Goblin Moon

by Teresa Edgerton

  The old man escorted him down the stairs, muttering under his breath the whole while. If it hadn't been evident before, Jed thought, it was clear enough now: he was no longer welcome at the bookshop.

  They stood by the door, and Caleb was bringing out the key, when somebody knocked.

  "Do you intend to open it, or shall I?" asked Jed peevishly, when his uncle made no move to do so.

  With a fierce glare, Caleb unlocked the lock, shot the bolt, and opened the door. Matthias Vogel and Walther Bergen walked into the shop. "You're early," snapped Caleb. "You wasn't expected so soon." And rather precipitously, he shoved poor Jed out through the door and slammed it behind him.

  Jed did not mean to eavesdrop . . . it was just that he was so shaken by Caleb's treatment, he needed a moment to recover before proceeding down the street. He leaned up against the wall of the building, and that was how he happened to overhear Matthias speaking.

  "Expect us long about two, maybe three in the morning. We can't come no sooner nor that."

  Jed cocked his hat over his brow, thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat. There was something mysterious going on at the bookshop. He had known that for quite some time, but he was just now beginning to realize how seriously bad that something might be. He knew it was serious, if only by the measures Caleb was taking in order to conceal the truth.

  "But I mean to find out, all the same," be muttered, as he walked down the street. "I've had just about enough of this asking questions and getting crooked answers. Guess it's time I started searching out some answers for myself!"

  At one o'clock, the street outside the bookshop was deserted. At two, a rickety old cart came creaking up the hill, pulled by the two burly Watchmen.

  Jedidiah stood watching from the shadows at the foot of a building on the other side of the lane. Matthias and Walther he had expected, but the presence of the cart came as a considerable surprise. He shifted his position silently, growing more puzzled and uneasy by the minute. The more so when the two constables disappeared inside the bookshop and returned shortly thereafter with Uncle Caleb, carrying an ebonwood casket between them.

  With great difficulty, because it was really too large and unwieldy for three men to handle, they managed to load the coffin onto the cart. Then they began the slow and cautious descent of the sloping street.

  Keeping to the shadows as much as possible, Jedidiah followed them . . . all the way to the old boatmen's cemetery on Fishwife Hill. He crouched outside the graveyard, peered over the low stone wall, watching as Caleb and the two constables, working by lanthorn light, dug a shallow grave and lowered the casket into the hole. But when they picked up their shovels again and began to throw clods of dirt back in over the coffin, Jed decided he had seen enough.

  He walked slowly home through the dark streets of the town, turning the matter over in his mind. However he looked at the facts, they just made no sense: After all these seasons, after all this time, to bury the coffin from the river—and so secretive, too!—when it had never contained anything but a big wax doll in fancy dress and a parcel of old books.

  And then Jed had a thought that was not pleasant at all. He stopped under a street lamp and caught his breath. Oh, yes, he knew well enough what the coffin had contained five seasons past . . . but he had no way of knowing what it was that Uncle Caleb and the constables had buried tonight.

  "D-------n!" he said aloud. He knew now that he needed advice, the advice of men he respected and trusted. "Time to do what I should have done a long time since, if I hadn't been so willing to believe Uncle Caleb, and turn my back on those wise good men: tell Master Ule and Mr. Owlfeather everything I know, and see what the Glassmakers Guild can make of it all."

  CHAPTER 39

  In which Few things are Quite what they Seem.

  When the day of the masked ball finally arrived, the Wichtelberg became a hive of activity. The Duchess was everywhere: in the kitchens supervising the cooks—in the ballroom overseeing the maids and the footmen who hung the decorations—making certain there were lanthorns and torches to light her guests' progress up the stairs and the terraces. She insisted that Sera and Elsie take their morning stroll as usual, then sent them upstairs in the afternoon with instructions to nap if they could. "You will want to be fresh for the festivities tonight."

  Elsie was far too excited to rest, so the Duchess sent up a sleeping draught. Sera watched her drink it down, tucked her cousin into bed, and then went up to her own room to read a book until evening.

  At sunset, the maid brought in Sera's gown. Sera eyed it warily. "It looks rather small. I hope there was no mistake in the measurements." But the Duchess had sent her an odd sort of corset known as a busk, evidently contemporary with the gown. With the corset on and tightly laced, Sera could scarcely breath, but at least it was possible for the maid to hook up the back of the velvet bodice.

  The Duchess came in to personally supervise the dressing of Sera's hair: in long loose ringlets without too much height at the top. Marella was already in costume, in another old-fashioned gown, crimson velvet worked with tiny seed pearls, and a wide cartwheel ruff. Her hair was powdered and she wore a tiny diamond-shaped black patch at the corner of her mouth.

  "I will not be painted!" Sera exclaimed, as the maid produced a haresfoot and a pot of rouge. And she steadfastly refused the patch box, for all of the Duchess's attempts to persuade her.

  A standing collar of stiffened white lace attached to the bodice at the shoulders, and the Duchess provided a pair of high-heeled satin slippers with jeweled buckles. As a final touch the maid sprinkled gold dust on Sera's hair. Finally, she was allowed to examine her reflection in a mirror.

  Sera frowned at her own image, not at all certain that she liked what she saw. The gown was certainly beautiful, but she felt awkward in such finery, particularly in the high-heeled slippers, which made her feel a giantess. And the neckline no longer gaped, but it was still exceedingly low, revealing more white bosom than she cared to expose.

  "Nonsense," said the Duchess, when Sera said as much. "You look perfectly delightful. Besides, there is a mask, and no one will recognize you. "

  The mask in question was a midnight velvet vizard mounted on a stick—it offered little or nothing in the way of disguise—but there was no time now to further alter the gown.

  "I daresay Lord Vodni will much approve," the Duchess added archly.

  Sera felt herself blushing. It was true that the Baron had been very attentive. So very attentive of late, that the thought had actually sometimes occurred: he might have serious intentions. But of course I know better, thought Sera. Vodni is as poor as I am. He must marry a woman with money, or else marry no one at all.

  The Duchess steered her out of the bedchamber and toward the stairs. "It is really time that we went down. Already, I can hear the carriages arriving."

  "I ought first to see if Elsie—" Sera began.

  But the Duchess interrupted her. "Elsie had a lovely nap and awoke refreshed. She dressed an hour ago and went downstairs. No doubt she is waiting for you in the ballroom."

  The ballroom was a vast echoing chamber with a marble floor and tapestried walls. Instead of chandeliers, there were great standing candelabra of wrought iron, in which the servants had arranged enormous candles the size of lamp posts. By the time that Sera wobbled in on her ridiculously high heels, several guests had already arrived, but Elsie was nowhere to be seen—nor anyone who might possibly be mistaken for Elsie in her gown of white brocade.

  The first person Sera met was a youthful cavalier with brown lovelocks, who bowed very low, soliciting her hand for the first minuet.

  The voice was familiar, and Sera immediately recognized the young man behind the grey velvet half-mask. "Lord Vizbeck," she said, "you are very kind. But I make it a practice never to dance at these large gatherings. And what of Lady Ursula? Surely you ought to stand up with her at the beginning of the ball?"

  Lord Vizbeck gestured toward the far end of the ballroom,
and a lady in flowing Eastern garb. "Lady Ursula is feeling rather independent tonight, I fear. She says I am not to suppose, simply because we are soon to marry, that she will spend the entire evening dancing with me."

  It was true that Lady Ursula's temper had been somewhat uncertain of late, perhaps due to an unresolved quarrel between herself and the Duchess, after Lady Ursula caught one of the Duke's servants searching through her drawers and promptly labeled the girl a thief.

  Though Sera refused to make a fool of herself by attempting to dance in her heavy velvet gown and ridiculous slippers, she relented just a little. "Lord Vizbeck, if you would be so kind as to procure me a glass of ratafia, and perhaps sit and talk while the others dance . . . ?"

  As Lord Vizbeck bowed and hastened off in search of refreshments, Sera sat down in a little alcove to await his return. She sat out that dance with Lord Vizbeck, and another with another gentleman. The ballroom was very crowded by now, but nowhere in the throng could Sera spot Elsie.

  When the second gentleman had tired of begging her to stand up with him—and beat a welcome retreat—Sera rose also. She wove a path through the masked and dominoed revelers, the gigantic candelabra and the huge dripping tapers, searching for her cousin.

  She did not find Elsie, but she did meet Hermes Budge—immediately recognizable on account of his height, for all that his face was masked and his hair powdered. The tutor looked unusually elegant in a coat of sapphire velvet trimmed with silver braid.

  "Mr. Budge, have you seen Elsie? I have looked and I have looked but I cannot find her."

  "I believe I have not," said the tutor, with a low bow. "But of course it is difficult to be certain. But here comes Lord Vodni. Perhaps he may be able to enlighten you."

  Lord Vodni also looked particularly well, in a scarlet coat of military cut, with the inevitable lock of dark hair falling carelessly across his brow. Like Sera, he carried his mask in his hand.

  "You are very kind, sir," said Sera, when Vodni kissed her fingers and requested the next country dance. "But I cannot find Elsie. I am very much afraid she has taken ill and has gone back upstairs to rest."

  "Then I am pleased to reassure you," said Vodni. "I saw your cousin but a few minutes since, on the arm of Jarl Skogsrå. I believe I heard something about the grotto. The Duchess has arranged for colored lanthorns, and also for musicians, as an entertainment for those who wish to escape the heat of the ballroom.

  "If you wish to go down there in search of Miss Elsie," he added, with a bow and a flourish, "perhaps you will permit me to escort you?"

  Sera was pleased to accept this offer, as well as the support of his arm. "You look enchanting, Miss Vorder," said the Baron, as they moved through the crowd. He spoke with undisguised admiration. Perhaps after all, thought Sera, the gown was not so dreadful.

  But in the corridor outside, they passed a slight, pale gentleman rather flamboyantly costumed as a pirate, who stared at Sera in such a way that she felt herself blushing once more. "Impertinent fellow!" commented Vodni.

  "Yes indeed," said Sera. "He is perfectly odious."

  A torch-lit stone staircase led from the cellars down to the grotto. Even before they reached the foot of the steps, Sera knew that Vodni had been mistaken. Though the colored lanthorns were there as promised, shining gaily on the water and on the little gilded cockleshell boats moored by the side of the lake, the great cavern was silent and empty.

  "It would appear," said the Baron, "that the musicians have not yet arrived."

  "Nor have Elsie and the Jarl," said Sera, peering into the darkness, noting that none of the boats had been taken out.

  "It is possible, replied Vodni, "that they are in the tunnel, following the stream out to the gardens. Shall we walk in that direction and listen for their voices?"

  "Yes," Sera decided, after a moment of thought. "I suppose that we should. I think it very odd that Elsie should disappear in this fashion, and in company with the Jarl, too. My dear sir, you do not suppose that she is in any . . . danger?"

  Vodni's hand tightened reassuringly on hers. "If he dares to harm her, he will have me to deal with!"

  They skirted the underground lake, along the paved rim, until they came to the tunnel, where they stood looking and listening for several minutes. Exotic fish lived in the waters of the grotto, bulb-eyed, flashing silver and gold in the cold and the dark. "The tunnel echoes so," said Sera. "If Elsie and the Jarl were there, I am persuaded we should hear their footsteps, if not their voices."

  "If they have not already arrived at the gardens," said Vodni.

  Sera shook her head, gave an impatient twitch to the midnight blue folds of her skirt. "It is not a warm night . . . they would hardly be so foolish as to go for a walk in the gardens. Please take me back upstairs to the ballroom, Lord Vodni. Undoubtedly, we shall find Elsie there."

  As they proceeded in the direction of the stone staircase, the earth began to rumble and shake. Sera clutched the Baron by the arm. "You must not worry," he said soothingly. "These tremors are common here. We are quite accustomed to them, when the moon is full."

  Sera was ashamed of herself, for being so weak-spirited. "As we are also accustomed to them in Thornburg," she said, as steadily as she could. "But never so strong as this."

  The rumbling gradually died away, and the Baron smiled brightly. "You see, it is nothing. We may yet feel a stronger one, but you need have no fear; the Wichtelberg was built to withstand these shakes. When we go upstairs you will see that no one regards the earthquake. It is the merest commonplace."

  Sera tried to return his smile. It is only that I am already in such a pother over Elsie . . . But as they continued on toward the steps, the earth began to shake once more, flinging her forcibly into the Baron's arms.

  "I beg your pardon," said Sera, when the ground grew quiet again, and she had disentangled herself from Vodni's embrace.

  "But no," said the Baron, pressing her hand. "I believe that this is fated. I have longed to speak, but never until now did I have the courage. Yet here are we alone, and you so recently in my arms—I am encouraged to ask you to be my wife."

  He was so very handsome and so very much in earnest; Sera felt her heart begin to flutter. He is an agreeable man. I like him very much. This may well be the only respectable offer that I ever receive. Yet try as she might to answer him "yes," the word simply refused to come.

  "You are much too kind, Lord Vodni," she finally managed to say in a stifled voice. "But I find . . . I find that I cannot accept your very obliging offer."

  The Baron was thunderstruck. It had evidently not occurred to him that her affections might already be engaged, or that she could have any other reason for refusing him. "Cannot, Miss Vorder? But what does this mean? Is it possible that you have formed another attachment?"

  "No," said Sera, recovering her voice. "There is no one else. At least—No, there is no one else. I do beg your pardon," she added miserably, "I believe that I may be guilty of encouraging your attentions. But I never thought that you had any serious intentions, and I am exceedingly sorry if anything I have said or done has caused you unnecessary pain."

  In the dim light of the colored lanthorns, Vodni had gone quite pale. "But I shall not take no for an answer," he said. And without any more warning than that, he swept her back into his arms and began to kiss her.

  This was a new experience for Sera, and not altogether an unpleasant one. She found that she rather enjoyed being kissed by Lord Vodni—until his grip on her waist began to tighten, and his kisses became so unbearably rough. "Lord Vodni," she gasped, averting her face. "I demand that you release me at once!"

  "I will not," said Vodni, against her ear. "You are toying with my affections, Sera. You have aroused my passions and now you are going to have to satisfy them!"

  While Sera was forced to acknowledge a certain justice in his complaint, for all that, she was not going to stand there and allow him to maul her any further. Particularly as he was now kissing her neck in a manner
that she found entirely disagreeable, and he had become quite appallingly free with his hands. She stepped on his foot, grinding in the pointed heel of her jeweled slipper as hard as she could.

  With an angry cry, he relaxed his hold, and Sera was able to squirm out of his grip. By now, they were both breathless and trembling with outrage. "I beg your pardon," she said, struggling to maintain her dignity, "but I really cannot permit—"

  When Vodni reached out to embrace her again, Sera put her hands on his chest and pushed with all of her strength. The Baron took a step backward and tumbled into the underground lake.

  He landed in the water with a loud splash, soaking Sera in the process. He disappeared for a moment below the surface. Then he bobbed up again, made a grab at the pavement along the edge, and pulled himself up.

  Sera had not intended so ignominious a fate for him—had not even known they stood so near the edge—but she determined at once to improve on the circumstances.

  "Lord Vodni," Sera said sternly, as he sat dripping and bedraggled at her feet. "I do hope that this will be a lesson to you!"

  Vodni curled his lips in a snarl of pure rage. And then he did something strange and terrible. He reached into his sleeve under the wide ruffle of lace, gave an odd little tug, and began stripping the skin off of his hand. As Sera watched in horror, he peeled off a padded glove of flesh, uncovering a scaly birdlike claw.

  Good heavens. . . Lord Vodni is a troll! Sera had less than a moment to absorb this amazing fact, before Vodni reached out with that horrible taloned claw and made a furious swipe at the velvet skirt.

  Sera turned and ran toward the stairs. A moment later, she heard the troll's footsteps hitting the walkway behind her. Fear lent speed to her flight, but Vodni's legs were longer, the high-heeled slippers hampered her, and she soon lost her initial advantage. Sera was half way up the staircase, Vodni only a dozen feet behind her, when the earth rocked, and she fell to her hands and knees on the stone steps.