The Moonspinners

by Mary Stewart

  ‘Well, but why shouldn’t we be?’

  ‘No reason at all. But we’ve no possible way of knowing what’s been going on down there since Colin got away, and I – well, I just don’t like cutting communications altogether, without knowing what sort of situation we’re leaving behind us. You’ll be pretty isolated, if anything should happen, and you’re right in Stratos’ territory.’

  I realized then why he was watching me so doubtfully; he was waiting for me to assert my independence. For once, I had not the least desire to do so. The thought of leaving these capable males, and walking down alone to Stratos’ hotel, was about as attractive as going out unclothed into a hailstorm.

  ‘When are your friends calling for you?’ asked Mark.

  ‘On Monday.’

  He hesitated again. ‘I’m sorry, but I really think . . . I’d be inclined not to wait until Monday.’

  I smiled at him. ‘I’m with you there. All else apart, I quite definitely do not want to be around when the police start nosing about. So I think we’ll find a good excuse for leaving, tomorrow as ever was. The sooner I see the bright lights of Heraklion, the happier I shall be!’

  ‘That’s very wise.’ He looked immeasurably relieved. ‘Can you invent a good reason?’

  ‘Easily enough. Don’t worry, we’ll think up something that won’t alarm your birds. They’ll be so glad to get rid of us, all things considered, that they won’t ask any questions.’

  ‘True enough. Can you get in touch with the boat that was going to pick you up?’

  ‘No, but it’s calling at Heraklion first for supplies, and to let the party visit Cnossos and Phestos. Frances and I can have a car sent for us tomorrow, and we’ll go to the Astir Hotel and wait for them . . .’ I laughed. ‘And I defy any harm to come to us there!’

  ‘Fine,’ said Mark. ‘The Astir? As long as I know where you are . . . I’ll get in touch with you just as soon as I can.’

  We had begun, as we talked, to walk slowly back down the slope towards the church. ‘What will you do when you leave?’ I said. ‘Go to Heraklion, or make for Athens straight away?’

  ‘I’d like to get straight to Athens, to the British Authority there, and get the London inquiries started, but I don’t know. Lambis, how long will it take us to Athens?’

  ‘In this weather, anything from twelve to fifteen hours.’

  ‘Fair enough. That’s what we’ll do. I imagine the Embassy will rally round with flags flying, when they hear one of their ewe lambs is a witness in the middle of a capital crime.’

  ‘They’ll be furious, more like,’ I said ruefully.

  ‘Which brings me to the last thing.’ We had reached the church, and stopped there, by the door.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I said before that I don’t want to leave the place tonight, without knowing you’re all right.’

  ‘I know you did, but how can you? Once I’m clear away from here, you can take it for granted.’

  ‘I’m not taking anything about your safety for granted.’

  It was odd, but this time his cool assumption of responsibility never raised a single bristle: not a stir. All I felt was a treacherous glow, somewhere in the region of the stomach. I ran a hand down the genuine Doric column, rubbing an abstracted thumb along the raw edge of the bullet-hole. ‘I don’t see how.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been thinking how. Listen, everyone. Lambis is going with Nicola now, to see her safe down to the fields. Colin and I’ll wait here for you, Lambis, in the church. I – I’ll rest till you get back. Then we three are going down to the caique, and we’ll put straight out from shore. It’ll be dusk before long, so we’ll wait for that, then move along, well out, till we get west of Agios Georgios. After dark, we’ll put in nearer, and lie off for a while. The sea’s like glass, and looks like staying that way, thank heaven. Lambis, d’you know anything about the coast west of the village?’

  ‘A little only. It is much like this, small bays at the foot of rocks like these. Near the village there is shallow bays, sandy.’

  ‘Is there anywhere where a caique could put in, if necessary?’

  Lambis frowned, considering. ‘I do not know. I have noticed a bay, a little way to the west—’

  I said: ‘I think there is. There’s a bay the children called the Dolphins’ Bay, past the second headland along from the village. There are rocks running right out into deep water: I saw them from a distance, a sort of low ridge running out like a pier. It must be deep alongside, because the children told me you could dive from them.’

  Lambis nodded. ‘I think that is the bay I saw. Past the second headland to the west of the village? Yes, I notice the place as we come by.’

  ‘Could you put in there, if necessary?’ asked Mark.

  ‘I can use my lights, once we have the headland between us and the hotel?’

  ‘Surely.’

  Lambis nodded. ‘Then in this weather it should be quite easy. Okay.’

  ‘Fine.’ Mark turned to me. ‘Now, how about this? If, when you get down there this evening, you think there’s the least thing wrong – any sort of suspicion, any danger . . . oh, you know what I mean . . . In other words, if you get the feeling that you and Frances ought to get out of there, and fast, without waiting for morning, then we’ll be waiting at the mouth of your Dolphins’ Bay till, what shall we say? – two in the morning. No, half-past: that should give you time. Have you an electric torch? Good. Well, any time between midnight and two-thirty a.m., we’ll be watching for it. We’ll have to fix a signal . . . say, two long flashes, then two short, then pause half a minute, and repeat. We’ll answer. That do?’

  I grinned at him. ‘Corny.’

  ‘Oh, sure. Can you think of anything better?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What happens if the bay’s full of light-fishers?’ asked Colin.

  ‘It won’t be,’ I said. ‘There are scháros pots there, and they’re collected before that time. No, it’s fine, Mark. I can hardly wait.’

  ‘Man, oh man, it’s terrific!’ Colin still had that boys’-adventure-story glow about him.

  Mark laughed. ‘It’s pretty silly, really, but it’s the best we can do, short of putting into Agios Georgios and scaring every bird within miles.’

  ‘It won’t be necessary, anyway,’ I said. ‘It’s just a flourish, to go with that pirate’s rig of Mark’s. Now I’ll go. Anybody coming, Sister Ann?’ This to Colin, who had mounted some sort of decaying buttress outside the church wall, and was once again raking the hillside beyond the hollow with Josef’s glasses.

  ‘Óchi loukánika.’

  ‘Then I’ll be off. Heavens, if I make the hotel by dinnertime it’s all I’ll do! What excuse can I give for staying out till now? No, don’t worry, I’ll simply say I came over to see the church – Stratos suggested it to me himself, so he’ll probably be pleased. Nothing succeeds like the truth.’

  ‘You told me,’ said Colin, from above us, ‘that you were supposed to be collecting flowers.’

  ‘Oh, lord, yes! Well, I’ll grab a handful or two on the way down.’

  ‘Have this for a start . . . and this . . . and this . . .’ Colin had already yanked half a dozen random weeds from the overgrown stones above his head. ‘And I’m sure this one’s as rare as . . .’ He stretched to pull down a straggling handful from a high vertical crack.

  ‘Frances is going to be very impressed by that lot,’ said Mark drily. ‘And so’s Stratos, come to that.’

  ‘Why not? All these are probably howlingly rare in England.’

  ‘Including the dandelion? Don’t forget he’s lived twenty years there, and Tony’s English.’

  ‘Well, Londoners.’ Colin scrambled down, unabashed. ‘They won’t know any better. You can tell them it’s a Cretan variety, only found here at two thousand feet. And look at that purple thing, dash it, I’ll bet they haven’t even got that at Kew! There, Nicola—’ and he pushed the bunch of exotic weeds at me – ‘and don’t forget this is “dandeli
ona Langleyensis hirsuta”, and fearfully rare.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t know any better.’ I accepted them gratefully, refraining from pointing out that dandeliona Langleyensis was, in fact, a hawkweed. ‘Thanks a lot, I’m sure Frances will love them.’

  ‘I’ll ring you up at the Astir,’ said Mark, ‘and let you know what’s going on. Then I suppose we meet in Athens?’

  ‘If we don’t all forgather in Dolphins’ Bay tonight,’ I said cheerfully. ‘’Bye for now. See you both in Athens. Be good, Colin, take care of Mark. And stop worrying about me. I’ll be all right.’

  ‘Famous last words,’ said Colin gaily.

  ‘Shut up, you clot,’ said Mark, quite angrily.

  17

  But having done whate’er she could devise,

  And emptied all her Magazine of lies

  The time approach’d . . .

  DRYDEN: The Fable of Iphis and Ianthe

  Lambis left me at the stepping stones, which was just as well. Tony was waiting for me at the shrine, sitting on the rocks among the verbena, smoking.

  ‘Hullo, dear. Had a nice day?’

  ‘Lovely, thanks. I suppose my cousin gave up, and went back for tea?’

  ‘She did. She seemed quite happy about you, but I was trying to make up my mind to come and look for you. These aren’t the hills to be messing about on by oneself.’

  ‘I suppose not.’ I sat down beside him. ‘But I stayed pretty well on the track, and anyway, if one goes high enough, one can see the sea. I couldn’t really have got lost.’

  ‘You could have turned an ankle. Cigarette? No? Then we’d have had to spend all night looking for you. Calamity!’

  I laughed. ‘I suppose so. But one can’t spend one’s whole life expecting the worst, and I did so want to get over to see the church.’

  ‘Oh, so that’s where you’ve been?’

  ‘Yes. My Danish friend told me about it, and Mr Alexiakis said it was easy to find if one kept to the track, so I went over. It’s a long way, but it’s well worth the trek, isn’t it?’

  Tony blew a smoke ring, and tilted his head gracefully to watch it widen, blur, and wisp off into the sunlight. ‘Me, I wouldn’t know, dear, I’ve never been further than this. Mountains are not, but not, my thing.’

  ‘No? They’re not Frances’ thing either. At least, they used to be, but she broke her ankle once, and it’s a bit gammy, so she doesn’t do much scrambling now.’ This was true.

  ‘So she said. Are those for her?’

  ‘Yes.’ I allowed myself a dubious look at the flowers in my hand. Lambis and I had added what we could on the way down, but even the eye of faith could hardly have called it a selection to excite a botanist. I had intended to root out the more obvious undesirables before I got to the hotel; as it was, I could only hope that Tony hadn’t noticed that most of the gems of my collection grew right down as far as the village street. ‘I don’t know if she’ll want any of these.’ I looked hopefully at him. ‘Do you know anything about flowers?’

  ‘I can tell a rose from a lily, and an orchid from either.’

  ‘Oh, well, I don’t know much about them myself. I just brought what I saw. Birds are more my line, but Frances says I don’t know much about them, either.’ I turned the bunch of flowers over. ‘These are probably common as mud, most of them.’

  ‘Well, that’s a dandelion, for a start. Really, dear—’

  ‘Hawkweed, quite a different thing. Variety Langleyensis hirsuta, and only found above two thousand feet. I do know that one. Frances told me where to look for it.’

  ‘Oh? Well, you seem to have had quite a day. Did you see anyone else up there?’

  ‘Not a soul.’ I smiled. ‘You said we’d come to the right place if we wanted peace and quiet. There wasn’t a sign of life, unless you count the birds – and all I saw of them was a hoodie, and a pair of lesser kestrels, and a mob of goldfinches near the stepping stones.’

  Tony, it appeared, did not count the birds. He got up. ‘Well, are you rested? Shall we go down?’

  ‘Good heavens, did you come right up here just to meet me?’

  ‘I wanted a walk. The lemons smell good, don’t they?’ We left the lemon grove, and skirted the field where the cornmill stood. A swift glance showed me that the door was tightly shut, and that no key jutted from the lock. I looked away quickly, my mind racing. Had Tony really come up here to meet me, perhaps to find out where I had been and what I had seen; or had he come up to the mill? Did he know that Colin was no longer there? If so, did he suspect Sofia, or would he assume that Josef had taken the boy up into the hills to silence him? It was even possible that Sofia herself had confided in him; he, like her, had been opposed to the idea of further murder. I stole a glance at him. Nothing in his face or bearing betrayed that he was thinking of anything more serious than how to avoid the mule droppings in the track. Certainly there was no hint that he was engaged in a kind of verbal chess with me.

  Well, so far we had each made the move we wanted. And if I could, I would avoid letting him make another. Quickly, I tried a diversion. I pointed up into an ilex-tree. ‘Look, there’s a jay! Aren’t they pretty things? They’re so shy at home that you hardly ever see them properly.’

  ‘Is that what it was?’ He had hardly glanced at it. He made his next move; pawn advancing to queen’s square: ‘Don’t you think these windmills are just ducky?’

  ‘They’re lovely.’ I hoped the queen’s hesitation wasn’t showing. But whatever he knew, or didn’t know, I must say and do the natural thing. I said it, with a rough-and-ready compromise. ‘We took some ciné film up here this morning – there were people working in the fields, and Frances got some lovely shots of that mill.’

  ‘Was Sofia up here?’

  ‘Mr Alexiakis’ sister? Yes, she was. She’s very nice, isn’t she? I’d never have taken her for his sister; she looks so much older.’

  ‘That’s the difference between the fleshpots of Soho and the empty fishnets of Agios Georgios, dear. Especially if your husband’s a fisherman who won’t fish. Josef’s idea of bringing home the bacon is to slope off into the hills armed to the teeth like a Cretan brigand. Not that there’s anything to shoot in these parts. If he brings home a rock partridge once a month he thinks he’s done his bit towards the happy home.’

  I laughed. ‘Have I seen him yet? Does he spend his time playing backgammon at the hotel?’

  ‘Not he. No, he’s off somewhere just now on a ploy of his own. I thought you might have seen him up yonder. That’s why I asked. Did Sofia let you into the mill?’

  Check to the queen. This diversion hadn’t worked, either. Then I saw that my trapped feeling came only from myself, from the guilty knowledge of my own involvement. Tony could have no possible reason for suspecting I knew anything at all. The only reason he would be asking me these questions was if he really wanted to know.

  Sofia, then, had told him nothing. For one frantic moment I wondered what to say. Then I saw, sharply, that Sofia would have to protect herself. It was my job to look after my own side, and that included me. It would be no help to Tony and Stratos, now, to know that Colin had gone. They couldn’t get him. And Sofia would have to face them some day. Meanwhile I must look after myself, and Frances. The truth was the only armour for innocence.

  I had stooped to pick an iris, and this had given me the moment I wanted. I straightened up, tucking the flower into the bunch I carried. ‘Into the mill? Yes, she did. She was awfully kind, because I think she was in a hurry, but she showed us round, and Frances got some lovely shots of the interior. We were awfully lucky to run across her; I’d never have known whose mill it was, and it’s usually kept locked, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tony. The light eyes showed nothing but mild interest. ‘You saw the whole works, then? How nice. The millstones and all that?’

  ‘Oh, yes. She showed Frances how they worked.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Tony. He dropped his cigarette on the dusty path, and ground it out wi
th his heel. He smiled at me: Tony, to whom it didn’t matter whether or not Colin had been murdered in the small hours of the morning; Tony, the passerby on the other side; the chess expert who was enjoying a game that made my palms sweat with the effort of being natural. ‘Well, dear,’ he said lightly, ‘I’m glad you had a good day. Ah, there’s the bridge, not far to go now. You’ll just about have time to change before dinner, and it’s octopus, which you’ll adore, if you’ve a taste for flavoured india rubber.’

  So the game was over. Relief made me as gay as he was. ‘I don’t mind it, but it’s not the main dish, surely? Oh, Tony, and I’m ravenous!’

  ‘I gave you each enough lunch for two.’

  ‘You certainly did. I ate nearly all of it, what’s more, and left the rest for the birds. If you’d given me less, I’d have been down a couple of hours ago. I hope you didn’t want the bottle back?’

  ‘No. I hope you buried it out of sight? It offends the gods of the place,’ said Tony, blandly, ‘if undesirable objects are left unburied hereabouts.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I buried it under some stones – after pouring the correct libations with the last of the wine.’

  ‘Correct libations?’

  ‘One for Zeus – he was born up there, after all. And then my own private one for the moonspinners.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The moonspinners. Three ladies who spin the moon away every month, to bring a good dark night at the end of it. The opposite of the hunter’s moon – a night that’s on the side of the hunted things . . . like Josef’s rock partridges.’

  ‘A night of no moon,’ said Tony. ‘Well, isn’t that interesting? What my dear old father used to call a night for the Earl of Hell.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘That seems an odd expression for a Vicar.’

  ‘A what?’ For one glorious moment I saw Tony disconcerted. Then the pale eyes danced. ‘Oh, yes. But then my father was such an odd Vicar, dear. Ah, well, I dare say your libation will work. There’ll be no moon tonight. Black enough,’ he added cheerfully, ‘to hide anything. Or anybody.’