The Moon Master's Ball

by Clara Diane Thompson

  “Are you absolutely certain? We only have one shot at this, or that poor boy will be—” A woman was speaking, but the lord cut her off.

  “You don’t need to tell me the consequences if we fail. This isn’t going to be easy, but we must take a chance.” He emphasized the last phrase by pounding his hand on his desk.

  Feeling a bit wicked for eavesdropping, Tilly knocked on the door to alert them of her presence. There was a long pause, and then she heard Lord Hollingberry’s voice say, “Come in.”

  She opened the door and inhaled sharply when she saw Caroline, the innkeeper, sitting in the chair in front of Lord Hollingberry’s desk. “Caroline?” Her voice quavered when she spoke.

  “’Ello, dear.” Caroline rose and faced Tilly, placing her bonnet on her head. “I was just leaving.” She walked towards the gaping young girl then turned to face Lord Hollingberry, who had risen politely. “Proceed as you so desire.” With these words she left, patting Tilly on the cheek as she brushed past.

  “Come in, Tilly. Come in.” Lord Hollingberry waved her inside, and she shut the door behind her. “My, you seem a bit flustered!” He chuckled, but stopped quickly when Tilly didn’t join in. “Did you do as I asked?”

  Tilly nodded. “I did. The Moon Master appears to have seen me before. Also, a mouse rode on his shoulder and whispered in his ear.”

  “Ah well, things haven’t changed much.” Lord Hollingberry walked around his desk to her. “I’m sorry, dear girl. I know that must have frightened you a great deal.”

  She clenched her hands but didn’t speak.

  “I wish you would trust me. You must know I would not have put you in that situation if it weren’t absolutely necessary. Remember, there is something greater taking place.”

  Tilly sighed and rubbed her forehead with one hand. “Why won’t you tell me what that ‘something greater’ is?”

  Lord Hollingberry gazed upon his maid, his tired old eyes full of compassion. “I cannot. The time is not yet right.” He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and smiled at her. “Why don’t you go clean yourself up, hmm? Get some sleep. You’ve earned a good rest.”

  Tilly felt her anger evaporate, leaving only tired confusion in its place. She nodded, turning to the door.

  “And Tilly?”

  She looked around.

  “He isn’t your enemy. Try to understand that.”

  Tilly tried to speak but found she had no words. With a little shake of her head, she left the study and hastened down to her bedroom, collapsing on her bed. Something crackled in her dress as she did so, and she pulled out the letter she had almost forgotten about. Too tired to feel guilty about reading a private message, Tilly slid her finger under the broken seal and saw only two words scrawled across the page.

  Her heartbeat quickened, and she felt as though she would faint at any moment. She read the words again, making certain they were real. Sure enough, those letters were not some odd illusion caused by her exhausted brain.

  The only words on the crisp piece of paper spelled out a name:

  Tilly Higgins.

  7

  Scatter squeezed himself under the back door to follow Tilly inside the manor. He quickly scampered to a dark corner from which he watched her charge upstairs, but he didn’t follow. His master had told him to make sure she was safe, so he would have to search the house and make certain.

  Starting in the basement, the little mouse began inspecting each floor of the house quickly and silently, his delicate nose and whiskers twitching back and forth, picking up all manner of scents. Crumbs caught on his whiskers in the dining room, and he sniffed spilt tea on the drawing-room carpet, but none of these scents were hostile.

  The mouse scurried to the upper floors, thankful that Lord Hollingberry did not keep a cat, and checked the rooms there. Nothing.

  Scatter was about to leave when he thought perhaps he could bring back some cheese for his Master. Oh, that would make him so happy! And then he would pat Scatter’s little head and tell him, “Thank you!”

  Yes. Scatter would bring back cheese. He scuttled down to the foyer, his pointy nose telling him which direction to go, but suddenly stopped, whiskers twitching. There was a room he had not noticed before.

  The parlor.

  How had he missed it? The white mouse made his way into the room . . . and immediately wanted to dart back out again, for the room reeked of magic. Magic always stank.

  But there was another foul smell concealed in the room. He sensed it beneath the floorboards. Scatter’s large ears fanned out when he heard a sound, and he crept cautiously closer. Despite the stench, he kept his nose pressed firmly to the floor, determined to know what was causing the smell.

  Then the loyal creature’s tiny heart began to pump harder, faster, filling with fear. He realized what was hidden under the floorboards.

  And what was concealed beneath the floorboards knew he was there, too.

  Scatter barely had a moment to bound backwards and dart for the door before a hairy paw with claws twice the size of his small body smashed up through the floorboards, sending splinters flying through the room. The black paw slammed down again on the wood, claws scraping horribly until they fell into the hole again.

  Scatter knew he had to escape before the creature leaped out from its hiding place. Desperately he headed for the nearest door and barely managed to squeeze under, then skittered down the front steps and bounded towards Bromley Meadow. He nearly flew across the cobbled drive, his tiny paws pounding furiously. He had to get to his master! He had to tell him that the girl was not safe!

  The meadow lay just ahead when there was a crashing sound behind him—the creature had broken through the door! Dodging between tall blades of grass, Scatter gasped for breath. Soon he heard deep grunting and a vicious snarl. His enemy was gaining on him more quickly than he had anticipated!

  The Circus still seemed to be miles away. Scatter’s legs and lungs burned from running so far and so quickly. At last the mouse reached the tall tent, slipped inside, and ran around the edge of it, unnoticed by the crowds of people.

  He was almost to his master; his master would protect him! Only a few more feet to go, then he would be safe!

  Scatter leapt towards the booth with the dark green curtains, but something caught the fur on his back, suspending him in mid-air. Hearing a guttural growl that sounded almost like some kind of twisted chuckle, he closed his eyes.

  Pain erupted throughout Scatter’s tiny body.

  8

  Tilly woke up wearing the same dirty dress she’d worn the day before, still clutching the letter with one hand. She blinked groggily, feeling a bit disoriented, and got up. Leaving the crumpled letter on her bed, she staggered over to her washbasin, slipped out of her dress, and splashed water on her face.

  What did it matter if Lord Hollingberry had given her the whole week off? There was nothing for her to do but go to the Circus, and she wasn’t about to do that. So she pulled out her maid’s uniform, preparing to work all day.

  But first she headed to the kitchen for a bite to eat and some company. Mrs. Gregson was the only other person in Winslow who remained unmoved by the Circus’s charisma. In fact, she called it “a place of cheap tricks and bamboozlers.” Tilly and the cook rarely discussed Bromley’s Circus; they were each happy to know that the other agreed on the subject and left the topic alone.

  “Morning, Mrs. Gregson!”

  The old woman snorted. “Morning, indeed. It’s past ten! You, my girl, are turning into a sleepyhead.” She chuckled to herself and took out an egg, cracking it over a copper bowl.

  Tilly scrounged up a piece of leftover apple pie from the night before. “You certainly seem happy this morning.” Settling at the table, she took a bite.

  “It’s just nice to have the house all to ourselves. You and me and Lord Hollingberry. That’s the way it should be all the time.”

  Tilly smiled and chewed on pie, wishing she could feel as carefree as Mrs. Gregson.
Finished, she rinsed her plate in the basin. “If you need me, I’ll be cleaning the dining room.”

  The hours passed slowly and easily. Tilly spent them working and stayed out of Lord Hollingberry’s way, determined not to think about the Circus again. However, no matter what she did, Bromley’s Circus and the strange Moon Master kept flashing before her mind’s eye.

  Why had he asked if they had met? She would certainly remember someone like him. Yet his voice had seemed somehow . . . familiar.

  There were also the ribbons, the Moon Master’s gift. They were beautiful, far too beautiful for her! Nevertheless, she kept them.

  And then there was Rodger.

  Was he actually interested in her, or was he merely fond of her as a friend? Tilly had never thought of a relationship between the two of them; Rodger had been her friend and support ever since they were children. She had never noticed him acting strange around her until yesterday, after she left the Circus. Hopefully she was only imagining his interest.

  She closed the drapes in the front drawing room and took a deep breath. Another day was almost over. Soon the week would be past and the Circus, gone! She wasn’t feeling sociable enough to head to Caroline’s inn that evening. Rodger would probably be there, and she wanted to stay away from him for the next few days. With any luck, whatever feelings he had suddenly developed for her would soon evaporate.

  “Tilly?” Lord Hollingberry called from somewhere nearby.

  Tilly squeezed her eyes shut. She had thought herself safe from any odd conversations that day, but apparently she’d been wrong.

  “Tilly, are you quite well?” He sounded anxious.

  Reluctantly Tilly stepped into the foyer, only to see Lord Hollingberry staring fixedly into the parlor . . . which she had forgotten to clean. How strange! Until that moment, Tilly had been sure she’d cleaned every room in the house.

  “I’m here, sir.”

  He turned to her quickly. “Thank God you’re all right!” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. “You didn’t notice the . . . the parlor?”

  Tilly shook her head and hurried to join him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about it. I’ll clean it right—” Her sentence ended abruptly when she looked into the parlor for the first time that day.

  There was a hole in the middle of the wooden floor. Claw marks led from this hole to the doorway where they stood, then across the foyer to the Manor’s front door, which bore another hole, as if something had plowed straight through the wood.

  How had she not seen this?

  “Tilly,” said Lord Hollingberry, “I need you to deliver another message for me to the Moon Master.”

  If Lord Hollingberry had asked her the same question earlier that day, Tilly would have refused without a moment’s hesitation; but now there was a hole in the floor of the parlor. Whatever had caused it was bound to be more sinister than the Moon Master.

  So, once again, Tilly felt the weight of a letter in her pocket. She also felt, pressing against her heart, the weight of something much bigger and more important than her fear of the Circus.

  Lord Hollingberry was surely telling the truth when he insisted there was something much greater taking place in the village of Winslow.

  9

  A low fog was rolling in. Tilly tucked her coat tightly around herself as she trekked towards colorful Bromley’s Circus. The afternoon had been cool and wet, and heavy clouds cast a gray shadow over Winslow, yet people scurried excitedly past her towards the Circus. The sounds of children laughing and people gasping in astonishment made the twinkling merry-go-rounds and inviting vendors even more appealing. Lanterns adorning a nearby carousel were eerie yellow orbs glowing through the fog, yet somehow they cast the Circus in an entrancing light. Tilly almost wished she didn’t hate the place so much.

  But beneath all the glitter and false magic lay something deep and sad which she couldn’t quite understand. She felt sorry for everyone in the Circus, even the foppish Indigo Bromley. Perhaps she was wrong to feel such hatred towards this otherworldly place. Everyone else in Winslow adored it. She reminded herself that she, too, would have loved it if not for the horrible night when her neck was scarred.

  “It’s Tilly, isn’t it?”

  Tilly had been so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed she was skirting the edge of the main tent, unmindful of where she was going. She turned around to see who had addressed her.

  “Y—yes. It is.” To her great dismay she recognized Mrs. Carlisle’s daughter. “I’m sorry; I can’t seem to recall your name.”

  The young woman laughed, waving her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. My name is Drosselyn. I recall that you were late the day we arrived. Mother was quite upset with you.”

  Tilly nodded, recalling that horrible morning. Was it only two days ago? So much had happened since then!

  Drosselyn smiled and nodded at Tilly’s coat. “That’s quite lovely. I adore those silver buttons.” Then she snapped her fingers as though an idea had struck her. “Do you know there’s a dress shop here, and all the dresses were made by the faeries of the Winslow Wood themselves?” Her eyes were wide as she waited for Tilly to respond.

  “I didn’t know. But there aren’t really faeries in the Wood.” Tilly felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Perhaps Drosselyn wasn’t quite as bad as her mother.

  “No, I suppose there aren’t. But it’s awfully fun to think there are.” Drosselyn grinned and tugged on a shiny brown curl. “Why don’t we look at the dresses together?” She seemed truly eager, even hopeful.

  “Oh.” Tilly looked behind herself at the huge tent towering above. “Perhaps some other time.”

  “It’s just that Mother is at home,” Drosselyn persisted, looking a bit like a child who had just dropped her candy in the muddy grass. “I couldn’t convince her to leave.” She frowned.

  “Well, I’m afraid I have something that I must get done. And I’m not terribly fond of this Circus.” Tilly looked cautiously around, as though the creature that haunted her dreams might spring upon her at any moment.

  “Oh?” Drosselyn took a step closer. “Why aren’t you?” She tilted her head, still playing with her hair.

  “Just . . .” Tilly thought desperately for an excuse. “Childish reasons.”

  “Perhaps you’re afraid?”

  Tilly blinked. “Excuse me?”

  Drosselyn’s smile was sweet as honey. “I would be afraid if I were you.” Her sweet bearing vanished for a moment, revealing a steely look of determination and . . . jealousy? Tilly couldn’t quite tell.

  But the moment passed. “Well!” Drosselyn smiled brightly, the strange expression gone from her eyes. “I’ll leave you to accomplish that something you were about to do before I apprehended you. Goodbye.”

  Tilly watched Drosselyn until she disappeared into the crowd, heading off towards a shimmering emerald-and-gold tent, over the entryway of which hung the banner “Tippets and Pumpkins.” Taking a step backwards, Tilly shook her head. It would appear that odd conversations were becoming part of her daily routine.

  As she stepped into the main tent once again, she couldn’t help but marvel at the huge poles reaching up to support the heavy canvas, and at the various stunning acts taking place all around her. Trying to ignore a woman walking across a thin rope high above her, Tilly maneuvered around diverse onlookers and headed towards the Moon Master’s wagon at the back of the tent. It seemed stranger than ever without the mouse guiding her, and she suddenly missed the small companion who had so unsettled her only the day before.

  She found herself standing in front of the dark green curtains, and for a moment she wished there was a door instead so she could knock. “Um . . . hello?” she called out, feeling awkward. “It’s Tilly Higgins again. I have another message from Lord Hollingberry.”

  There was a long silence before she heard the Moon Master’s melancholy voice. “You may come in.”

  Tilly spread apart the curtains and stepped
through. It was darker inside the wagon than it had been the day before. “H—hello?” Once again, she couldn’t find the Moon Master. Could he blend in with the shadows? Tilly jumped when he suddenly appeared as if emerging from the back of the wagon.

  “Yes?” He stared at her blankly, and she saw that his eyes were red and puffy. He looked almost as though he had been weeping.

  “Lord Hollingberry has another, um, letter for you.” Tilly pulled it from her pocket and handed it to him, trying not to stare at his disheveled clothes.

  He took the letter without even glancing her way, again opened it with only one hand, and read it quickly before folding it back up and stuffing it inside his shirt. “Thank you.” He turned his back as though to leave, but stopped abruptly. “When you leave, would you mind telling Indigo Bromley that it’s time?” His normally rich voice was strangely dull, much like the hollow hoot of an owl.

  “It’s time? That’s all?” Tilly asked.

  He nodded. “Yes. Goodbye, Miss Higgins.” He began to walk off into the shadows of the wagon, and Tilly wondered if it was really as small as it appeared.

  “Wait!”

  He stopped, not turning around to face her.

  “I . . .” Now that she had stopped him, she didn’t know what to say. For some reason she couldn’t explain, Tilly felt that letting him dissolve back into the darkness would be wrong. “Are you all right?” She didn’t know why she cared. Her mission was almost accomplished; she should talk to Indigo Bromley and then go home. But the Moon Master’s shoulders, which had seemed so strong the day before, now seemed weak, crushed.

  He turned his head until Tilly could see his angular profile. “Do you recall the mouse on my shoulder yesterday?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Scatter was his name.”

  The Moon Master’s hand clenched into a fist. “He . . . he was killed last night. And what’s worse even than his death”—he turned slowly to face her, passion suddenly strong in his voice—“is that they killed him for no reason.”