The Moon and the Sun

by Vonda McIntyre

  Yves hurried to Innocent’s side. Ottoboni remained on the terrace. Innocent led Yves out of earshot, toward the Orangerie, into a cloud of fragrance. They gazed in silence at the rows of small trees.

  “I am distressed,” Innocent said.

  “I am sorry, Your Holiness.”

  “I’m distressed by your worldly concerns.”

  “I only seek God’s truth, and His will, in nature.”

  “It isn’t your place,” His Holiness said, “to determine God’s truth, or Hs will.”

  Innocent’s voice remained kind, but Yves did not mistake the sternness of his words.

  “I’m distressed by your sister’s pagan composition.”

  “Your Holiness, I beg you, she meant nothing by it—it was perfectly innocent.”

  “My son, indulge me—and my fear for both your souls.”

  “I’m grateful for your attention, Your Holiness.”

  “Our cousin’s court surrounds you with danger. With debauchery, adultery, and bastardy. Heresy abounds. Atheists, monsters, advise the King.”

  “My vows and my faith are my protection, Your Holiness.”

  “When is the last time you said Mass, or heard confession?”

  “Not for many months, Your Holiness.”

  “Your vows and your faith require attention,” His Holiness said.

  Innocent paced between the beds of flower embroidery. Yves followed, careful not to outwalk the Holy Father, who was decades his elder and in frail health.

  “Perhaps Father de la Chaise would permit me to assist him at Mass—to hear confession…”

  “Perhaps Father de la Chaise would condescend to hear your confession,” Innocent said. “I will not ask how long it has been since you made it.”

  Innocent reached the stairs leading to the terrace. He took Yves’ elbow for support as they returned to the chateau.

  “A year of meditation, perhaps, would benefit you,” Innocent said. “A retreat to a monastery, a year of silence—”

  Yves struggled to keep his silence now. He had no doubt he would be sent away, if he protested. And if he were sent away, he would lose the King’s patronage and all it meant for his work.

  “I shall observe,” Innocent said, “and consider what will do you the most good.”

  Innocent offered Yves his hand. Yves fell to his knees and kissed the Pope’s ring.

  Marie-Josèphe ran up the narrow stairs to the attic of the chateau. The hour was late. She and Lotte had attended Madame’s simple preparations, and Marie-Josèphe had attended Lotte during her bedtime routine.

  How can I sleep tonight? Marie-Josèphe thought. After an evening of such magnificence, such excitement—

  She remembered, again, the Chevalier’s lips against her fingers, her surprising shiver of pleasure at his touch. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. The nuns had warned her against kisses, against the sin and danger and pain that kisses led to. But a kiss to the hand, at least, proved not to be horrible at all.

  Laughter followed her; footsteps sounded on the threadbare carpet. A lady masked in the iridescent colors of a hummingbird, and a gentleman masked as a goat—or a satyr—climbed the stairs. They pressed together side-by-side in the narrow passageway. Marie-Josèphe recognized Chartres instantly; she thought the lady was Mlle d’Armagnac. She was certainly not Mme Lucifer. Chartres nuzzled her throat with the nose and horns of his mask until she threw back her head and laughed again, throaty and breathless.

  The lady’s fashionable headdress stood crooked and her hair tumbled around her face. Ribbons tangled with the fantastic feathers of her mask. She pulled her fontanges free, hurled it down the stairs, ribbons and lace trailing through the dust, and flung herself against Chartres. They stumbled sideways up the stairs, kissing, gasping, hands fumbling desperately each on the other’s body. Chartres tore at the lacings of Mlle d’Armagnac’s bodice. He yelped. “Do not unman me, mademoiselle!”

  Marie-Josèphe was about to flee when Chartres, capricorn-masked, caught her in his gaze. She dropped into a curtsy.

  “Sir,” she said, “I beg your pardon.”

  Mlle d’Armagnac snatched her hands from beneath the gold-laced skirts of Chartres’ coat and embroidered waistcoat. One of his stockings drooped down his leg, rumpling around the knee-roll. Mlle d’Armagnac glared at Marie-Josèphe and straightened her mask to conceal her identity. Her disarranged habit exposed her breasts. A jeweled beauty patch sparkled just below her left aureole. She tugged at her bodice to cover herself.

  “I do not know you,” Chartres said coldly to Marie-Josèphe, glaring dark and wild from beneath the horned half-mask. His skewed gaze was as perverse as any goat’s.

  “But, M. de Ch—”

  “You have mistaken me for someone else.” He grinned and raised his mask. “Unless, Mlle de la Croix, you’d care to accompany us?”

  “No!” she exclaimed, horrified.

  “What a shame. Good evening.” He lowered the mask over his blind erratic eye, reclaiming the visage of a satyr. He bent to kiss and nip Mlle d’Armagnac’s breast, baring it again. She stroked his long curled hair and pulled him closer, tighter, gazing at Marie-Josèphe all the while. When he rose, the beauty patch stuck to his chin.

  They both laughed and ran up the stairs, squeezing past Marie-Josèphe on the landing, ignoring her curtsy and her embarrassment. Mlle d’Armagnac’s door opened. Silk rustled, then tore, a high harsh rip; the door slammed.

  The staircase, the hallway, the whole of the chateau lay silent and dark.

  Marie-Josèphe fled. She plunged into her room and pressed the door shut. Odelette sat up in bed, blinking sleepily in the light of a single candle.

  “Mlle Marie, what’s happened?” Odelette slid from beneath the featherbed and hurried to her.

  “Nothing—I saw—”

  “Didn’t you know?” Odelette said, when Marie-Josèphe described what she had seen. “Didn’t you notice? They pair off in the eaves—like sparrows fucking.”

  “Don’t speak so coarsely, dear Odelette.”

  “Should I say, making love? Do they love each other? I see that they fuck. I don’t see that they love.”

  “Say—say, fornicating.”

  Odelette laughed. “Mlle Marie, the common word is less ugly. Come along, let me put you to bed.”

  Marie-Josèphe allowed Odelette to help her out of her court habit and undress her hair.

  “Did you find a prince tonight, Mlle Marie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he find you?”

  “Perhaps he did,” Marie-Josèphe said. “But…he has no ambassador, so I wonder if you can approve him?”

  “The ambassador always finds the stolen princess,” Odelette whispered. Marie-Josèphe hugged her, wishing Odelette’s fairy tale could possibly come true.

  In her shift, Marie-Josèphe gazed across the garden, toward the sea monster’s tent, listening for the sea monster’s song. But the gardens lay quiet in the night.

  “Come to bed, Mlle Marie, before it gets cold again.”

  “I couldn’t possibly sleep,” Marie-Josèphe said. “And I must feed the sea monster. Help me into my riding habit, and keep the bed warm till I return.”

  “Tell me of your prince.” Odelette shook out the riding habit.

  “Is my brother in his room?”

  “In his room, asleep, and both doors are closed. He’ll never hear what you tell me.”

  “You saw my prince,” Marie-Josèphe said. “The handsome man in Madame’s apartment.”

  “There were no handsome men in Madame’s apartment.” Odelette buttoned the tiny jet buttons.

  “Chartres is handsome—”

  “He’s as misshapen as a snake.”

  “He isn’t! And Monsieur is…”

  “Pretty.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Pretty.”

  “As I said. No handsome men.”

  “I couldn’t aspire so high—a member of the royal family? I meant the Che
valier de Lorraine.”

  “Monsieur’s friend.”

  “Yes.” She prepared to defend Lorraine against the charge of being too old. Uncharacteristically, Odelette kept her silence.

  “He is handsome, is he not?”

  “He is handsome, Mlle Marie.”

  “But you don’t like him.”

  “He is handsome.”

  “What does it matter?” Marie-Josèphe exclaimed. “I have no dowry, he’d never think of me.” She hesitated. “But…he kissed me—on the hand, I mean, quite properly. Almost properly. He made no improper advances—nothing very improper, not like…like Chartres.” She plunged on. “Chartres bared Mlle d’Armagnac’s breasts—on the stairway! And she…she placed her hands very near M. de Chartres’…” She sought the proper term. “His organ of generation.”

  “She seized his cock.”

  Marie-Josèphe tried to be offended. Instead, she giggled. “On the stairway. How do you know these words, Odelette? You never knew them in Martinique.”

  “From the convent, of course.” Odelette jumped into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. “From Mother Superior.”

  10

  THE SEA MONSTER’S eerie plaintive song filled the moonlit gardens. Marie-Josèphe hurried along the Green Carpet. She hugged Lorraine’s cloak close against the chill and damp. The wolf fur warmed her, and it smelled of Lorraine’s musky scent, the scent Monsieur had also offered her.

  She wished she were a great lady who could order a coach to take her here and there, or a rich one who could afford to keep a horse. She liked to walk in the gardens, but the hour was late and the night was chilly, and she still had so much to do.

  She laughed aloud in wonder that she was living at the center of the world.

  And I’ve begun to train the sea monster, she thought. If I have a few days, I might be able to train it to keep silent when His Majesty next sees it. But if His Majesty delays the dissection for those few days, the male sea monster will decompose, and all the training will be for nothing.

  Marie-Josèphe’s lantern swung. A wild shadow dance sprang from her feet. She skipped. The shadow leaped, its cape flying in the beautiful night.

  I shall have to work on the sketches later, Marie-Josèphe thought. A few hours—

  But the moon, almost three-quarters full, had fallen halfway to the horizon. The night was half over.

  Before her the tent glowed faintly; across the garden, near the Fountain of Neptune, torches flickered as gardeners set out potted flowers in great drifts, keeping the gardens beautiful for His Majesty.

  A dark-lantern flashed open, blinding her with its light. Marie-Josèphe jumped, startled and frightened.

  “Who goes there?”

  “Mlle de la Croix,” she said, amused by her fear of the sea monster’s guards. “Come to feed the sea monster.” She held up her lantern, beaming its light, in turn, into the musketeer’s eyes.

  The dark-lantern rotated, spilling its light between them. Marie-Josèphe lowered her lantern. The light cast a long shadow behind the musketeer and illuminated his face, demonically, from below.

  “Do you have authorization to enter?”

  “Of course I do—my brother’s.”

  “In writing?”

  She laughed. Yet he barred her way, standing before the entry.

  Inside the tent, the sea monster whistled and growled.

  “Father de la Croix said, Let no one enter.”

  “He didn’t mean me,” Marie-Josèphe said.

  “He said, No one.”

  “But I am no one. He’s the head of our family—why would he think to separate himself from me?”

  “What you say is true.” The musketeer stood aside. “Be cautious, mamselle. If it isn’t a demon—and I don’t say it isn’t—it is angry.”

  She entered the tent, grateful not to have to climb the hill and call Yves from his bed to vouch for her. Shutting her lantern so she would not frighten the sea monster, Marie-Josèphe paused to let her eyes adjust. A pale blur loomed nearby: New screens of heavy white silk woven with gold sunbursts and fleurs de lys shielded the dissection table from the live sea monster’s sight. The white and the gold glimmered.

  Marie-Josèphe unlocked the sea monster’s cage. Small fish swam and splashed in a jug of sea water. A strange, faint glow suffused the Fountain. Could Yves have left a lit candle on the stairs, reflecting from the water?

  “Sea monster?” Marie-Josèphe whispered. “It’s only me, come to give you some supper.”

  Ripples spread across the pool. Marie-Josèphe caught her breath.

  The ripples glowed with eerie phosphorescence. The glow spread. The luminescence reflected from the gilt of Apollo’s dolphins and tritons.

  In Fort de France, on Martinique, the ocean glowed like this. The barrels must have captured glowing sea water, and brought it to Versailles.

  “Sea monster?” Marie-Josèphe hummed a melody the sea monster had sung. She wondered if the songs of sea monsters had any meaning, like the cries and yowls of her cat Hercules.

  Perhaps I’m saying, I’m glad to be out of the awful gold basin, the awful canvas, Marie-Josèphe thought. That would be very confusing for the poor sea monster.

  She sat on the edge of the fountain and hummed a different melody.

  A wake like a shining arrow flowed toward Marie-Josèphe. The sea monster swam to the platform, her tails undulating gently, only her eyes and hair revealed above the surface. Marie-Josèphe sat on the lowest step, her feet on the wet platform, and held out a fish to the captive creature.

  Shall I hold tight to the fish? she wondered. No, if I force the sea monster to stay near, I’m likely to frighten it.

  Instead of snatching the fish and thrashing away into the darkness, the sea monster swam very close, turned, and swept past beneath Marie-Josèphe’s hand. The pressure of the water stroked her skin.

  “Sea monster, aren’t you hungry?”

  The sea monster surfaced an armslength away.

  “Fishhhh,” she said.

  “Yes, exactly, fish!”

  The sea monster dove again. Marie-Josèphe sat very still, her fingers growing numb in the cold water.

  Beneath the glowing surface of the pool, the sea monster’s dark shape rose beneath her hand. The sea monster, floating face-up, gazed at her through luminescent ripples and placed her webbed claws directly beneath Marie-Josèphe’s fingers.

  Marie-Josèphe released the fish into the sea monster’s grasp.

  The sea monster rolled, stroking her arm along Marie-Josèphe’s palm. Her warmth radiated against Marie-Josèphe’s skin. Marie-Josèphe laid her hand on the creature’s back, as if she were gentling a colt.

  The sea monster trembled.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Marie-Josèphe did not like to lie, even to a creature.

  Floating face-down, the sea monster quieted beneath her touch.

  Marie-Josèphe smoothed one lock, then another, of the creature’s dark green hair. The glossy strands lay across the sea monster’s skin, iridescent black in the faint light. The sea monster hummed, like a cat who purred in song. Marie-Josèphe picked up a third strand of hair. The tangle would not straighten, for the hair was knotted.

  The sea monster rolled over again, drawing the tangled strand from Marie-Josèphe’s grasp. Floating on her back, she neatly bit off the fish’s head, munched it, ate the other half. Her double tail fanned the water beside Marie-Josèphe’s foot. Marie-Josèphe bent to look more closely. The tails were nothing like fish tails, and not much like seal fins. Darker, thicker skin covered the sea monster from pelvis downward. A mat of dark-green hair covered her female parts. The upper bones of her tails were rather short, the lower bones longer, with powerful muscles front and back. The joint between them bent both ways. The joint connecting long lower bones to large feet resembled Marie-Josèphe’s wrist. The feet ended in long, webbed toes and wickedly powerful claws.

  The sea monster used one toe to flick a d
rop of water toward Marie-Josèphe’s face. It spattered her cheek and dribbled down her face.

  “Don’t splash me, sea monster,” she said. “I already ruined one gown in your pool, and I cannot afford another. Come, leave off playing. Eat another fish. I have so much to do, I must hurry.” Her stomach growled. The squabs were very long ago and very small. She smiled at the sea monster. “You’re lucky, you know—I wish someone would bring me a fish to eat!”

  The sea monster took the fish, bit off its head, and offered the body and tail to Marie-Josèphe.

  Shocked, Marie-Josèphe scooted backwards. Safe beyond the fountain’s rim, she gazed down at the sea monster.

  Be calm, she said to herself. It cannot have understood that you are hungry. It brought you a fish, as Hercules might bring you a mouse.

  The sea monster sang a few notes.

  “Thank you,” Marie-Josèphe said, speaking to the sea monster as she would speak to her cat. “You may eat it now.”

  “Fishhhh.” The sea monster popped the piece of fish into its mouth. A bit of the tail stuck out between her lips. She crunched it and swallowed, and the translucent fin disappeared.

  Marie-Josèphe petted her good-bye. The sea monster grasped her wrist. Gently, firmly, the sea monster sang and drew Marie-Josèphe closer to the water.

  “Let go,” Marie-Josèphe said. “Sea monster—” She twisted her hand, but the sea monster’s claws pinioned her. The creature sang again, loud and insistent. She pulled Marie-Josèphe’s hand beneath the water. “Let—me—go—!” Scared, she tugged her hand from the sea monster’s grip, careless of the sharp claws.

  The sea monster freed her. She fell back, clambered to her feet, and scrambled away. The sea monster gazed after her with only her eyes above water. The creature continued to sing, but the song vibrated strangely through the water and the stone, and trembled against the wooden platform like a primitive drumbeat. Marie-Josèphe felt more than heard it. She shivered, clanged the cage door shut and locked, snatched up the lantern, and hurried from the tent.

  “Good night, Mlle de la Croix. Your monster is well-fed, I hope.”

  “I hope so,” she said shortly, barely acknowledging his bow. She trudged up the Green Carpet, past the masses of dewy potted flowers, toward silent fountains. She was not used to being frightened by animals; her fear distressed her. Her wrist ached from the sea monster’s grip. Yet the creature had freed her when it could have clawed her arm to shreds and scars.