Goblin Moon

by Teresa Edgerton

  Entangled in her heavy velvet skirts, it was impossible for her to regain her footing. Sera sat down hard on the stairs just as the troll caught up with her. Managing to get her feet free of the skirts, she aimed a well-placed kick, knocking one of Vodni's legs out from under him. With a startled cry, he lost his balance, tumbled backward, and rolled down the stairs all the way to the bottom.

  For a moment Vodni lay very still, and Sera sat on the steps, too bruised and breathless to move, certain that she had killed him. Then the troll raised his head and sat up.

  Sera rose painfully and turned to run up the stairs. But then she heard something—a gentle voice down below, warning Lord Vodni not to follow her. Sera knew that voice. She hesitated, took a step upward, stopped, then turned and stared down at the foot of the stairs. The troll stood facing a slight young man dressed like a pirate, who was flourishing an unconvincing gilt-edged cutlass, seemingly a part of his costume.

  "If you attempt to pursue the lady," said Francis Skelbrooke, as he reached up and removed his mask, "I shall be obliged to kill you."

  Vodni only sneered at him. "Am I to be frightened by that toy?" Apparently considering the man as negligible as his weapon, the troll turned and started up the stairs.

  He had climbed no further than the second step when Skelbrooke reached into his sash, pulled out a large pistol, and shot him in the back at point-blank range. The ball came out through Vodni's chest, spattering the stone staircase with his blood. The troll cried out, dropped to his knees, and crumbled to the steps. A dark stain spread rapidly across the back of his scarlet coat.

  Sera sat down again, rather suddenly. I will not swoon . . . I never swoon! But nevertheless, the world went dark just for a moment. Only minutes ago, she had been firmly convinced that Vodni was the best and most amiable of men, and she had hardly been granted the leisure to adjust her attitude before witnessing his violent demise.

  She sat there numbly and watched as Lord Skelbrooke stooped to examine the body. Then he stood up, opened one of the powder horns he wore as part of his costume, and calmly proceeded to reload his pistol.

  "I must learn to curb these impulses and correct the habit of firing at close range," said Skelbrooke. "This shattering of flesh and bone is so very far from pleasing."

  He slipped the reloaded pistol back into his sash and climbed the stairs. Sera tried to think what she ought to say, but her mind still moved slowly

  "I—I believe that I ought to thank you, sir, for saving my life," she managed to say.

  "Not at all," replied Skelbrooke, sitting down beside her. "You seemed, if I may say so, to be handling the situation quite capably. Indeed, I almost hated to interfere. Had you been matched against any ordinary man, I would have been pleased to stand back and watch, but trolls being trolls, I chose to err on the side of caution."

  He was gazing at her in such a way that Sera—who was already rather flushed—began to feel warm all over. "How very beautiful you do look tonight," he said. And lifting her chin, he kissed her gently but firmly on the mouth. The kiss lasted a long time.

  "L-Lord Skelbrooke," she said, when he finally drew away. "Whatever are you doing here?"

  "I should think that the answer to that was rather obvious," said Skelbrooke, sliding an arm around her waist. "I am kissing you, Miss Vorder."

  "Lord Skelbrooke," she said, more firmly this time. "I meant to say—why are you here at the Wichtelberg—here in this grotto?"

  "I came to stop Elsie from marrying Lord Skogsrå," said Skelbrooke. "He is a troll and a cannibal, and—I am perfectly persuaded—wishes to drink her blood."

  "Yes," said Sera. If Vodni was a troll, why should Skogsrå not be one as well? But it was then that she remembered what first brought her down to the grotto. "I fear there is something terrible about to happen tonight," she exclaimed, surging to her feet. "I can't find Elsie or Jarl Skogsrå. "

  "We will each take a different direction and look for them," said Skelbrooke, offering her his hand. "Do not speak to the Duchess, for she is not to be trusted. But if you should encounter Mr. Budge, by all means enlist his aid."

  So it appeared, after all, that the two men were acquainted. This was certainly a night for surprises, but Sera was too tired to ask any more questions. Hand in hand they climbed the staircase, until they reached the top and went their separate ways.

  CHAPTER 40

  Wherein all Masks are finally Discarded.

  Sera searched frantically, through corridors and galleries, libraries, salons, and dining rooms. She went back to the ballroom and looked there once more. She could not find Elsie, she could not find Skogsrå, and she could not find the Duchess.

  They have all disappeared; it is very ominous. Two trolls. They were both of them trolls. How could they both be trolls and the Duchess not know of it? thought Sera. Lord Skelbrooke is right, she is not to be trusted. She only pretended to be so kind . . .

  Sera searched the entire first floor without success. The Wichtelberg was so vast—she knew only a small part of it—and supposing that Elsie was not even there—supposing the Jarl, with the Duchess's connivance, had spirited Elsie away?

  And sooner or later, someone will go down to the grotto and find Lord Vodni; and what an uproar there will be then!

  She was running up a long marble staircase to the second floor when she met Lady Ursula and Lord Vizbeck coming down. "Lady Ursula, have you seen my cousin Elsie?"

  Lady Ursula and her companion exchanged a glance. "But yes, only a few minutes past," said Lady Ursula. "And very sweet she looked, in her gown and her veil, rather like a bride on the way to her wedding."

  Sera gave a little gasp of surprise. "You—you saw her, Lady Ursula—where?"

  The lady made a vague gesture upward. "I must say it was very mysterious and rather intriguing, the way Lord Skogsrå took her by the hand and whisked her away. Almost as though—but you want to know where." She turned a puzzled frown on Lord Vizbeck. "Do you know, I don't quite remember . . ."

  "They were going into the little salon, what is it called? The Clock Room," Lord Vizbeck supplied.

  Sera rushed past them, the midnight-blue velvet skirt trailing behind her. She reached the top of the stairs, before she thought to turn back and call down. "Lady Ursula, Lord Vizbeck, it is very important. If you encounter Lord Skelbrooke or Mr. Budge, please tell them where they may find me. If something is not done to stop Elsie from marrying Lord Skogsrå tonight, the results will be tragic."

  Without waiting for an answer, she turned and hurried toward the Clock Room. But when she came to the door, she paused in the corridor, under one of the old oil portraits, to catch her breath and collect her wits. What if Elsie refuses to listen to me? Oh, but she will . . . she must . . . as soon as she sees that I am in earnest. And with that thought, Sera threw open the door and ran into the room.

  A candle-light wedding was in progress, among the ticking clocks and the wagging pendulums. Mr. Ulfson, the clergyman from Pfalz presided, with his book already open and his hand up-raised for the first blessing.

  When Sera burst into the room, everyone turned to look: the Duchess in her scarlet gown; Lord Skogsrå, all satin and lace and fringes; the old Duke with his silver-headed cane; Mr. UIfson, still standing with a hand in the air. Everyone turned to look but the bride. Elsie stood perfectly still, in her gown of white brocade, her spangled veil, and her wreath of pansies and lilies; Elsie stood like a figure made of wax, gazing steadfastly up at the clergyman.

  "This wedding," said Sera, "must not take place.

  The Duchess stepped forward and addressed her calmly. "But of course dear Elsie shall marry the Jarl. Why should she not?"

  "Because . . ." Sera did not know how she could possibly tell the good old Duke and the innocent parson this terrible, incredible thing. "Because, she is not of age. Elsie cannot marry because she is still too young, and her parents have not consented."

  The Duchess laughed her tinkling little laugh. "Consent? But of course they h
ave consented. I have the letter right here, signed by Benjamin and Clothilde Vorder. Mr. Ulfson has already examined it, but if you wish to look as well—" And the Duchess displayed the letter for Sera to see.

  Sera pushed it aside. "It is . . . it must be a forgery," she said, though without much conviction. The Duchess only laughed, as though she must be joking, and the clergyman looked at her askance.

  And all of this time, the clocks went on ticking, the pendulums wagging, the gears and the wheels whirling, and Elsie continued to stand like one in a dream or a trance.

  "This wedding cannot take place," said Sera, searching her mind for a suitable objection, "because the bride—is sleep-walking."

  "Dear heart," said the bridegroom, taking Elsie by the hand, "you must say a few words to our good Mr. Ulfson, to His Excellency the Duke, lest they feel any cause for concern. There is nothing wrong with you. You are feeling very well. What could possibly ail you?"

  "There is nothing wrong with me . . . I feel very well . . . what could possibly ail me?" came the dutiful little echo.

  Mr. Ulfson looked down at his book, preparing to read the service. And Sera was reduced, in her desperation, to blurting out the truth, as wild as it might sound: "This wedding cannot take place, because the bridegroom is a troll!"

  Perhaps Sera was as surprised as anyone when the clergyman closed his book. He turned to Lord Skogsrå with an apologetic smile. "You are not to suppose, sir, that I give any credence to this wild accusation. But it happens that I am privy to information . . . strange things have been happening in the next parish, strange things indeed, though I do not seriously believe they have anything to do with you. Nevertheless, in all conscience, before I can perform this service, I must ask to examine your hands."

  "But it is not his hand," said Sera, feeling rather foolish. "You must ask him to remove his boots. He always wears boots and walks with a limp, because . . . well, I suppose because he has a great hoof exactly like a horse!"

  Except for the ticking clocks, the room was utterly silent. Then: "A hoof like a horse?" Mr. Ulfson repeated. "My dear young woman, that sounds rather bizarre."

  "Bizarre," said the Jarl, growing indignant. "It is very much worse than bizarre. It is infamous—shocking—that this young woman should come here to mock my infirmity before my bride, to scandalize you all with this vicious fiction.

  "Moreover," he added, with heavy scorn, though it could be seen that his hand trembled on Elsie's arm, and drops of perspiration appeared on his brow. "I will not remove my boots or suffer this indignity, all to indulge an hysterical girl."

  How Mr. Ulfson might have answered, Sera was not to learn. For it was then that Francis Skelbrooke appeared on the threshold.

  There was a moment of silence, then Lord Skogsrå pulled out a small pistol and pointed it at the parson. "These interruptions are growing tiresome. We will continue with the wedding, if you please."

  "I think not," said Skelbrooke, stepping away from the door, so that Mr. Budge could come in after him. Mr. Budge was armed with a brace of enormous pistols, and he wore a handkerchief over the lower part of his face, rather as though he were a highwayman holding up a coach.

  "At best, you have achieved a stalemate," said the Duchess, still all sweetness and reason, despite this dramatic turn of events. "And the Jarl, he is not quite himself. So near to achieving his desire, to assuaging his hunger, he might do any foolish thing. Do not tempt him, Francis, do not tempt him, Hermes. For the sake of this poor Mr. Ulfson.

  For answer, Lord Skelbrooke opened his hand—it contained nothing more dangerous than a tiny box like a snuffbox, inlaid with pearls and ivory. He flicked open the lid with a motion of his thumb.

  As Skelbrooke blew the Sleep Dust into the air, those in the room began to fall, one by one: the Duchess—Elsie—Lord Skogsrå—the Duke. With a faint smile on his face, Skelbrooke crossed the room. The last thing that Sera remembered, before she lost consciousness, was his lordship's supporting arm.

  Sera woke slowly, breathing a pungent but not unpleasant fragrance. Gradually, she became aware of her surroundings. She sat in an upright chair, beside a fire, in a place she did not know. Hermes Budge was leaning solicitously over her, waving a stem of burning herbs under her nose.

  Sera sneezed and looked around her. The chair was a wooden armchair, and the room appeared to be a rustic but cozy parlor, with a display of pewter plates arranged on the mantelpiece and some faded landscapes pinned up against the flowered wallpaper. On an oak settle built against one wall, Elsie lay with her head on a cushion, while Lord Skelbrooke and a strange young woman with corn-colored hair bent over her, burning herbs and patting her hands, in an apparent effort to revive her.

  "What—what is this place?" asked Sera. She was still wearing the blue velvet gown—utterly absurd in this rustic setting—but someone had thoughtfully thrown a grey wool shawl over her shoulders. "And how did we come here?"

  Lord Skelbrooke answered, leaving Elsie's side and coming to kneel at Sera's feet. There were purple shadows under his eyes and a white shade around his mouth; Sera thought he looked ill and exhausted. "You are at the farm of a friend of mine, about three miles out of Lüftmal. You came here in a wagon."

  "Oh," said Sera, on a sigh. It was still very difficult for her to keep her eyes open. "Elsie. Is Elsie—?'

  "We are having some difficulty reviving your cousin; it is the effect of the Sleep Dust combined with whatever drug the Duchess and Skogsrå used to render her more suggestible. But I have taken her pulse and listened to her breathing, and I am convinced she will awake eventually, none the worse for inhaling the Dust. I shall try to remain here until she does."

  Sera sat up a little straighter. "Stay here until—Are you leaving us, sir?"

  He shifted position, sitting back on his heels. "I must leave before daybreak (which is fast approaching) and contact certain friends of mine, as well as arrange a false trail for the Duchess and Jarl Skogsrå to follow. As soon as Elsie is well enough to travel, Mr. Budge will escort you both to Thornburg."

  Sera put a hand to her head. She felt so dull and stupid. She looked up at the tutor, trying to remember: "Mr. Budge, I do not recall that you ever told me that you and Lord Skelbrooke were acquainted."

  Mr. Budge looked troubled. "Yes, I fear I was not as open with you as I might have been, but I was not certain to what degree you and Francis were in each other's confidence. And at any rate, I continually expected that we would both receive word from him soon."

  "I intended to come and speak with you both personally, rather than send a letter," said Skelbrooke. "I should have arrived some weeks sooner, but I was—most unfortunately and quite against my will—required to take a sea voyage. It is likely that I would be in Ynde now, had the Captain of the ship not been killed, and the First Mate, finding himself in possession of a ship, and therefore with an opportunity to mend his fortunes, decided to turn honest. He began by freeing me, and two other passengers who were also on board against their will."

  Mr. Kassien had also, in a burst of gratitude, and under the impression that his new ship's chirurgeon had not only saved his ship but his leg, offered to divide the cache of Sleep Dust. But of this—and of his own addiction to the powder—Skelbrooke chose to say nothing.

  "The new Captain was in no hurry to return to Marstadtt," Skelbrooke continued, "but I was able to earn my passage north by securing a position (on the strength of Captain Kassien's recommendation) as ship's doctor on another vessel. I stopped briefly in Thornburg to consult my friends, and to discover if you and your cousin had returned from Zar-Wildungen, and then came on here as swiftly as I could."

  He looked so pale and haggard, Sera thought that he must have made that last journey without stopping to rest along the way. "I should thank you, sir, for—"

  "You may thank me later—but for now there is still a great deal for me to tell you, and the time is growing short," said Skelbrooke. "When you reach Thornburg, Mr. Budge will escort you to the home of hi
s employer, Mr. Owlfeather. Mr. Owlfeather is a highly respectable dwarf, and a friend, moreover, of your friend Jedidiah Braun. You may trust him implicitly. You must not, under any circumstances, go home, for we have reason to believe that things are seriously amiss there. Mr. Owlfeather will arrange for you and your cousin to go into hiding. You must do exactly as he says, Sera, for the Duchess will return to Thornburg eventually, no matter how long and merry a chase I lead her. And if she finds the two of you there . . ." He sighed and shook his head. "She does not take kindly to having her schemes thwarted, and I believe that she will be absolutely merciless. Moreover, she is a woman with great power and influence in Thornburg, and I fear that not even Mr. Owlfeather could protect you.

  "I understand," said Sera. She wrapped the soft wool shawl around her and tried to stand up.

  But Lord Skelbrooke pushed her gently back into the chair. "Do not try to walk yet."

  "But I must see Elsie," said Sera. "Really, I must insist—"

  "As I, also, must insist," said his lordship. "You can see from here that Elsie's color is beginning to return. I believe she will shortly awake." He spoke to the young woman with the yellow hair. "Tilda, perhaps you could prepare a little nourishment for these ladies. Some broth if you have it."

  "Aye, Mr. Carstares, sir. And perhaps some toasted bread, as well?"

  "Yes, toast would serve admirably," said Lord Skelbrooke.

  "Mr. Budge," said Sera, making an effort to collect her thoughts. "I am exceedingly puzzled. Lord Vodni—it is still so very hard to believe it—Lord Vodni was a troll! Do you remember a conversation we had on—on the subject of intuition? But it seems that our intuitive faculties were very much at fault. We both knew that there was something very bad, very wrong about Jarl Skogsrå, but Nicolai Vodni had us both completely fooled."

  "Yes," said the tutor. "I have given that matter some thought in the last few hours, and I believe I can offer some explanation. The Jarl was a creature of appetite, entirely obsessed with his impulses. Whereas with Lord Vodni, I would not venture to say that he was not so hungry as Skogsrå, but merely that his hunger did not occupy him so completely. He had so many other interests: his books and his horses; his fascination with the old house; and I believe a genuine attachment to the Duke. All these served to mask his true nature as effectively as the glove he wore concealed his deformity."