth. ‘Touché.’

  I took a deep breath and said, ‘I have to ask you – I lost . . . something the night of the ball –’

  ‘Yes. The locket,’ he said steadily. ‘I found it after you’d gone. It intrigued me that such a fashionable young woman should wear a simple enamel heart. It made me think I had misjudged you.’

  ‘You didn’t open it?’ I said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s a memento,’ I said hurriedly, replying to the questioning note in his voice. ‘A leaf from a tree on my mother’s grave. She . . . died a few years ago. I miss her very much.’

  My voice must have cracked a little as I spoke because he said, gently, ‘I am sorry, Camille. I did not mean to –’

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said awkwardly. ‘I . . . did you tell the Prince – about finding it, I mean?’

  ‘Not him and not another living soul,’ he said. ‘He hadn’t noticed you lost it. I thought . . . I thought the locket could be a clue. That it might help me find you – before they did.’

  My palms were prickling, my heart racing, my veins singing with a strange sweetness I had never experienced before. I said weakly, ‘Oh. I see.’

  He sighed. ‘And now I’ve found you, but too late . . . Oh, Camille. We’re in a pretty fair pickle the pair of us, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said quietly. ‘But we’re not alone.’ I motioned Olga over. ‘Max, this is my friend Olga. She’s from Ruvenya.’ Let Olga tell him herself about the werewolf thing if she wanted, I thought.

  She didn’t. ‘Hello, Max,’ she said shyly, peering down.

  ‘Ruvenya, eh? I have visited your country. It is beautiful.’ He paused. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Olga, even if it is in this place.’

  ‘And I you,’ said Olga. She added, hurriedly, ‘Max, my friend Selena she is a very brave person and she –’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, interrupting. ‘So that is her real name! Come dance with me, Selena seen by moonlight,’ he quoted. It was a line from a well-known song. ‘So not Camille, but Selena. And not Champaine but Ashberg, right?’

  ‘Right, but never mind about all that for the moment,’ I said impatiently. ‘What we should be thinking about is getting out of here.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said wryly. ‘What are you proposing? That we walk through walls? Fly through the bars? Squeeze through the keyholes and swim out through the river?’

  ‘The river?’ I echoed.

  ‘Yes. Part of this dungeon is built on the river. Below me somewhere there’s an entrance to some steps that go down to the water. They sometimes bring in prisoners that way if they don’t want anyone to see them.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because they brought me that way,’ he said simply.

  ‘Well then that’s the way we’ll go.’

  He laughed. ‘Really! And how do you propose we get through the solid walls and the locked doors and all the rest? And it’s not just a question of locks and keys, either.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said sharply.

  ‘I heard my father speak of it once. All doors in Mancer prisons have a spell on them. That is why they do not need to employ as many guards as in an ordinary prison. You see, not only do you have to have the key, but you must have the words to unlock the doors. And even if you have both, it will do you no good – they only respond to a Mancer.’

  ‘Well then, we’ll have to get a Mancer to do it for us,’ I said firmly.

  ‘Oh, Selena, why not ask for the moon too while you’re about it?’

  ‘Good idea, I might try that,’ I said.

  He laughed. ‘You are quite the most unusual girl I have ever met.’

  ‘You can’t have met many girls then, Maximilian von Gildenstein,’ I retorted.

  ‘I can assure you that –’ he began, then in a different tone said, ‘I can hear someone coming, talk to you later.’ He walked rapidly away to the other side of the cell, and I hurriedly covered up the hole in the flagstone with straw so the chink of light couldn’t possibly be seen from below.

  Olga said, with a sidelong glance at me, ‘He is nice man.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said quietly.

  She looked a little severe. ‘But you have not told me who this Max is and how you meet, and how it is that you say you are not witch but still you have magic leaf.’

  ‘Look, it’s rather a long story and we should be thinking of –’

  ‘All the family Ironheart like long story,’ said Olga firmly, patting the straw next to her. ‘You sit here, Selena, and you begin from beginning.’

  So I sat next to her and I began from the beginning or, rather, from my mother’s death. I told her just about everything except the secret my mother had told me about her moon-sister ancestry, for I was still afraid of voicing that to anyone. Olga listened without interrupting me, her great green eyes fixed on my face. When I finished with how I’d been arrested for stealing, she looked at me and said, ‘You are not witch, you say, yet you can work magic.’

  ‘Correction,’ I said. ‘I can’t work magic, it works me. Big difference, Olga.’

  She shook her head. ‘In this country where only Mancers may know magic, people forget it come in many ways. It is not only in books and spells. No, the best magic – the very best – you do not choose it, it choose you. And it choose to grow in deep soil only – in fine, strong heart. And this is you, Selena.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said, startled.

  ‘I am of the family Ironheart,’ she said seriously, ‘and we are brought up to be strong. But I cannot endure such a thing as you suffer with those wicked ones.’ Her eyes glowed. ‘Long since, I would have killed this Grizelda and her daughters, I would rip their throats out and leave them to the crows, I would cast out my father. But not you – you give your word to your Mama, and this word you keep. Not because you are weak, but because you are strong. And this is why magic grow in you.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I had nothing to do with it. It was my mother, in a dream.’

  ‘This you tell me,’ she said, ‘but this also I believe: that in other hands this hazel twig, it stay a hazel twig; in yours, it work magic. You may not understand now why or how but magic choose you, that is certain. And that is how I know you get us out of here, like you tell Max.’

  I squirmed. ‘Oh, Olga, I was just speaking off the top of my . . .’ I trailed off because she wasn’t listening. She’d picked up the top again and was turning it over in her hands.

  She said, ‘This come to you for reason. It show Max was here.’ She looked at me. ‘Maybe there is more, Selena?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said slowly, her bright hope contagious. ‘Let’s try another spin,’ I said, and did so. The top bounced along merrily, spinning faster and faster till it started whistling and the mechanical bird came out. We watched it intently, hoping something would happen. But all it did was slow down and come to a stop. We pulled up the straw aro
und where it had been spinning, in case it had deposited some useful item for escape, or even that it might have transformed some of the straw into gold with which to bribe the warders. But there was nothing. The straw stubbornly remained unchanged and all we found in it were some definitely non-magical fleas, which we promptly squashed.

  ‘So what we do now, Selena?’ said Olga.

  I shrugged despondently.

  ‘Maybe when warder come, I kill him,’ she said.

  I sighed. ‘Don’t be silly. You might be a werewolf, but he’s at least twice your size and much stronger. And he’s a Mancer, even if not of a very high rank. You’d probably be dead the instant you sprang at him. No, we’ve got to use our wits, not brute force.’ I sighed. ‘And the top won’t last, anyway.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The hazel-tree magic only lasts for a few hours. By morning it will be a leaf again – a dead leaf.’

  ‘Then what good is this stupid toy?’ said Olga fiercely, and she was about to snatch it out of my hands to throw it against the wall when all at once we heard voices just outside the cell, and then the heavy keys rattling in the keyhole. I only just had time to shove the top well out of sight, deep in my pocket, when the door crashed open.

  The warder stood framed in the doorway, carrying a tray on which reposed two steaming mugs of fragrant tea and a plate of seed cake. ‘Supper,’ he grunted, and came into the room. And that’s when I saw that his little son was behind him, staring at us with great curiosity.

  An idea flashed into my mind – an idea so desperate and chancy that I knew it had very little likelihood of working. But I had to try. I shot Olga a glance, patted my pocket and gave a minute jerk of the head towards the child. To my relief her face lightened. She had understood. And as the warder put the tray down on the floor before us, she flung herself at the man’s feet, clutching at his boots. ‘Oh sir, you so kind,’ she sobbed, her words even more broken than usual. ‘You such kind man to miserable prisoners. We thank very much, kind sir, kind sir –’

  ‘Stop that, stop,’ said the warder, waving a hand at her as though she were a pesky fly. ‘Stop it, show some dignity at least, Ruvenyan vermin.’

  ‘Oh sir, but I so grateful, so grateful . . .’ And on she went, clutching at him all the while.

  I had my chance. I took the top out of my pocket and, concealing it in my hand, sidled over to the boy and whispered, ‘Look.’ I opened my hand. The top gleamed softly, appealingly. ‘You like?’

  He looked at me and nodded.

  ‘It’s magic,’ I breathed. ‘It grants wishes.’

  The little boy’s eyes widened.

  I whispered, ‘Do you want it?’

  He looked quickly at his father, who was still busy trying to extricate himself from Olga’s noisy clutches. He looked at the top. There was deep longing in his eyes as he murmured, ‘I’m not allowed.’

  ‘Then come later when everyone’s asleep and I’ll give it to you. No-one will know. Agreed?’

  A sly look came into his eyes. He nodded. I slipped the top back into my pocket. His eyes followed the movement. I gave him a wink. He swallowed. I could see he was hooked, and wouldn’t rest till he had that shiny magic toy in his hot little hands.

  His father had finally managed, by dint of pushes and kicks, to free himself from Olga, who lay rolled up in a ball on the floor hiccupping and sobbing. He looked at me and snapped, ‘Get it into your thick heads such shameful displays won’t do you any good. Have your supper and get some rest. They come for you at dawn,’ and without waiting for an answer, he marched out, the child following meekly at his heels.

  When the door was firmly locked again and their footsteps had receded away down the corridor, Olga immediately unrolled herself. Her face was streaked with tears she’d forced out, but her eyes were gleaming with mischief. ‘Well?’

  I told her what had happened and a smile slowly spread over her face. ‘Selena, you are genius!’

  ‘No, just desperate. And it probably won’t work.’

  ‘Why you say this? Max say only a Mancer can unlock doors and that is a Mancer brat.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t know if you need to be a certain age before you can work magic. He said he wasn’t allowed to have the top, which probably means he’s not allowed to own magical objects. So that probably also means he’s not yet of the age to open those doors by himself.’

  ‘Piffle,’ said Olga, ‘that brat live here, he sees his father open these doors every day, and I bet he knows what is what. Besides, he want that top badly, I am thinking, and will do anything to get it for himself.’ She rubbed her hands and, going over to the tray, picked up a mug and a piece of cake. ‘Let us have our supper and then tell Max what is to come.’

  ‘We might as well do . . .’ I began, and then broke off. Something had come back to me – the sly look in the Mancer boy’s eyes. ‘Don’t eat that!’ I cried, as Olga put the cake in her mouth. ‘Don’t!’

  ‘Why not? It smell wonderful.’

  ‘Exactly. Why would they lock us up in a stinking prison and then give us delicious tea and cake for supper? Think of the rubbish they gave us in the police cell. This doesn’t make sense, Olga, can’t you see? Leave it.’

  She looked at the cake and at the tea. She said, uncertainly, ‘It is poison, you mean?’

  ‘Maybe. Or maybe just something to make us sleep.’

  ‘How can you know this?’

  ‘I don’t. The boy – he had a look in his eyes when I suggested that he come later – he looked as if he knew something I did not. I mean, he is young but he is still a warder’s son. He must know a prisoner wants to escape and that that was my plan. But he knew I couldn’t because I wouldn’t be awake, and that he could just take the top and no-one would be any the wiser.’

  Olga stared at me. Then she threw the cake down and ground it underfoot, followed with the tea. It hissed like a snake as it touched the straw and an ugly pale scum appeared in place of the cake crumbs, the straw where it had fallen instantly shrivelling as though in a hard frost.

  We looked at each other. Fists clenched, Olga growled, ‘Evil mangy Mancer mongrels – give me one chance and I tear them to pieces, send them to Hell where they belong . . . and that spawn of the Devil with them. That vile brat . . .’

  ‘If it hadn’t been for him, we’d have drunk that tea and eaten that cake,’ I said. ‘So he has done us a favour. Oh no, Olga! I’ve just thought – Max – they came to Max, first!’ Without waiting for her answer, I frantically shovelled the straw away from the hole in the flagstone. I peered down and saw Max sitting by a tray identical to ours. He had the mug of tea in his hands. But of the cake, there was no sign . . .

  I called down, wildly, ‘Max! Max! Don’t drink that!’

  He looked up and my heart sank. His eyes were unfocussed and there was a foolish smile on his face. ‘Hello, my dear, and how are you this fine evening?’

  ‘Max, please – don’t drink any more! Please, I beg you, don’t.’

  ‘Why? It is good and hot,’ he said, ‘and it smudges my mind and makes me forget how I was betrayed and how it can never, never be put right because you see, my dear – my very dear, it is too late, far too late –’

  ‘No! No, it isn’t, Max! We’re getting out tonight, I promise. Tonight I will come for you and we will get out of this place and we will go to your father.’

  His mouth twisted bitterly. ‘They will not let us reach him and even if by some miracle we do, it will be no good. He will never believe . . .’ He stopped abruptly.

  ‘Never believe what?’

  ‘Never believe this could happen,’ he said sadly.

  ‘Don’t be so weak, Max!’ I shouted. ‘You’re getting out whether you like it or not so stop drinking that horrible tea right now and throw it away!’

  His head j
erked up. There was the beginning of a smile in his eyes. ‘What a spitfire you are,’ he said.

  ‘Call me what you like, but just get rid of that stuff. Please, Max.’

  ‘If I do, will you promise me something?’ he said.

  ‘Depends what,’ I said sharply, feeling hot and cold, annoyed with myself and with him. This was no time for silly romantic notions. If he asked for a kiss or a vow of true love or something absurd like that I would tell him smartly to pull his head in and stop being such a –

  Then he took the wind out of my sails completely by saying, ‘Promise you won’t hate me.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Why on earth should I –’

  ‘The truth,’ he said. ‘You might hate me when you know the truth.’

  ‘You’re raving,’ I said, shaken.

  ‘That may well be. I feel more than a little mad already,’ he said quietly. ‘But do you promise?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ I said. ‘There, now, do you feel better?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said and deliberately tipped his tea into the straw.

  ‘See?’ I said, when he gave a little start as the pale scum appeared. ‘How much of that rubbish did you drink?’

  ‘Only a few sips,’ he said.

  ‘And the cake?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve never liked seed cake, ever since I was a child. Left it in the corner for the rats.’

  Relief washed over me. ‘Good. It is only fit for rats. Look, Max, don’t go to sleep, whatever you do, all right?’

  ‘All right,’ he said and gave me a big smile. His gaze was still a little unfocused but not as much as before, I thought. He was returning to his senses and his wits. ‘I’ll do long division in my head or mentally compose an essay analysing our predicament or recite to myself the most pompous and ridiculous poems I learned at school.’

  I laughed. He was definitely on the mend, I thought. ‘Careful you don’t bore yourself to sleep,’ I said.