“Hello, Isadora,” Oona said. “How are you today?”
Isadora glanced around, ignoring the question. “Where is your faerie servant? Off gloating over his win from last night?”
Oona almost laughed at the absurdity of this. She had never seen Samuligan gloat in her life. He might be self-assured and unpredictable, but gloating he was not. She decided to give Isadora a taste of her own medicine and ignored the question.
“Where is Roderick Rutherford, Isadora?” Oona asked.
She was speaking of Isadora’s overly gallant boyfriend who had helped Isadora cheat her way through the Magician’s Tower Contest.
Isadora rolled her eyes. “Oh, him? We broke up last month. Or, I should say, I broke up with him. He kept going on and on about being chivalrous. Wouldn’t shut up about it. He kept wanting to open carriage doors for me and escort me across the street.”
Oona’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “But I thought you liked all that, Isadora.”
“I do . . . or, that is to say, I did, until I realized that he did not believe I could do these things for myself. He thought I was incapable. So I dumped him, and that is when mother and I joined the Molly Morgana Moon campaign. You remember my mother, don’t you?”
Oona had, of course, met Madame Iree on several occasions. She nodded hello to the dressmaker just as the crowd erupted into applause. The woman whose face was plastered everywhere stepped onto the stage, along with a bearded man who wore a top hat and monocle.
Molly Morgana Moon was a short, immensely attractive woman in her mid-forties. She wore an expensive-looking corseted blue dress with a matching hat that gave her an important air. The dress was tailor-made to fit her short stature, and Oona had an idea that the dress was a Madame Iree original that would not have come cheap.
Oona’s heart seemed to swell in her chest as the woman approached the front of the stage and waved to the crowd. It was all so exciting. Molly Morgana Moon was at the forefront not only of women’s equality but also of change on Dark Street, and Oona felt excited just to be there, to be a part of it. Though she would not be able to vote until her twenty-first birthday, she still wished for her voice to be heard, and she soon began to cheer along with the rest of the crowd.
“Thank you all for coming,” Molly Morgana Moon shouted over the applause. She made a motion for the crowd to quiet down, but the spectators were too excited. Their cheers grew only louder. Mrs. Moon continued to smile as she cast a look at the man in the top hat. He smiled back, as if the reception was just as pleasing to him as it was to her.
“Who is that?” Oona asked, turning to Mrs. Carlyle.
“The gentleman standing beside her?” asked Mrs. Carlyle. “That’s her husband.”
Deacon said: “Mr. John David Moon. He was the owner of a stock trading company that went belly up a few years ago: Moon Investments. I’m afraid they have fallen into hard times.”
Oona looked at the couple’s fine attire and almost regal air, and said: “They appear to have recovered quite nicely.”
“Appearances can be deceptive,” Deacon said. “You of all people should know that.”
Oona frowned. “Well, then, where did they get the money for all of this?” She gestured toward the stage and its impressive decorations.
“It’s a good question,” Deacon said.
At last the spectators began to quiet down, and Molly Morgana Moon could be heard over the crowd. “Thank you all for coming. Thank you so very much. It is an honor to be here.”
As the crowd quieted, Oona noticed a short balding man near the side of the stage. He was waving his hands in the air, as if trying to get Mrs. Moon’s attention. She didn’t appear to notice him, but her husband, John David Moon, did. The smile on John David’s face dropped abruptly away as he walked to the side of the stage.
While it seemed everyone in the crowd had eyes only for Molly Morgana Moon, who began her speech by thanking various members of the community for their support, Oona was too distracted by the man at the side of the stage to listen properly. She happened to be on the same side of the stage as he was, and she could see the expression of irritation on John David Moon’s face as he knelt to speak with him. They spoke in whispers—too soft for anyone to hear—but from where Oona stood, it was quite clear that the two of them were arguing.
Mr. Moon shook his head, pointing his finger threateningly at the balding man. Oona watched the two of them curiously as the exchange grew even more heated. Oona was contemplating moving closer so that she might hear what the two of them were arguing about when a second distraction pulled her attention toward the park entrance.
A group of thirty or more rather loud latecomers came clomping across the park, the majority of them holding handmade signs over their heads. It wasn’t until they got a bit closer that Oona was able to read them.
Most of the signs exclaimed fink for council! or some such variation, though mixed in were an abundance of much ruder signs that said things like women, stay in your place! and don’t vote for the skirts!
Oona took in a startled gasp as she saw the expressions on the faces of the men holding the signs. They were full of hatred and rage. Those who did not carry signs were carrying crudely made clubs.
“Oh, dear,” said Deacon.
Mrs. Carlyle took in a sharp breath. “Great Oswald, there’s going to be a riot!”
At the mention of the word riot many of the spectators on Oona’s side of the stage turned to see the approaching mob.
“What’s that about?” Adler asked.
“We should all remain calm,” the Wizard said.
Surprisingly, it was the word calm more so than the word riot that caused the nearby spectators to react.
“They’ve got clubs!” someone cried.
“Run!” shouted another.
A handful of spectators did just that, bolting for the far end of the park, which seemed to be the cue for the mob of angry men to run straight at the crowd.
“But there are women and children in there!” Oona said, shocked at seeing the oncoming wave of swinging clubs and fists.
“I believe that’s the point,” said the Wizard, who took hold of Oona and pulled her to him.
“We have to do something,” Oona said. “People are going to get hurt . . . or worse.”
She could see Molly Morgana Moon beginning to look around from atop the stage to see what the disturbance was. More people from the crowd were beginning to run now, and the mob was nearly on them.
Screams of fright mingled with the belligerent shouts of the club-wielding men.
“Do you have your wand, Oona?” the Wizard asked urgently.
Oona’s hand shot into her dress pocket and pulled out her father’s magnifying class.
“Very good. Hexingjer’s Barrier should do the trick,” the Wizard said, pulling out his own wand and aiming it at the space between the approaching mob and the scattering crowd. “On the count of three.”
There was no time to question. She aimed her wand and counted down in rapid succession with her uncle. “One, two, Bar isth tho!”
A stream of white wind shot from the ends of both the Wizard’s wand and Oona’s magnifying glass handle. It swirled thickly like a winter storm before freezing solid, forming a seven-foot wall of ice. Unable to stop their momentum, the approaching hoard of men collided against the wall in a heap of signs and clubs. Several of the men began to throw punches at one another while others picked themselves shakily up from the ground and looked for a way around the wall.
The wall of ice stopped at the edge of the stage, where the more crafty members of the mob now turned their attention.
“They’re going to tear it down,” Oona said, unsure of how she knew this but certain all the same. “We’ve got to get Molly Morgana Moon to safety.”
As the mob approached the edge of the stage, Oona could see that the balding man was nowhere to be seen, and that John David Moon was taking his wife by the hand and leading her toward the far
end of the stage. They had just reached the edge when the entire stage gave a shutter and began to lean sideways.
At least seven strong men were at the other end of the stage heaving with all of their might. Once again the stage shuttered, and then pitched left, tossing Molly Morgana Moon and her husband into the air.
“Desendium,” Oona cried, and another windlike spell shot from the end of her wand, over the heads of the scattering crowd, and caught the falling couple just in time, cushioning their fall. They stumbled slightly, and then continued running along with the rest of the crowd toward the second gate entrance at the far end of the park.
Behind them the entire stage collapsed with a resounding crash of metal and wood.
“I believe we have sufficiently deterred them,” Uncle Alexander said, peering through the icy wall at the belligerent men on the other side. “And I think no one was hurt. I believe we should be off ourselves, before they figure out they can walk around the end of the wall.”
Several members of the mob made as if to scale the wall of ice, but none seemed capable of the climb. Most, however, seemed satisfied with the destruction of the stage and settled on shouting rude names after the fleeing crowd.
Oona felt a hand clamp onto hers and looked around to find Adler Iree standing beside her. In all of the confusion she had forgotten he was there.
“Are your mother and sister all right?” Oona asked.
“They took off that way.” He pointed toward the retreating spectators. Without a hint of humor he added: “Don’t think I’ve ever seen Isadora run so fast.”
Oona glanced hurriedly around. “Where’s Mrs. Carlyle?”
“I believe she made her exit with the others,” said the Wizard. “As we would be wise to do ourselves.” He grabbed Oona’s other hand and led them in the direction of the northernmost park gate.
***
Oona and Adler said their good-byes outside the park gate, where he departed with his sister and Madame Iree. Oona looked all around the cluster of chattering pedestrians for any sign of Mrs. Carlyle, but the maid was nowhere to be seen.
“She is probably halfway back to Pendulum House,” Samuligan said when Oona inquired if he had seen the maid. He sat atop the carriage in the driver’s seat and pointed up the street, his mouth curving into an amused smirk. “I saw her heading north for safety, along with all those other panicking people.”
Oona opened her mouth to admonish the faerie for finding humor in the chaos and hysteria, but in that instant someone bumped into her and she staggered into the carriage wheel. Deacon cawed from her shoulder.
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry,” said a voice, and Oona turned to discover none other than Molly Morgana Moon standing before her and extending a hand. “Please excuse me. I’m a bit shaken from . . . from . . .”
Oona took the woman’s hand and straightened. “No need to explain. We were there. We saw it all happen.”
Molly Morgana Moon’s eyes—which at first had appeared quite dazed—seemed to come into sharp focus on Oona’s face. “I know who you are. You are Oona Crate, the Wizard’s apprentice.” She looked to the Wizard, who stood to Oona’s right. “Alexander. My goodness, it’s been years.”
The Wizard gave a slight bow. “Too many, Molly.”
She turned back to Oona and smiled. “I knew your mother.”
“You did?” Oona asked, surprised. She stared into Mrs. Moon’s face, feeling quite in awe. Here, standing before her, was a woman she greatly admired. A woman who was brave enough to do what no other woman before her had attempted to do: run for political office on Dark Street. The knowledge that she was an acquaintance of Oona’s mother was bittersweet to say the least.
“I did, indeed,” Molly Morgana Moon said. “Octavia and I went to school together at the Academy of Fine Young Ladies, and years later we worked together to gain the right for women to vote here on Dark Street. You know, I always wondered if it would be she who one day ran for office . . . but alas, that was not meant to be.” She sighed, looking momentarily lost in memory.
Oona opened and closed her mouth, unsure of how to respond. She fidgeted awkwardly with the sleeve of her dress.
Molly Morgana Moon’s eyes once more seemed to focus on Oona, and she took in a sharp breath as if she only just realized what she had said. “Oh, my dear . . . I didn’t mean . . .”
“It’s all right,” Oona quickly lied, and then, looking for a way to change the subject, she boldly brushed at a spot of dirt on the front of Mrs. Moon’s dress.
“Oh, look at that,” Molly Morgana Moon said, and then looked around. She caught the eye of her husband, who stood nearby, clearly on the lookout for more trouble. She turned back to Oona. “What a tragic outcome. I would say I’m happy you came, but . . .” She gestured toward the iron bars of the park, through which could be seen the tumbled remains of the stage. “I might say that an anti-demonstration was to be expected . . . but I—we—did not expect such violence.” She frowned. “And no sign of the police to do anything about it.”
“Does that surprise you?” the Wizard asked.
Mrs. Moon shook her head. “Sadly, no. There are not enough constables to cover thirteen miles of street, and that nincompoop Inspector White is good for nothing. All those men should be arrested, but not one of them will be caught.” She paused a moment, peering toward the far end of the park. “Did you do that, Alexander?”
She pointed toward the wall of ice in the distance. Most of the men who had attacked the rally were already gone, and the wall was now beginning to melt in the warm sunlight.
“I did,” said the Wizard. “Along with Oona. It was she who cushioned your fall from the collapsing stage with a brilliant bit of spell work that I myself did not think fast enough to attempt.”
Mrs. Moon’s face seemed to light up as she looked directly into Oona’s large green eyes. She was not a tall woman, only an inch or so taller than Oona, but her presence was extraordinary.
“So, I have you to thank for that, do I? I was wondering why we managed to keep on our feet after being thrown so forcefully. What a remarkable young woman you are.”
Oona’s face reddened. “Why do you think those men attacked like they did?”
Molly Morgana Moon’s expression hardened. “It was my rival, Tobias Fink—I’m sure of it. I saw some of the men carrying his campaign signs. He likely gave them cash.”
“Cash from Red Martin,” Oona said.
Mrs. Moon looked surprised but then began to nod. “Yes, you would know about Red Martin from your father. He would have spoken about him.”
Oona nodded, though she did not add that she herself had come face-to-face with Red Martin on several occasions.
“That was some display you put up,” the Wizard said. “Must have cost a pretty penny.”
Oona looked at her uncle in surprise. Talking of money was something he rarely did.
Mrs. Moon’s husband, John David, suddenly stepped forward, looking highly offended. “I hope, Alexander, that you are not implying that we have been taking money from the likes of Red Martin!”
The Wizard spread his hands in front of him. “I meant nothing of the sort. I was merely stating what a shame it was to have all been for nothing.”
“Yes, well, that’s the price of politics!” Mr. Moon said harshly, and then turned to his wife. “Come, Molly. We should get you home.”
“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Moon said, and then, leaning toward Oona, she whispered in her ear. “Don’t mind him. He’s just upset at the loss. But we won’t let this little setback stop us. In fact, I feel even more determined than ever to crack down on crime.” Straightening up again, she extended her hand to Oona, and the two of them shook. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Oona. You remind me a bit of your mother. I hope that I’ll see you again, and that you’ll continue to give your support. Oh, and thank you again for saving all of our necks. Really, both of you.”
And with that, the couple made their way to their carriage and were off, l
eaving Oona with a feeling of excitement and perplexity all at the same time.
“Come, Oona,” said the Wizard. “We should be off ourselves. We have a battle test to prepare for.”
Chapter Ten
The Third Test
“Hello, Mrs. Carlyle,” Oona said as she and Deacon entered the Pendulum House library. “I was afraid you might have been injured in the riot. Are you quite all right?”
They found the maid busily dusting one of the tree-branch bookshelves in the forest of books.
“Oh, hello, Miss Crate,” she said. “Yes, I’m fine. Quite a nasty bit of business that was back there at the park. I thought we were all done for. I’m sorry you had to see it . . . but that’s what we’re up against. Better get used to it, if you’re going to fight for women’s rights. Got to stand our ground, we do.”
“Is that why you ran all the way back here?” Deacon asked from Oona’s shoulder.
“Deacon!” Oona snapped. “There’s no need to be rude.”
Deacon looked abashed. “I . . . I’m sorry, Mrs. Carlyle. I did not mean to cause offense. It’s just that . . . well, you spoke of taking a stand—”
“But I ran for my life,” Mrs. Carlyle said. She nodded understandingly.
“Sorry,” Oona said. “Deacon can be a bit literal at times.”
“Hmm!” Deacon intoned, and now it was he who sounded offended.
“No, no. It’s all right,” Mrs. Carlyle said, and Oona could see her cheeks flush pink. “He’s right. I did run, just like everyone else. I didn’t see any sense in my getting my head cracked open by one of those thug’s clubs. And when I talk of taking a stand, I don’t necessarily mean physically. Of course, those men were three times as big as me, with clubs and glass bottles. They might be stronger here . . .” She pointed to her arm. “But not necessarily stronger here . . .” She pointed to her head. “It’s too bad you didn’t get to hear Molly Morgana Moon speak today, because she exemplifies just what it means to fight without fists.”
“I just met her,” Oona said.
The Magician's Dream (Oona Crate Mystery: book 3) Page 12
