The Moon Master's Ball

by Clara Diane Thompson

  Tilly blinked. “Who? Who would do such a thing?”

  Lifting one hand to his face, the Moon Master rubbed his eyes. “Forget I said anything at all, Miss Higgins.” He waved her away and began to move back into the shadows. “Forgive me for darkening your day.”

  Then he was gone again, and Tilly almost felt inclined to follow him. Who had killed Scatter? And why?

  The Moon Master didn’t appear to be completely of a sound mind. Perhaps the mouse had simply run afoul of a hungry cat, and he had convinced himself that a creature more sinister had killed his pet

  Something told her this wasn’t the truth.

  Tilly frowned as she stepped out of the wagon. Somehow she had become more a messenger than a maid in the past few days. Now another message for Indigo Bromley. Yesterday she had found the magician in his personal wagon outside the main tent, so she maneuvered her way towards the exit. Her life seemed crazier than the bizarre acts playing out around her. Would she ever lead a normal existence?

  “Well, well. Hello again, Miss Higgins.”

  Tilly nearly jumped out of her skin before she recognized the familiar voice of Indigo Bromley. He chuckled. “Still as jittery as ever, I see.”

  Tilly exhaled slowly. “I was looking for you.”

  “It would seem you weren’t looking, since you walked past without even noticing me.” Bromley’s deeply accented voice rumbled from his throat. “What is it that you require, little maid?”

  “The Moon Master told me to tell you that . . . it’s time. That was all he said.”

  All charm evaporated from Indigo Bromley’s bearing. His face looked ashen. “You’re . . . you’re sure that’s what he said?”

  She nodded. “Yes. What does it mean?”

  He looked away from her and cleared his throat.

  Tilly suddenly wished she could take back the question. “Well . . .” she said, backing away from him. “I’ll be leaving then.”

  Indigo didn’t respond as she slipped away. He stood frozen, looking like a flamboyant and colorful statue. His extreme reaction upset Tilly. Everyone around her knew something big and terrible that she didn’t know, and they were all playing with her as if she were a doll in a child’s game. Determined not to be left in the dark any longer, Tilly marched towards Winslow village and the small inn that was lazily puffing smoke from its chimney.

  She wouldn’t go back to Winslow Manor just yet. Whatever this web of secrets that had formed around the village and the Circus was, Lord Hollingberry and Caroline were at the center of it, Tilly was sure. It was time to take out her feather duster and brush away the cobweb of secrets woven throughout her life.

  It was time to speak to Caroline.

  Mrs. Gregson was enjoying her day alone in the kitchen. Little was on her mind as she stirred together the ingredients to a lemon poppy-seed cake, Lord Hollingberry’s favorite. No one else was home but the lord himself, and although the cook was terribly fond of Tilly, she was glad to be alone. She bustled about her domain, thinking there was nothing better in life than a clean kitchen.

  The back door creaked and she heard someone enter. It was probably Tilly, home from wherever she had got off to.

  “Tilly?” the cook called as she squeezed some lemon into the batter. “Would you mind handin’ me the—” Mrs. Gregson stopped. It wasn’t Tilly who had entered after all.

  Anger swelled up from her chest and shone brightly in her eyes as she saw Mrs. Carlisle in her kitchen.

  “Hello, Mrs. Gregson. What are your skilled hands baking today?” Mrs. Carlisle asked as she roamed the large space, gazing at different pots displayed on the walls.

  Mrs. Gregson huffed. “Get out.”

  “I suppose the reason your food is so utterly delicious is that you use magic to make it. Am I correct?” Mrs. Carlisle continued, ignoring Mrs. Gregson.

  The cook grabbed a sturdy nearby pot and brandished it menacingly towards Mrs. Carlisle. “You’re mad!” she stated.

  The invading housekeeper chattered her teeth thoughtfully before muttering foreign words under her breath.

  Mrs. Gregson started to move towards the woman she so despised. “What’s that gibberish you’re mumblin’? I said, get out!”

  Before she quite knew what was happening, Mrs. Gregson’s raised arm froze and the pot slipped from her grasp to clatter on the floor. Her eyes felt heavy, and though she fought to keep them open, her eyelids slid shut. She fell, joining her pot on the hard kitchen floor.

  Mrs. Carlisle clicked her teeth again, shaking her head as she focused her small black eyes down at Mrs. Gregson. “I expected more from you.”

  Then she slipped quietly from Winslow Manor, scurrying quickly back to her home.

  10

  Tilly hastened down the street with her back towards Winslow Manor, trying to ignore its imposing shadow that leaned over the other houses to glare disapprovingly at her. She knew Lord Hollingberry wouldn’t commend her for going to see Caroline behind his back; but since he wouldn’t answer her questions himself, Tilly felt that she must ask her old friend instead. Perhaps nothing unusual was going on in Winslow. Perhaps she was simply being used as a courier between a delirious old lord and a crazed young man.

  But why had Caroline been talking to Lord Hollingberry the day before, when Tilly had just returned from the Circus? Tilly had never known them to have any sort of relationship before.

  She mulled these thoughts over as she mounted the steps of Apple Tree Inn, noting absent-mindedly that weeds were reigning supreme in the flower garden. Pushing open the inn door, she felt the chill of an absent fire in the hearth. In fact, there was no hearth at all in the small room. No chairs or tables were set up, and no candles glowed placidly in the corners. Indeed, this didn’t appear to be Caroline’s inn at all.

  “You were right, Mother. It did work.”

  Tilly whirled around to face the person who had just spoken behind her. Drosselyn closed the whining door and looked at her mother, who was stepping out of the shadows.

  “Of course it worked. My magic always does, silly girl.” The old woman chuckled and rubbed her hands together, looking at Tilly with glistening, beady eyes that resembled a rodent’s. “But I have to say that was surprisingly simple.”

  “M—Mrs. Carlisle. Drosselyn.” Tilly nodded to each of the women. “Hello. I seem to have entered the wrong place. Silly me.” She smiled, hoping they would do the same. But their returning smiles made her stomach clench with sudden dread.

  “Oh, no,” said Mrs. Carlisle, taking a step nearer. “You came to the right place. Didn’t she, dear?”

  Drosselyn tossed her hair over one shoulder and sighed, apparently bored with the whole ordeal. “She did.”

  “I don’t think you understand—” Tilly began, but Mrs. Carlisle cut her off.

  “Don’t play innocent, darling.” The woman walked towards her. “We have you now, and we also took care of your little fairy godmother, so don’t expect any rescue attempts. Mallory?” Mrs. Carlisle turned to the shadows and addressed someone. “Escort Tilly the Tardy to the basement, will you?”

  A dusty old floorboard creaked, and Tilly peered into the shadows. A pair of glimmering red eyes stared back at her from the darkness. As the creature moved into the dim light, a large, strong body with black, matted hair and yellow teeth that looked sharp enough to gnaw through anything followed. The scar on Tilly’s neck suddenly began to itch as she backed desperately away.

  There, directly in front of her, stood the monster from her worst nightmares.

  The rat had found Tilly again at last.

  Fair maidens in fairy tales were constantly fainting when horrible beasts caught them in their foul clutches. Back when Tilly’s father had read the old tales to her, she remembered looking up at him, scrunching her nose and saying, “I would never be like that, Daddy.”

  If only her father could see her now! She had fainted dead away like a proper fair maiden after glimpsing the dreadful creature that attacked her so
many years ago.

  Tilly groaned as she slowly woke up, her eyes opening to slits. She wished she were still asleep, because no monster and no mad Carlisle woman could invade blessed unconsciousness. Hoping it had all been a dream, she forced her eyes open wide and scanned her surroundings.

  An old staircase led down to the dirty floor of what Tilly assumed to be the basement. It was dark; the only light came from a flickering lantern beside her feet. She shifted her weight and tried to move her hands, but swiftly realized they were bound firmly in place with a rough rope.

  Lord Hollingberry had tried to convince Tilly that something greater was taking place in Winslow, but she hadn’t believed him. Now she was the prisoner of a woman who seemed to have magic on her side. Though Tilly had never completely believed in magic, she was quickly developing faith in it.

  Moth-eaten rags in the corner of the basement suddenly rippled, sending dust floating to the ground and startling Tilly out of her thoughts. She remembered Mrs. Carlisle telling the rat to escort her down to the basement. Was it still down here with her?

  Not wanting to see but unable to tear her eyes away, Tilly watched the pile of old clothes with growing anxiety. They shifted again before a mouse—a perfectly normal, small mouse—came scuttling out from underneath.

  She breathed a sigh of relief, struggled to sit up with her back against the wall, and searched the area for a way of escape. From what she could see by the dim light, there was nothing in the basement of any use to her. Unable to believe that she was actually tied up in a housekeeper’s basement, she closed her eyes and blamed the Circus for all her misfortunes. That horrible place had been haunting her ever since she was a child, and Tilly hated it with every ounce of passion in her heart. It was unjust that she should be here, tied up, and at a complete loss as to why.

  A scratching in a dark corner to her left startled her. Tilly pretended not to notice. She focused on wriggling her hands out of her bonds, determined not to be distracted. If she could just loosen the knots—

  “Ooorian.”

  Tilly froze.

  “Oooriaaann.”

  The voice whispered again, sounding more persistent. The scratching noise sounded again, and Tilly’s head whirled towards it. Familiar glinting red eyes beamed out from the darkness underneath the staircase. Tilly squirmed, trying to escape her bonds faster.

  The rat crept out from the shadows, staring at the girl, who writhed desperately.

  “Get away.” Tilly shifted awkwardly. When it didn’t stop moving, she tried again. “Please, stop!”

  To her dismay, the rat approached more quickly. “Stop it! Just leave me alone!” She began to sob, the long scar on her neck throbbing with horrible remembrance. Still the rat continued until it was next to her bound hands. Then, to Tilly’s increasing terror, it began to climb up her arm, latching its long claws into the sleeve of her dress and proceeding up to her shoulder.

  “Get off me! Get off me!” She shook her shoulder, but the rat only coiled its thick, scaly tail around her arm, balancing itself there. With maddening slowness, the rat placed one paw on her cheek and the other on her head, its sharp claws somehow not scratching her.

  The rat leaned in, its black snout close to her ear. Tilly shook uncontrollably, waiting for the creature to kill her, to swipe its deadly claws across her throat and be done with her.

  But that blow never came. Instead, the rat took a shuddery breath and whispered in her ear.

  “Help me!”

  11

  Even as the rat repeated its whispered plea, there was suddenly a loud bang from above, as though someone had opened the door to the house and let it swing to hit the wall. Two voices began talking tensely, but Tilly couldn’t tell what they were saying. The rat, still perched on her shoulder, appeared to listen as well; but when the door at the top of the basement stairs opened, it leapt down and dove into the darkness, its tail following behind like a pale snake.

  Two dark figures creaked down the stairs and approached Tilly. “Are you all right?” one of them asked.

  Tilly’s tears stopped flowing when she realized who was speaking to her. “L—Lord Hollingberry?” She sniffled.

  “That’s right, love, that’s right.” As the lantern’s light touched his face he smiled, warming Tilly to the bone with his kindness. How could she have ever been upset with the dear old man?

  “’Ello, Tilly.” The person hovering behind the lord spoke, and Tilly remembered there was someone else in the room.

  “Caroline?” She might have known the innkeeper would be with him. Tilly leaned forward as Lord Hollingberry untied her.

  “Yes, dear.” Caroline offered her a motherly smile.

  “What . . . ?” Her eyes got blurry again from tears, and Lord Hollingberry patted her back.

  “It’s all right,” he soothed her. “I know this is all a bit surprising. We really were going to choose a better time to tell you, but circumstances being what they are . . .” Lord Hollingberry’s voice faded away as he helped Tilly stand up, groaning as he did so. “There, that’s better. Goodness me, I’m not as young as I once was!” He began to hobble off towards the stairs.

  “Wait.” Tilly looked into the shadows beneath the staircase where the rat had escaped. “There was a rat.”

  Caroline shot Lord Hollingberry a look. “So you were right. They do have one.”

  He shushed her as he scooped up the lantern from the floor and held it towards the corner still shrouded in darkness, where the rat had disappeared. Caroline wrapped a protective arm around Tilly’s shoulder when in the gloom of the flickering lantern they saw the rat huddled with one paw over its eyes. It suddenly looked so much smaller than before, so much less terrifying. It was chanting over and over again something Tilly couldn’t quite understand.

  “Ooooriann . . . Ooooriann . . . Ooooriann . . .”

  Lord Hollingberry looked back at Caroline. “I think we have a convert.”

  Caroline nodded. “Do you suppose it’s the one that was in your parlor?” she asked.

  “No,” Lord Hollingberry said firmly. “Whatever was in the parlor was far fouler than this fellow and cloaked in magic.”

  “What is it exactly?” Tilly asked, nervously moving closer to Caroline.

  Lord Hollingberry didn’t look at her as he responded. “It’s a Dorian Rat.”

  “But what is a Dorian Rat?”

  Caroline looked at the rat and then at Tilly. “They were given the name Dorian Rat because it sounds as though they are always whispering the name ‘Dorian.’ They serve anyone brave enough to capture them, and they can shape-shift. Never seen one do it, though.”

  Tilly looked back at the rat and suddenly felt pity for it. Perhaps it wasn’t the same one that had given her the scar so many years ago. “Can you help it?”

  “Of course, dear! And we will. But we need to take care of you right now.” Caroline herded Tilly to the stairs and started up. “Bring the Dorian Rat,” she called over her shoulder to Lord Hollingberry. “After you take care of him, meet us back at my place.”

  “All right. I’ll see you in a bit, Tilly. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  As Lord Hollingberry hobbled off towards the Dorian Rat, Tilly almost cautioned him against getting too close. But then she reminded herself that Lord Hollingberry was so much more than he seemed. If he could set her free from the Carlisle women, then he could take care of a rat. Tilly and Caroline made their way upstairs and into the main room of the Carlisle women’s house.

  “Where are they?” Tilly asked, avoiding a dusty gray rocking chair. The place looked long deserted.

  “Mrs. Carlisle and Drosselyn?” Caroline asked. “They’ve gone. Don’t know where, but I’m sure we’ll run into each other again before the night is over.” She opened the front door and ushered Tilly outside.

  They trudged across the street toward Apple Tree Inn. “What I don’t understand,” said Tilly, “is how I mistook that old shack for your inn.” She followed the innkeep
er up the steps.

  “A simple masking spell, dear. Anyone might’ve fallen for it.” The old woman bobbed inside her inn, pulling Tilly along with her. “Come now. I have something to show you.” She giggled like a schoolgirl and led the way behind the counter to a small hallway. Tilly, who had never passed that counter before, hesitantly followed, wondering what her friend could possibly want to show her.

  At the end of the hallway, Caroline bent over and pulled up on two iron rings, revealing the basement below. “Come along!” she called to Tilly as she began to thump gaily down the stairs.

  “I think I’ve had enough of basements for one day,” Tilly groaned, but nevertheless followed the woman.

  She should have known Caroline’s basement would look nothing like Mrs. Carlisle’s. As Tilly stepped off the last step, her boots touched floorboards of polished cherry wood. A basket of ripe, red apples sat over in a dark corner beside a glowing fire on the hearth. Several of the apples had rolled onto the floor and warmed themselves in front of the fire, their scent filling the room. A crystal chandelier suspended from the center of the ceiling looked entirely out of place, but its pendants knocking together caused a lovely chime to ring throughout the basement. It was altogether a warm, comfortable arrangement.

  But lovelier by far than the apples or the fire or even the chiming chandelier was the gown displayed on a dressmaker’s form in the center of the room.

  With her hand over her mouth, Tilly walked towards it, unable to resist its beauty. Folds of luxurious creamy silk peeked out from beneath a frosty lavender overlay, and the bodice was soft velvet of the same color. As she circled the dress, Tilly saw shining silver buttons marching up the back of the dress like little round soldiers.

  “Like it?” Caroline asked, her voice brimming with excitement.

  “It’s beautiful!” Tilly fingered the velvet and looked back at Caroline. “Whose is it?”