Something flickered in the corner of her eye. She held still and was rewarded by the appearance of the ghost. She'd seen it several times over the last few weeks, but only a hand or a shoulder and the back of a head with long dark hair, or a foot disappearing into a corner. It seemed to like the shadows. This was the first time she'd gotten a good look at it—at him. He glanced at her (she carefully looked down at her knitting) and returned a candlestick to the mantle. She looked up and said, "You must have been an extraordinarily good looking young man, when you were alive."
The ghost turned and realized she was talking to him, and to her surprise, he went absolutely pale. She hadn't thought the dead could react in such a human way, but she'd never startled a spirit before. She had obviously upset him, the poor thing looked ready to bolt.
"Please forgive me, that was rude. Perhaps you don't like to talk about your former existence. And here I am mentioning it again! I'm not normally such a dolt. Please, you look positively rattled. Do come over here and sit down."
The ghost of the young man said, "You can see me? Of course you can, you just said so." He put her basket of brightly colored yarn on the floor and sat on the ottoman, the worn leather creaking under his weight. He was surprisingly solid, for a visitation. "These are beautiful," he said. He picked out a ball of bright red silk and held it up to the light.
"It matches your eyes," said May. "Do all ghosts have red eyes? No, there I am again. Ignore me. Would you like some tea? Do ghosts eat or drink at all? Oh, another foolish question. I'm full of them today."
"No tea, thank you. I don't need to eat or drink, of course. Being a ghost. As you said."
"No tea, well, something stronger? I fear I gave you a start."
He hesitated, "I wouldn't say no, honestly."
She poured him a thimble sized glass of some deep brown liquid, one of an assortment on the little cart in the corner. "Some port, I think," she told him, "Pol likes it. Personally I find it too sweet." She watched his face, moving from suspicion to pleasure as he took a sip. "I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. I've never met a ghost before."
"It’s fine," he said, looking at the rainbow in the basket of yarn. "It’s just difficult for me to think about what came before this."
She nodded. That seemed reasonable for someone in his condition. Perhaps he had died tragically, after all, who would want to dwell on that? "I'm glad I saw you today. I've been meaning to talk to you."
He surprised her again by laughing. He had a nice laugh. She wondered if he'd laughed a lot, when he was alive. He tossed the ball of yarn back into the basket. "Of course. Is there anyone in this house who hasn't seen me?"
May thought for a moment. "Well, I don't believe Lelly has, I'm pretty sure you're dramatic enough for a fit of hysterics out of her, at least. And Rane, well, who knows what he sees?"
"He saw me as well. I... I think sending him to your father was perhaps a wise idea."
She frowned. "You know us rather well. How long have you been haunting this house? And what were you doing with that candlestick?" He stood and went to the window, quite close to the shadows thrown by the curtains, and she realized she could see through him. He'd be gone in a moment. "Please, don't leave. I'm sure you have your reasons. I won't pry. And... and you haven’t finished your port." He rematerialized so quickly she thought it was possible he hadn't wanted to leave at all. "I imagine we're a difficult bunch to haunt. We're all a bit haunted ourselves. Will you tell me your name? You don't have to."
"My name is Moth," he said. He really did have the most striking eyes.
"That's a nice name. Are you attracted to the light?" He looked at her blankly. "Moths, they fly into flames and lights and things."
"I'm attracted to shadows, then." My goodness, she thought. A depressed ghost. She decided to change the subject.
"I've been wanting to ask you for a favor," she said, and was pleased to see his gloom replaced with a look of genuine curiosity. "One can't help but notice when one has a ghost—things move around, sometimes there are no spoons—no, I'm not angry, but here's the thing. My friend Stelle—well, you've probably seen her."
"She's pretty," he said. "I like her."
"Yes, I think she's pretty too, and I like her very much. In fact, with Rane and next Pol off to work with Father, I've decided there's too much room in this house for just Lelly and me. I've asked Stelle to come and stay with us. With me."
"I'm glad. This is a big house for just two people. And she reminds me of someone...."
"From when you were alive?" She bit her lip, hoping she hadn't said the wrong thing, but the ghost nodded.
"Someone who was very important to me. Funny, they are nothing alike, except that they both want us to be...."
"Exceptional?" she guessed.
"Exactly! I'm afraid I let her down, this friend of mine, but I'm sure you won't bring Stelle anything but happiness." How nice, she thought, not to have to explain myself, or how this affects my being a Second. Whoever he was in life, he's a kind man in death. She wondered whom he had let down and what the lady's role in her own disappointment might have been. He continued, "You mentioned a favor?"
May nodded. "Please don't scare her, if you can help it. She's a bit shy. I don't want to have her regret coming to live with me, getting upset and dashing off into the night. If you must do... ghost things? Do them to me and Lel, and leave her be. Just until she gets acclimated."
"Acclimated," he said. He looked to her as if his whole mortal life was unspooling in his mind. Finally he said, "It was never my intention to hurt or frighten any of you. I wish... well. Of course I won't harm your friend. I'm going to be leaving very soon."
"Oh. Ghost mission completed?"
He shrugged. "Something like that. All your spoons and shoes will be back in place before I go."
"Keep the spoons, we have more than we need of all that sort of stuff."
From another room, there came a shout. "May!"
The ghost—Moth—tensed but May smiled in what she hoped was a comforting way and held her hand up. "It’s Pol. Let me see what he wants."
"Yes?" she called.
"May?"
"What is it, Pol?"
"MAY?"
"WHAT?"
He stuck his head around the corner and saw her sitting with her basket of knitting on the floor and her needles jabbed into the ball of yarn, and one of his port glasses sitting on the end table.
"Early in the day, isn’t it? Anyway, if you see the ghost, please tell it I want my cufflinks back." He disappeared down the hall, and Moth stepped out from behind the door. She was working on stifling her giggles, feeling as if her guest wouldn't find the humor, but he had his hand clapped over his mouth and finally both of them dissolved into laughter.
When he caught his breath, he asked, "Do you have a spare room? Maybe I should just have moved in."
"Now, don't be like that. We talked, Pol and I, and he's never seen you. I think he's a little jealous. Every time something goes missing or anything odd happens, he blames you. I gather Rane was borrowing Pol's cufflinks? I notice nothing of mine, or Pol's, has been moved or taken."
"You are exactly right. I'll return them, of course. Before I go."
"Must you leave?" He nodded. "Will it be someplace better?"
He gave her a sudden, dazzling smile. He's not my type, she reminded herself, and he's also a ghost. Too bad.
"I guess I'll find out. Good luck with Stelle. I think she'll turn out to be brave after all."
"I've enjoyed talking with you," she said, hoping he might linger.
He took her hand, and another surprise—he was quite warm. He said, "This is the nicest conversation I've had with anyone for... I'm sorry we didn't meet sooner. And about your candlestick."
"Are you certain you're a ghost?" she asked.
"May, what else could I possibly be?"
She let go of his hand. "I hope whatever's next makes you very happy."
He nodded at her and, steppin
g into the lengthening shadows at the window, he vanished.
A ghost, well now I can say I've seen everything. And a sweet one with excellent manners, at that. I'd say that's a successful haunting. She thought about introducing him to Lelet, and laughed at the absurdity. Someone alive, sister, he's got to be out there. We'll find him for you. But those eyes....
Chapter 47
"Allow me," he said, and stepped behind Gwenyth to fasten the strand of diamonds and sapphires around her slender throat. He was so much taller that from behind he could see the rise and fall of her creamy bosom barely concealed by her deep indigo silk gown. "What a fool I’ve been," he thought to himself.
-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 190
Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)
Mistra
100 years after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar
20 years later, Eriisai calendar
va’Everly family residence
Moth immediately made his way to the rooftop to sort it out.
So everyone (except perhaps Lelet) had seen him, or knew about him, or talked about his activities. If he'd done something contrary to the horrible child's dictate, the leash in his mind would have yanked him back. So his talk with May wasn't against the rules. And what a strange thing to say—what had she called him? Extraordinarily good looking? Him? He could count the times he'd been complimented on his looks on no fingers. Of course, Aelle had told him his yala was the nicest she'd seen (but how many had she seen?), but that was nothing like this. It was a terrible thing to say—and here he'd thought May was the nice one! Maybe insults and compliments operated under a system he hadn't worked out. Or maybe May was more like Cybelle, sly and up to her own errands. He decided to forgive May for her insult because in every other way, she was the kindest person he'd met since arriving on this side of The Door. He hadn't realized how much he missed simple conversation.
Returning to his little balcony he retrieved the old leather bag from under a pile of blankets. He poked through the household things he'd accumulated, selecting a silver pitcher (in case they needed water), as many matches as he could find, and of course the little sewing kit he'd found in with a pile of laundry. Already he'd managed to alter his stolen clothing so that everything fit him—they still looked stolen, but at least stolen from someone his own size. He also tossed in an old blanket, a heavy dress he'd taken from one of the kitchen girl's cast-off pile, and the dreaded hat. He'd have to do his best to keep Lelet from seeing his face—there'd be no convincing her he was a ghost once they were on the road. And he took care not to pack anything she would recognize—he put the pitcher back, but kept the blanket.
Then it was just a matter of going from room to room. Pol's cufflinks he left conspicuously on Rane's (now abandoned) dresser. He looked around the boy's room sadly. He wondered if fresh air and hard work would really clear his mind of the talking dogs and fits of rage. Before he left he fished the remainder of the bottle of whiskey out from under the chair. Glasses were a luxury he supposed he could do without.
Lelet was home, enjoying the last day of her convalescence before she'd return to society at the Quarter Moon Party the following night. He arranged a few sprays of orchids in the silver pitcher and left it outside her door. The rest of her things he left in a neat pile on the floor in Rane's room.
He'd begun with the downstairs maid, as the child had suggested, and told her—through a partially closed door—that Lelet was leaving with friends directly from the party to head for a few days on the coast. As far as the household knew, this was her plan. Everyone, in fact, but Lelet herself. So when her maid asked her about packing a bag, she was first confused, then irritated.
"I'll have everything I need, I won't be gone that long. I assume they have a washroom and a kitchen, after all!" The maid, relieved that she didn't have to endure the ritual of selecting and rejecting every garment in Lelet's closet, dropped the subject and went on her way.
The only thing left was to procure a horse and a cart. Moth decided to start with Lelet's own horse, Petrel. He managed to get into the stables and found himself once again face to face with the terrifying animal.
"Remember me?" he asked it. The animal obviously did, because it threw itself at the half door of its enclosure. Unlike last time, this time it looked quite willing to bite his face off. And even if he'd managed to get it out of the box, what then?
He backed out, apologizing for alarming the huge beast.
He slipped around the corner into his glass house. He didn't suppose he'd see it again, although he already had plans to recreate it, should he ever get home to Eriis. He closed the window panes, hoping the heat and moisture would last a little longer, that the flowers would survive without him, and that someone else would come along and take care of them.
There was something going on at the front door, and making absolutely certain he was hidden in the shadows, he went to investigate.
"Billah, we've been over this," May was saying to the yellow haired young man. "She is still resting after her fall, and she is not receiving. I'm sure you'll see her at the party tomorrow night."
"She won't," said Billah angrily. "She says not to call on her, and I want to know why and who."
May looked completely different from the kind-eyed woman he'd shared a drink with earlier. "I don't appreciate your tone, Billah. I am not your errand boy. Now if you will excuse me, we are all quite busy." May closed the door—not quite a slam—but Moth could still hear Billah muttering under his breath. "I should go look for her at the back gate," he was saying, "along with the trash carts and the dock boys. Won't see me? She's seeing someone. I'm going to find out who."
Trash carts, thought Moth. A cart and a horse.
The next evening, Lelet got a message from a very apologetic maid letting her know that Per would be collecting her at the back of the house, at the Green Leaf Gate.
Chapter 48
Eriis
20 years after the War of the Door, Eriisai calendar
100 years later, Mistran calendar
Yuenne’s family residence
Aelle sat in the now-empty courtyard of her father's house, sitting and thinking and sipping a glass of sarave. The glow from the stones still shed a lovely light on the little white flowers and the water fountain, but in their haste to learn a new bit of gossip, the guests had left their half-drunk glasses and plates everywhere. Her father had gripped her hard by the arm and told her to stay here, so she had, even when her mother had followed him out the door along with most of the guests. The Mages had gone first, with the Queen on their heels. Well, she supposed what really happened was Rhuun had gone first, and Ilaan after him, as usual. Those two.
The Mages had gathered around the queen and accused her of hiding a human, and Hellne laughed in their faces. Hiding a human.
"Where is the prince?" her father asked the queen. Why would he ask that? He knew perfectly well Rhuun went home before Hellne even arrived. And what did it have to do with hiding a human?
"Are you all right?" Ilaan had appeared from somewhere and he was sitting next to her. He took the glass of sarave out of her hand and replaced it with a cup of cool water. "Aelle? Are you all right?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" she answered. "Father is going to be furious, his party got ruined. Look at this mess."
"Aelle, do you know why the Mages were here?" He was talking to her slowly, like she was simple or drunk. She hated that.
"Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot. The Mages were looking for a hidden human. And they wanted the queen to turn it over. Why they decided to come out of the Raasth tonight I don't know." She leapt to her feet and began gathering empty cups and plates. "Father won't like to see this when he gets back."
Ilaan took her by the wrist and turned her to face him. "You know why they came here. You know who they were looking for."
"I don't know what you mean, it has nothing to do with me, and I don't care." She jerked her arm away. "And you could help
me for once instead of just adding to the mess."
"Rhuun is gone," he said. She didn't respond. "He's worried about you, he told me to take care of you."
"Gone where?" she asked. "And worried why?" She used a leftover serviette to try and scrub a water ring from an end table. Real wood, and this would ruin it. It would take the rest of the night to clean up, and if Ilaan wouldn't help, he could just leave.
"Aelle, put that stuff down and come and sit. We need to talk. Rhuun is gone—"
"You keep saying that. Where could he go with the drink he put away tonight? He could barely see to walk home. He's the one you should be worried about." Such a lot of trash left over. She balanced cups and plates atop each other.
"I sent him away, to protect him from the Mages. You know why."
It was all too much to carry at once, and the reasonable thing seemed to be to throw it all on the floor, so she did. "Where is he?"
"We couldn't tell you—"
"Where is he?" Her voice rose to a near shriek. A part of her observed from somewhere far away. That's not like me, screaming like a back country hill wife, she thought.
The Sand Prince Page 26
