Moonlight and Ashes

by Sophie Masson

  I looked at him. ‘Max, do you know what was going to happen to you?’

  ‘I fear it was blanking.’

  I gasped and Olga said sharply, ‘What does this mean?’

  ‘The process by which a particularly dangerous State criminal has his or her mind remade by powerful spells that blank out his or her former thoughts, memories, and desires, which then leave the space clear for other implantations,’ said Max, grimly, as though quoting from a book.

  Olga’s mouth was open in shock. She said, ‘In my country, bad men – they are put to death. Sometimes they are even made to suffer before. It is ugly, yes. But this – this destruction of a soul – this is pure evil.’

  It was. I had heard of blanking before, of course – everyone in Ashbergia had. First devised in the years after the Grey Widow’s rebellion, it was, as Max had quoted, reserved for only ‘particularly dangerous State criminals’. In the early days, it had been used quite a bit. But there hadn’t been any blanking for at least the last twenty-five years, since our present Emperor came to the throne. It was said he did not approve of the process, and even after the attempt on his life, he refused to allow it. But if a blanking order had actually been issued against Max, the son of a member of the Mancer Council, no less, it must have been approved by the very highest authority in the land. It must have been approved by the Emperor himself because surely not even the Crown Prince would dare to do such a thing without his authority.

  I looked at him and saw he knew what I was thinking, that he was afraid I thought he was truly guilty of some monstrous crime, and it just burst out of me. ‘It’s the Prince – that wicked man – he has lied to the Mancers, most likely accused you of plotting to kill him and overthrow the Emperor, and that fool of an old man believes what his precious son says. That’s why you don’t want to go near your father – because you’re afraid that he’ll be dragged into it as well.’

  He stared at me, aghast.

  ‘Oh really, Max, did you think I wouldn’t work it out?’ I sighed. ‘All those hints you’ve given? It’s obvious.’

  ‘Selena, I swear I did not do what –’ he began.

  ‘You don’t need to tell me,’ I interrupted. ‘Of course I know it’s all lies! Don’t forget, I saw what that Prince Charming is really like! I saw a vile, arrogant creep who was full of himself and now I know he’s a treacherous, wicked liar as well and if, or rather when, he comes to the throne, God help us all!’

  The expression in his eyes darkened. ‘Oh, Selena, you don’t –’

  ‘Oh no, don’t you dare defend him, Max! Why did he do this to you?’

  ‘I can’t . . . I can’t tell you,’ he said, sadly.

  ‘Why not? Is it because of the way you spoke out for me that night? He hated the way you spoke to him, it was plain as the nose on your face! He’s supposed to be your old friend but I saw no friendship in his eyes when he looked at you, only cold rage at what he clearly saw as your impertinence. Oh, Max, is it because of me? Because he has cooked up a story about me being a foreign spy, and you being in league with me? I’m sorry if that was what –’

  ‘No,’ he said, passionately. ‘None of this is your fault – it is mine, I swear it.’

  ‘Yours? What, because you believed that he was truly your friend?’

  He swallowed and said nothing, but I saw I’d hit home.

  ‘Stop blaming yourself, Max, stop imagining you could have done better! That creature might call himself a prince but he is nothing but a liar and a coward, and his father must truly be a dotard if he believes him. As to your father, he must be worse than useless but that doesn’t surprise me, in my experience fathers are like that, they avert their eyes and run a mile from anything difficult and they would rather protect their precious reputation than their own flesh and blood!’ I paused to draw breath and he stared at me as though he’d never seen me before, while Olga looked at us both with a quizzical look on her face. ‘And I’m going to help you no matter what it takes,’ I went on, passionately. ‘It’s no good saying I’ll be in great danger – I already am. They’ll work out we escaped together, so we’re already going to be seen as your accomplices no matter what. Don’t argue, I know you’re important and are used to ordering people about, but my mind is made up, and I’ve always been told I’m stubborn as a mule and twice as ornery, so don’t even try, all right?’

  The darkness in his eyes vanished as he laughed. ‘All right, little mule.’ And the look he gave me then sent a sudden tingle from my head to my toes.

  ‘And I too will help,’ said Olga, fiercely. ‘For even if they say you are the Devil himself I do not care!’

  ‘You do not need to do this, either of you,’ began Max, but we chorused at him to shut up and save his breath for cooling his porridge, which made him laugh again. He admitted that he was quite defeated and that we were all in this together, come what may. And then he told us why he had thought of going to Almain. Max thought that one of his old university teachers, Professor von Munster, an expert on everything to do with the Mancers, might be able to advise on ways of persuading the Mancers to drop the case against him. It seemed like pie in the sky to me, a frail thing indeed to pin all your hopes on, but it was way better than giving up. And at the very least he’d be safer in Almain, especially if his enemies thought he was sure to head to Faustina.

  The quickest way of getting to the Almainian border would be on one of the steamers that leave from Silver Harbour. To get to Silver Harbour we’d have to catch a coach from a stop a short distance from the Cargo Bridge. However, as no coaches left before dawn, it seemed safer to stay on the barge a bit longer and rest, with each of us taking turns to watch while the others slept – and before dawn we’d leave the barge and head for the coach stop.

  I woke with a start into a darkness so deep I could not see my hand in front of my face. For an instant I couldn’t remember where I was, and then it all came back. I could hear the others breathing gently around me. In this darkness, I had no idea what time it was. No-one was awake except me – and I remembered with a lurch of the heart that I was supposed to have been on watch, but had drifted off. Yet something had woken me. And in the next instant I realised what it was – something was different. I’d dozed off rocked by the gentle motion of the barge as it bobbed at its mooring on the water. But now, I could feel another sort of motion, and that sound . . .

  The hum and clank of an engine – we were moving!

  I got to my feet and felt my way towards the ladder that led up to the hatch. Gingerly, I went up the ladder and pushed very quietly at the hatch. And blinked. It wasn’t just that I was dazzled, emerging suddenly from deep darkness into light. I was puzzled because I hadn’t expected this kind of light; it wasn’t the grey light of dawn nor the bright light of morning. No, it was the yellow light of a lantern swinging from a pole on the deck. It was still night – dark night – and yet the barge was moving . . .

  ‘Ah, you’re awake.’ The voice came from behind and scared me so much I nearly fell off the ladder. I turned to face a man so tall and broad he looked like Giant Ash, the legendary founder of Ashberg, whose statue stood at the Golden Bridge. That wasn’t where the resemblance ended, either, for in the wavering light of the lantern his strong-featured face, big hands, and the oilskin jacket and trousers he wore looked as though they’d been carved out of bronze.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ said Giant Ash, with a grin that suddenly made the hard face look quite human. ‘Just about to make one if you fancy it.’

  I was speechless for a moment but managed to stammer, ‘Er, yes. Thank you. I’d like that.’

  ‘Good. Up you come, then.’

  I hesitated, casting a quick look below. He said calmly, ‘Let ’em sleep. Best medicine, sleep, I’ve always found.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said weakly, and came out onto the deck, closing the hatch behind me. He took the lante
rn off the pole and led me towards the cabin and I meekly followed.

  In the light of the lantern I could see that we were steaming down the river between two high banks. There was the huddled shape of houses, and beyond them in the distance, a dark mass of hills. I turned and saw behind me, a good distance away, the bulk of the Cargo Bridge, and much further than that, faintly, the lights on the Golden Bridge.

  ‘Where are you headed?’

  ‘Eventually to the forest lands,’ he said steadily. ‘Today, well, I hope to put in at Tresholm in a couple of hours and continue on to Marika before midday.’ Relief flooded over me. We weren’t going out of our way. Tresholm was a small town downriver. It was also one of the stops along the way to Silver Harbour. We’d be able to pick up the coach there.

  ‘When – how long ago did you start?’ I asked.

  ‘Fifteen minutes, maybe. Old Wanderer isn’t very speedy, I’m afraid. Take another fifteen or so before we’re out of city limits.’

  ‘It’s not usual, is it, to leave in the night?’ I said, hazarding a guess.

  He shrugged. ‘Dawn’s less than an hour away. Thought I’d get off good and early before the traffic really starts up.’

  We’d reached the cabin. He opened the door and stepped aside to let me through before coming in himself and setting the lantern down on a table.

  ‘Sit down, make yourself comfortable,’ he said, waving at an armchair that sat cosily by the side of a wood stove, on which a kettle was bubbling. As he busied himself with making the tea, I looked around me, astonished by what I saw. It wasn’t just because of the welcoming snugness of the little cabin. It was because of the shelves lining one of the walls – shelves crammed with books and, judging from their titles, most were not exactly light reading either, but canvassed philosophy, mathematics, astronomy, history. A bargeman with a most surprising taste in literature.

  ‘Here you are, Miss.’ He set the tea in front of me and smiled as I registered the obvious and dismaying fact that he had not at all been taken in by my boy-disguise. I also saw what I hadn’t realised before. This man might be the size of a mountain, but he was much younger than he’d looked outside in the half-darkness. He’d probably be only slightly older than Max, I thought, in his mid-twenties, maybe. And yet he had the assurance of a man twice his age.

  ‘Thank you.’ I sipped at the steaming liquid. It was good, strong and sweet. We sat for a moment in silence. Not an uncomfortable one exactly, but after a while I said, uncertainly, ‘When did you –’

  ‘When did I realise you were on board? Oh, about half an hour ago – less. I had gone to the hold to check on something and saw I had a new kind of cargo.’

  ‘Oh. But . . . why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘You find stowaways on your barge and yet you do not –’

  ‘What, scream for help? Call the police? Have you arrested?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘I’ve never given anyone up to the police and neither did my father when he was alive and it’s not for the sake of a few pilfered old clothes that I’m about to start doing it,’ he said. ‘Times are hard for many people and you were obviously in need of shelter.’ He shrugged. ‘As well be my hold as anywhere else.’

  I looked at him, bemused, grateful and amazed. Landing on Wanderer had really been another kind of magic, I thought, for we couldn’t have fallen in better hands if we’d wished for it.

  ‘You are . . . you are so very kind,’ I stammered. ‘Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.’

  He waved an embarrassed hand. ‘No need to thank me. My hold’s hardly a palace.’

  ‘I suppose you . . . you want to know what we . . . why we –’

  ‘You must have your reasons,’ he said firmly. ‘Up to you if you want to tell me. Don’t bother telling me lies, though. I’d rather not know anything at all. Ah,’ he added, in a different tone, ‘I see we have company.’

  I turned just as Max came bursting through the door, his eyes wild, holding an ancient rifle which he trained on Giant Ash.

  ‘I think you’ll find that thing’s pretty useless,’ said Giant Ash calmly, not stirring an inch. Even though he was sitting down, he still made Max, who was hardly small, look frail. ‘You couldn’t shoot me with it even if you tried. So why don’t you sit down with your friend and have a nice cup of tea instead? You look like you could do with one.’

  ‘It’s all right, Max,’ I said, hurriedly. ‘He’s a friend.’

  Max looked at me, then at the bargeman. Slowly, he put the rifle down and said, harshly, ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I could ask you that first. Given you’re on my boat.’

  Max coloured and ran a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. ‘I’m sorry. I had a nightmare. Woke up and . . .’ He looked across at me. ‘Selena was gone. I thought –’

  ‘Quite understandable,’ said the bargeman, extending a hand. ‘Andel, at your service. Some call me Little Andel.’ He grinned.

  Max grinned back, and they shook hands. ‘And I’m Max.’ A pause. ‘Some call me Mini Max.’

  I groaned loudly.

  Andel said, with a twinkle in his eye, ‘I have heard your name but I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced, have we, Miss?’

  It was my turn to colour. ‘I’m sorry. I’m Selena.’ Tartly, I added, ‘Some call me Ashes, but if you do, I’ll not answer for the consequences.’

  They both laughed. ‘Loud and clear and understood,’ said Andel. ‘Eh, Max?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Max, giving me one of those warm looks that made my insides turn over. Andel saw it too but didn’t comment. Instead, he said, ‘Now, how’s about that cup of tea?’

  Within a few minutes, it was as if we’d known him for ages. He didn’t ask us questions but talked instead about the weather and the tides and the business of buying and selling old goods up and down the river. Wanderer had been in his family for three generations; Andel’s father had been born on the boat and so had Andel himself, and ‘I expect one day my son will be born here too.’

  ‘Or your daughter,’ I couldn’t resist interjecting, and he smiled. ‘Or my daughter, just as you say.’

  Max asked him about the books and Andel said, ‘My parents were great ones for education, and, as you must realise, it’s not old books that are lacking in the life of a second-hand dealer. They always allowed me my pick from the books they collected to sell and, from as far back as I remember, those are the subjects that interested me.’

  ‘May I?’ Max had gone over to the shelf and pulled out a thin leather-bound book. ‘I see you’ve got a copy of The Laws of Magic. I heard about it at university.’

  ‘Really?’ said Andel, giving Max a sharp look at the mention of university, and no wonder, for the sons of the poor rarely set foot there – and never homeless beggars.

  ‘I never read it, I must admit, but it was a cult book amongst some people,’ said Max as he leafed through the pages, not noticing Andel’s reaction. ‘A bit of a curiosity.’

  ‘Is it a book of spells?’ I whispered. If so, Andel was running a very big risk indeed, having it on his boat.

  ‘Oh no, quite the opposite,’ said Max. ‘It’s a philosophical work which tries to prove magic doesn’t exist.’

  I snorted. ‘That’s ridiculous! Like trying to prove the sun doesn’t shine.’

  ‘And so it doesn’t,’ said Andel, quietly, ‘at night.’

  ‘Yes, but that doesn’t prove anyth–’ I stopped at the expression on his face. ‘You’re not telling me you really believe that kind of stuff!’

  ‘I believe the author of this book was on to something,’ he said steadily, ‘for we have no real proof magic exists. If magic existed, we could solve everything with it. We’d have a perfect world. And I think you’ll agree we don’t.’

  ‘No
, no, it doesn’t work like that,’ said Max. ‘There are laws to magic.’

  ‘Quite. There are laws. As this book proves, they are absurd laws that make no sense – because they are just plucked out of the air to describe something that doesn’t exist.’

  ‘Look, Andel, magic is banned here, as you well know. There’d be no point doing that if it didn’t exist,’ I said impatiently. I couldn’t understand why anyone could really believe such a crackpot idea; I wanted to yell that I had seen magic with my own eyes but stopped myself in time. Max didn’t know that yet either and I didn’t want him to find out this way. Instead, I said, ‘Why would it only be the Mancers who can wield magic?’

  ‘My point exactly,’ he said, with an air of triumph. ‘The author of this book doesn’t go into that, but it’s my opinion that the Mancers are there simply to frighten people into doing what they’re told. They’re not magicians at all – just secret police with clever mind tricks and subtle forms of torture, that’s all. They are enforcers for the Emperor. There to make sure his power is never ever questioned.’

  I swallowed and looked at Max.

  There was a hard expression in his eyes. He said, ‘Some might call that treasonous talk, Andel.’

  The big man shrugged. ‘And some might call it freeman’s talk, Max. Even the Emperor allows people to express an opinion.’

  ‘But, Andel, magic exists elsewhere –’ I said quickly.

  ‘That’s what we’re told,’ he said, stubbornly. ‘But is it really true?’

  I shook my head in disbelief. ‘If the Mancers are what you say, how come they arrest people for magical offences? For illegal spells? For shapeshifting?’

  ‘Those types of people – they are just pawns in a great game, randomly selected to prove a point. Oh, I have no doubt that under torture they get them to make confessions just to maintain the tissue of lies.’