The Moon and the Sun

by Vonda McIntyre

“Mlle de la Croix, can you draw life as well as death?”

  “Oh, yes, M. de Chrétien, life is much easier.”

  “You may submit a drawing of the sea monster—a live sea monster, if you please—for His Majesty’s medal. I don’t promise your drawing will be chosen.”

  “But when may my brother continue his work?”

  “Sister,” Yves said, “Count Lucien has offered us a singular honor. Be so kind as to offer him some gratitude.”

  “I do!” she said. “Of course I do, I’m flattered, sir, and I thank you. But drawings and medals don’t decay. The sea monster, the dissection—”

  “His Majesty dictates the progress of the dissection,” Yves said. He plucked a long shard of glass from the lab table and flung it into the garbage bucket. It shattered with a sound like bells. Yves folded the canvas over the dead sea monster’s flayed body.

  “You said yourself, only a few of the creatures remain. What if this is the only one you ever have to study?”

  “It would be a shame. Still, the world holds many unknown creatures.” Yves directed the lackeys in packing ice around the specimen.

  “In two or three days, the dissection might proceed,” Count Lucien said offhand.

  “Not today?” Marie-Josèphe asked.

  “I cannot see how that is possible. Today, His Majesty welcomes your Holy Father.”

  Yves nodded, agreeing with Count Lucien. “I must attend His Holiness. The sea monster will have to wait.”

  The lackeys covered the ice with a thick layer of sawdust.

  “Tomorrow, then?” Marie-Josèphe asked.

  Count Lucien laughed. “I assure you, His Majesty will be occupied from morning till after midnight. Ceremonies, entertainments, the luncheon in his Menagerie. Planning Pope Innocent’s crusade against heretical shopkeepers. His Majesty expects to conduct his regular council meeting, and he must practice for Carrousel.”

  “Must His Majesty observe?” Marie-Josèphe asked.

  “His Majesty wishes to observe,” Count Lucien said, settling her question.

  “But if he’s so busy, would he even notice if Yves—”

  “Your brother will gain precious little knowledge,” Count Lucien said dryly, “locked in the Bastille.”

  “Marie-Josèphe,” Yves said, “I have no intention of opposing His Majesty’s wishes.”

  “Count Lucien,” Marie-Josèphe said, “do you explain to His Majesty. My brother’s work preserves the glory of capturing the sea monsters. His Majesty’s glory!”

  “You expect too much of me, Mlle de la Croix. It might be best,” Count Lucien said, with some impatience, “to continue after Carrousel, when the live sea monster will no longer scream.”

  “By then, nothing will be left but the sea monster’s bones, and the vermin its flesh generates!”

  “Regrettable,” Count Lucien said.

  “Forgive my sister, please, M. de Chrétien,” Yves said. “She understands little of ceremony.”

  Embarrassed, Marie-Josèphe fell silent. The lackeys swept up the wet, slushy pulp around the dissection table. Their brooms scratched softly against the planks.

  “Is your understanding any better, sir?” Count Lucien asked. “You disappointed His Majesty when you missed his awakening. I advise you not to disappoint him again. He expects you at Appartement, for his entertainments, this evening. Don’t throw away these honors.”

  Marie-Josèphe jumped to her feet. “I can’t allow His Majesty to think that was my brother’s fault!” she cried.

  The sea monster echoed her exclamation.

  “Hush, Marie-Josèphe,” Yves said. “No need to involve M. de Chrétien. His Majesty forgave me—”

  “For my error!” The sea monster whistled, as if to emphasize Marie-Josèphe’s mistake.

  “What does it matter? All’s well.”

  Count Lucien considered, his brow furrowed for a moment. “M. de la Croix has the right of it,” he said to Marie-Josèphe. “His Majesty need not be troubled twice to forgive a single transgression. I must caution you against another lapse.”

  Count Lucien bowed to Yves, to Marie-Josèphe, and took his leave. He leaned on his walking stick heavily, after the long hours of inactivity. Though the sides of the tent remained open, he departed through the entrance, and the musketeers held the curtains aside. Outside, his Arabian bowed. He clambered into the saddle and galloped away.

  When he was out of earshot, Marie-Josèphe said, “I’m so sorry, I’ve made such a dreadful tangle of today—of your triumph.”

  “Truly,” Yves said, “it’s forgotten.”

  She gave him a quick, grateful hug.

  “Go feed the creature—hurry. And bid it be silent!”

  Marie-Josèphe entered the sea monster’s cage and captured a fish. It twisted in the net, weak and nearly dead.

  “Sea monster! Dinner! Fish!” She swept the net through the water. Her fingers dipped beneath the surface, into the low vibration of the sea monster’s voice.

  Beneath the hooves of the dawn horses, the sea monster lifted her head. Her hair, her forehead, her eyes rose above the water. She peered at Marie-Josèphe.

  “Will it scream again if I take down the curtains?” Yves asked.

  “I don’t know, Yves—I don’t know why it started screaming. Or why it stopped, or why it sings.”

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter—the noise won’t trouble the King.”

  The lackeys pulled down the makeshift curtains and remade the sides of the tent.

  “It was in such distress,” Marie-Josèphe said. “Come here, sea monster. Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  Silent, the sea monster swam toward her. Marie-Josèphe let the live fish free. The sea monster darted forward, netted it between its webbed hands, and ate it in one bite.

  “It’s so quick!”

  “It wasn’t quick enough to escape the net.”

  Marie-Josèphe threw it another fish. The sea monster kicked its tails, jumped halfway out of the water, and caught the fish in the air. It disappeared into the pool, crunching the fish’s bones and fins between its teeth.

  “But you said—it was mating, it was entranced—”

  “I don’t care to discuss that.” Yves’ face flushed beneath his fading tan.

  “But—”

  “I will not discuss fornication, even animal fornication, with my sister who is straight from the convent!”

  Yves’ tone startled her. When they were children, they had discussed everything. Of course, when they were children, neither had known a thing about fornication, animal or otherwise. Perhaps he still knew nothing, and his ignorance embarrassed him, or the truth of it frightened him, as what Marie-Josèphe had learned in the convent frightened her.

  She netted the last fish and offered it to the sea monster from her bare hand. The sea monster swam within an armslength. The fish thrashed in Marie-Josèphe’s fingers.

  “Come, sea monster. Fish, good fish.”

  “Fishhhhh,” said the sea monster.

  Marie-Josèphe caught her breath, delighted. “She talks, just like a parrot.”

  She let the fish swim into the sea monster’s hands. The sea monster crunched it between her teeth, and submerged.

  “I can train her—”

  “To be silent?” Yves said.

  “I don’t know,” Marie-Josèphe said thoughtfully. “If I were sure what distressed her. She sounded so sad—she almost made me cry.”

  “No one minds if you cry. But the sea monster’s wailing distressed His Majesty. Come along, we must hurry.”

  Marie-Josèphe packed her drawing box while he chained the gate and fastened it with a padlock. She drew out her sketch of the male sea monster’s face, with its halo of glass and gold.

  “What are these decorations? Where did the glass come from? The gilt?”

  “A broken flask. Debris from the Fountain.”

  “The live sea monster put them here? Is that what she was doing last night? Why?”
<
br />   He shrugged. “The sea monsters are like ravens. They collect shiny things.”

  “It looks like—”

  “—nothing.”

  Yves took the sketch from her hand, crumpled it, and thrust it against the slow-match. The paper ignited. The halo around the dead sea monster’s head blackened and crumpled. Yves threw Marie-Josèphe’s sketch into a crucible and let it burn.

  “Yves—!”

  His smile dazzled her. “Come along.” He folded her hand in the crook of his elbow and led her from the tent.

  Behind them, the sea monster whispered, “Fishhhh…”

  6

  MARIE-JOSÈPHE STRETCHED her arms up into the new court dress as Odelette lifted it over her head.

  The beautiful blue satin and silver lace banished all Marie-Josèphe’s regrets for the ruined yellow silk. One of Lotte’s servants had brought the dress; Odelette had worked magic on it, taking it in and rearranging the trim.

  The boned bodice and skirt slipped down over camisole, stays, and stockings, petticoat and underskirt. Odelette did up the fastenings, tucked back the skirt to reveal the petticoat, and deftly adjusted the ruffles.

  Marie-Josèphe was so grateful to Lotte. Mademoiselle’s gift allowed her to attend the Pope’s arrival in a proper dress.

  Marie-Josèphe wondered if she would be allowed to meet the Holy Father, to kiss his ring. Surely she would not; that privilege must be reserved for important members of court. She would see him, which she had never hoped to do, for his visit to France was extraordinary.

  He is such a good man, she thought. A good man, a holy man. When His Holiness and His Majesty are reconciled, they’ll stop the evils of the world.

  Odelette brought out an elaborate new fontanges decorated with leftover lace from the dress and Marie-Josèphe’s last few ribbons.

  “There’s no time for you to arrange it,” Marie-Josèphe said. “I’ll be late to attend Mademoiselle.”

  “I worked so hard to make it beautiful,” Odelette said.

  “And it is—Bring it with us, you may present it to Mademoiselle.”

  Odelette reluctantly put the headdress aside and arranged Marie-Josèphe’s hair simply, with a single false diamond as ornament.

  Odelette sighed. “Wish for the King to give you a real diamond, Mlle Marie,” she said. “Everyone knows all you have is paste.”

  “Everyone knows I have no money,” Marie-Josèphe said. “If I had a diamond, they would wonder where I got it.”

  “They all borrow money. From the King, from each other, from the merchants. No one thinks a thing about it.”

  Odelette plunged a lamb’s-wool puff into a jar of powder. About to powder her mistress’ bare throat and the curve of her breasts, she stayed her hand.

  “No,” she said thoughtfully, “no, powder will hide the blue veins beneath your skin, that prove you are fair.”

  The floury powder rose up in a cloud. Marie-Josèphe sneezed.

  “Good,” she said. “I’m pale enough.”

  Odelette patted her own forehead and cheeks and throat with the wool puff, mottling the smooth tan of her perfect skin with smears of white.

  “You’re the most beautiful woman at court,” Odelette said. “All the princes will look at you and say, Who is that lovely princess? I must marry her, and the Ambassador from Turkey must marry her attendant!”

  Marie-Josèphe laughed. “I love you, Odelette.”

  “It might happen,” Odelette said. “It happens in all the fairy tales.”

  “Princes marry princesses, and Turkey isn’t likely to send an ambassador to France.” Though France and Turkey both made war against the same enemy, the King hardly considered the Turks his allies. In the past his armies captured and sold Turkish prisoners, like Odelette’s mother, into slavery. “The gentlemen will say, Who is that colonial girl? I could not marry anyone so plain and unfashionable—unless she had an enormous dowry!”

  Odelette brought Marie-Josèphe her high-heeled, pointed shoes; Marie-Josèphe stepped into them.

  “There. You’re perfect, Mlle Marie. Except your hair.”

  Marie-Josèphe glanced at the pale creature in her mirror. She hardly recognized herself.

  Marie-Josèphe and Odelette hurried through the cramped and smelly attic corridors. Odelette carried the fontanges like a fantastic cake.

  They descended, down and down the narrow stairs, to the royal level, above the ground floor. Threadbare carpets and dark hallways gave way to polished parquet, rich tapestries, carved stone, gilded wood. Art and fine crafts filled the chateau, so His Majesty would always be surrounded by beauty. Artists and artisans of France produced almost everything His Majesty used, and His Majesty’s notice made French crafts fashionable in all the capitals of the world. Even France’s enemies designed their palaces to resemble the chateau of Versailles.

  In the chateau, Marie-Josèphe often found herself staring helplessly at paintings whose beauty and technique she could never hope to match. Paintings by Titian, by Veronese, filled her with wonder. Today she forced herself to pass them with only a glance.

  At Lotte’s apartments, a footman announced her. “Mlle Marie-Josèphe de la Croix.” He held open one side of the double door. “You may enter.”

  Lotte ran out of a cloud of multicolored silk and satin and velvet, out of the midst of her ladies-in-waiting in their finest gowns and their best jewels.

  “Mlle de la Croix!” She embraced Marie-Josèphe, stood back, and looked her up and down.

  “You will do,” she said severely, mimicking Madame.

  “Thanks to you, Mademoiselle.” Marie-Josèphe curtsied to Lotte and to the other ladies, who all outranked her by every measure.

  “What an exciting day!” Lotte plucked at Marie-Josèphe’s skirt to accentuate the flounces. “But, poor Marie-Josèphe, were you covered with fish guts?”

  “No, Mademoiselle, only a little charcoal on my fingers.”

  “Is this the famous Odelette?” asked Mlle d’Armagnac, the season’s most celebrated beauty. Her skin was as fair as porcelain and her hair as pale as summer wine. “What is that confection?”

  The ladies crowded around Odelette, captivated by her handiwork. Lotte laid claim to the new headdress. The ruffled tower reached an armslength above her head, and the ribbons spilled down her back. Mlle d’Armagnac brought silver ribbons, to match Lotte’s petticoat; Odelette wove them into the arrangement.

  “It’s wonderful!” Lotte cried. “You’re so clever.” She hugged Marie-Josèphe, gave Odelette a gold louis, and sailed out of her rooms. Marie-Josèphe followed, nearly lost in the crowd.

  At Madame’s apartments, both halves of the tall carved entry doors swung open. Lotte’s rank demanded that courtesy. In the anteroom, Madame’s ladies-in-waiting curtsied. Lotte nodded and smiled at them. Halfway to her mother’s private chamber, she turned back.

  “Where is Mlle de la Croix? I want Mlle de la Croix.” Marie-Josèphe curtsied. Lotte kissed her lightly, took her arm, and whispered, “Are you ready to face my mama?”

  “I treasure your mama,” Marie-Josèphe said sincerely.

  “And she likes you. But she can be so stuffy!”

  In Madame’s private chambers, a single candle burned on the desk. Madame sat writing, wrapped in a voluminous dressing-gown. The fire in the grate had gone out. The room was dim and cold. Marie-Josèphe curtsied low.

  Madame looked up from her writing desk and laid aside her pen.

  “My dearest Liselotte,” Madame said, “come and let me look at you.” Madame and Mademoiselle shared the same pet name, within their family.

  As Marie-Josèphe curtsied, two little dogs rushed from beneath the skirts of Madame’s dressing gown. They yapped hysterically, their claws tapping and scratching on the parquet. The reek of their droppings clung in all the corners. The dogs, like walking rag-piles, jumped and pawed Marie-Josèphe’s petticoat.

  She drew back, rising even before Madame acknowledged her, to avoid a paw in the fa
ce. She surreptitiously toed Elderflower away. The ancient pug yapped more loudly, snapped at her skirt, lost interest and wandered off, snuffled at the floor, snorted for air. Youngerflower, the other pug, followed him slavishly. Even compared to Elderflower, Youngerflower was not very bright.

  Madame rose, embraced Lotte, fondly patted her cheek, and stepped back to gaze at her.

  “Your gown was so costly—His Majesty’s Carrousel will be the ruin of us all—but you are beautiful, and the habit suits you.”

  The low neckline showed off Lotte’s magnificent bosom; dove-grey satin, silver lace, and diamonds flattered her blue eyes. Healthy, sturdy, cheerful, and kind, Lotte favored her mother’s side of her family, the German side, while her intensely handsome brother, in both his strengths and afflictions, could be taken only for a Bourbon.

  Madame looked Marie-Josèphe up and down. “Mlle de la Croix, I believe I have seen that gown before.”

  “It looks so well on Marie-Josèphe, Mama,” Lotte said. “And her wonderful Odelette worked magic to change it.”

  “She changed it so much, you could wear it again.”

  “No, Mama, not a second time, not with the Foreign Princes here!”

  “Where is the palatine I gave you?”

  Marie-Josèphe feigned surprise and distress. “Oh, Madame, I beg your pardon, the new gown drove every other thought out of my head!” Fond as she was of Madame, she had no intention of copying her old-lady styles, hiding her decolletage beneath a scarf or a tippet.

  “Every other thought but the current fashion.” Madame shook her head, resigned. “Very well. You will do.” Madame sounded exactly like Lotte’s imitation.

  Lotte choked down a laugh. Marie-Josèphe hid her own amusement by dropping into another curtsy.

  “Dear daughter,” the portly duchess said, “I began to wonder where you were.”

  Lotte laughed. “Why, Mama, I had to rescue Mlle de la Croix from the monster fish!”

  Marie-Josèphe approached Madame, knelt, and kissed the hem of her gown. “Please forgive me, Madame. I didn’t mean to make Mademoiselle late.”

  “Forgive you twice in one day?” Madame smiled. “I’m not your confessor, child! But I wonder if you have too many duties to bother with an old woman’s family.” She took Marie-Josèphe’s hand and raised her to her feet.