Moonblood

by Martin Ash

  Blonna fell to her knees, sobbing, ‘Oh, sir, what’s going to happen to me? I didn’t do nothing! It wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘Calm yourself, Blonna.’ I bent and put my hands to her arms, helped her back onto the bench.

  ‘Don’t let his lordship kill me, sir. Please.’

  ‘He won’t kill you, Blonna. Your master is inclined to emotion, as you are aware. In such grave and distressing circumstances it’s not difficult to understand his mood last night. But he’s in a more rational frame of mind now, and simply wants to get to the bottom of this mystery.’

  ‘But I can’t help you, sir. I don’t know what happened. I just went out of the nursery for a minute, and when I came back poor Redlock was gone and that… thing was in his place.’

  ‘Ah! Already you have helped me, Blonna. You have just provided me with my first clue. You left the chamber, you say, and left Redlock alone?’

  ‘Oh, sir, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t!’

  ‘Of course you didn’t. I’m not faulting your conduct. But why did you go out of the nursery?’

  The sound of hammering came from some short distance away outside. Blonna flinched. ‘I had to get some water. The bowl was empty and little Redlock was soiled. I needed to clean him up before he could go downstairs again.’

  ‘So you went out to fetch water. And you are sure Redlock was in the nursery at the moment you left?

  ‘Yes, sir. I’d been holding him. Then I put him in his crib. He was fast asleep. I tried to tell Lord Flarefist last night but he wouldn’t listen. He was mad, sir! I thought he was going to kill me!’

  The hammering stopped. Beyond the wall, somewhere below us outside, a faint, gruff voice called something incoherent. Blonna stared at me with round, terrified eyes. ‘Don’t let them burn me, sir. Please don’t!’

  ‘Burn you, Blonna? No one’s going to burn you.’

  ‘But they’re making a fire, sir. When Lymilla, one of the servants, brought my breakfast she said they’re going to burn the little creature. Don’t let them to it to me, sir! Please!’

  ‘Burn it?’

  ‘The poor girl began to weep hysterically. ‘I don’t want to die! I was doing my best!’

  ‘Excuse me, Blonna.’ I stepped quickly up onto the bench so that I might look out of the window. What I saw made me stiffen with alarm.

  I was on the first level, some thirty feet above the ground. Off to my left some distance away was the small courtyard in which I had earlier observed servants stacking faggots. Now the purpose of their exercise became plain.

  The wood formed a neat bonfire, ready to be touched with a flame. On its crest was the nursery crib which had been Redlock’s, and which latterly had contained the creature that had taken his place. The crib was empty. A ladder rested against the piled wood.

  Figures stood around the unlit fire. Most had their backs to me. Some were Ravenscrag guards, three of whom held blazing firebrands. The majority of the others were the guests who’d been at the banquet last night.

  Alongside the bonfire a makeshift wooden platform had been constructed – hence the hammering I’d heard. As I watched, Lord Flarefist emerged from somewhere inside the castle, Lady Sheerquine close behind him. They solemnly approached the platform and mounted it via four wooden steps at its rear. Flarefist held something in his right hand.

  He stood for some moments mute before the bonfire. His head hung low, his back bowed. Then he lifted his head and spoke, though I could not hear what he said. He raised his right arm, and I saw quite clearly what it was he held.

  Dangling there, struggling, gripped by its ankles, was the little grey-skinned monster that had occupied Redlock’s crib the night before. Flarefist gave a signal to the soldiers holding the firebrands. There could be no question of his intention.

  ‘Moban!’*

  *Used in this instance expletively, Moban is the Great Moving Spirit which created all. Moban is considered an omnipotent but indifferent deity. Some cosmogonies hold that, having created the world, Moban then forgot all about it.

  I cried out, but the group was a good distance away and the wind blew directly into my face, so none heard me, or if they did they gave no sign. As Lord Flarefist intoned words I could not hear, two soldiers moved to the foot of the ladder, while three others stood close with the firebrands. One man held the ladder steady while the other ascended and took hold of the crib. He passed it down and his companion took it and held it up directly beneath the monstrous baby helplessly suspended in Flarefist’s grip.

  Into my mind came Hectal’s words: The baby is going to smell good when it’s cooked!

  ‘This must be stopped!’ I leapt from the bench and dashed out of Blonna’s cell. The old sentry outside was too startled to respond. I ran down the passage, down the stairs, and into the great banqueting hall where servants were clearing the debris of last night.

  ‘Which way to the courtyard?’

  ‘Which courtyard, sir?’

  ‘Where they’re burning the child.’

  I was met with blank stares. I raced across the hall and out through the main door. An intersection of passages faced me. I mentally calculated my position in relation to Blonna’s cell, and ran to the left. A door loomed before me; I lifted the latch and hurled myself through. I was in a scullery. A startled maid looked up from her work.

  ‘How do I get outside?’

  The maid pointed back the way I’d come. I rushed back into the passage, found another door beneath which a crack of pale light filtered. I wrenched it open and ran through, and found myself outside on a patch of walled-in wasteland at the base of a round tower. Two ravens pecked at the carcass of some small creature. To each side, set into the crumbling wall, was an ancient wooden door. But which of the two would take me in the direction I needed to go?

  I hesitated, struggling to get my bearings. A thin voice came from somewhere overhead. I glanced up, scanning the castle walls. There! Above me, off to the right, Blonna’s face pressed through her narrow window, one arm extended, pointing frantically.

  I ran in the direction she indicated, to the portal in the wall to my left. The hinges had rusted, the door sagged. Its ancient timbers had sunk into the soil. I heaved, dragged. The door groaned and drew back, but not far enough. Desperate, I dropped to my knees, tore away earth and grass, pulled at the door. The rotten timber at its base splintered. I lifted, pulled, managed to open it a little more, and was able to squeeze through.

  I stood at the edge of the parade-ground. On the far side was a doorway in the wall which would take me through to the little courtyard where the child was about to be roasted. I sprinted across the parade-ground. Soldiers looked up as I passed, but none pursued me. A trio of ravens lifted off in alarm. I reached the door, breathless, wrenched it open and hurled myself through.

  An awful scene met my eyes: thirty or so figures staring at the fire, or at Lord Flarefist on the platform. One hand was raised, fist clenched. In outraged tones he declaimed: ‘…this abomination cast into flames. Let no one think they can destroy Ravenscrag so easily. Your evil plot is ended before it has begun. Behold, the monster burns!’

  The crib had been placed back on top of the fire. The tiny creature was within, visible through the bars, kicking at the air, lashing its tail, emitting a thin, gargled wail. The ladder had been removed. Flames had been touched to the base.

  The tinder and brush had caught quickly. The crib was obscured now as thick grey smoke poured skywards. The brushwood crackled. Flames licked upwards to the stouter wood.

  ‘Stop!’ I screamed. A few heads turned. I dashed forward. ‘Lord Flarefist, this is madness!’

  Flarefist turned towards me, flushed-faced, glaring as I rushed in his direction. It was plain he had no intention of heeding me.

  I raced straight past his platform. Heedless of the flames I leapt onto the fire, throwing myself upwards, scrambling over crackling, blazing wood, reaching for the crib. Wood shifted beneath my feet, came away in my hands. Blinding
smoke choked me, scorching my lungs. My fingers touched the crib, but I slipped back, shrieking with the fearsome heat.

  The baby cried out. Somehow I hurled myself higher up the mound, caught the rim of the crib again, yanked hard. The crib tipped. Out tumbled the squawking infant. It disappeared into the smoke before I could grab it.

  I tore frantically at the wood. A sudden rush of flame and sparks glared with ferocious heat almost directly into my face. A terrible, agonized scream. The wood above me parted, the whole structure began to collapse upon itself.

  I glimpsed the child, balanced precariously just in front of me. A branch shifted, the baby sliding, falling into the red furnace. I stretched, further than I knew I could stretch, and grabbed a tiny limb, slipping, tumbling into murderous heat.

  I found myself on my knees on the court stones, hugging the horrible creature to my breast. My lungs burned, I coughed, gasping for breath, my eyes streaming. Somebody grabbed me under the arms and heaved me away from the roaring heat at my back.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘What is the meaning of this outrage?’

  Lord Flarefist glared down incensed from his platform. His wife stood beside him, her face devoid of emotion.

  ‘It’s not I who have commited outrage,’ I rasped.

  Flarefist’s eyes bulged as the smoke curled about him. ‘Explain yourself, sir!

  I lifted a limp hand. ‘A moment.’ I could barely speak. I felt numb and disorientated. I was not yet sure whether I had suffered serious burns. I was dripping wet. Someone had emptied a bucket of water over me. The weird-cub strained against my breast. ‘Lord Flarefist, less than an hour ago you assigned me…’ I coughed, painfully, ‘…assigned me to investigate the mystery of your son’s disappearance. Yet now I find you sabotaging the very first efforts I have made.’

  ‘It’s no sabotage. And that is not my son! We must be rid of this demonspawn!’

  ‘Then I reject the commission. I cannot help you to solve this mystery.’

  Lady Sheerquine intervened. ‘Are you not a man of honour, Master Merchant?’

  ‘I am,’ I replied, though I wasn’t.

  ‘Then how can you go back upon your word?’

  ‘Lady Sheerquine, earlier you acknowledged that I’m a man of certain unusual talents. My talents may be the key to unlocking this mystery – if indeed it can be unlocked. But even I cannot advance when my endeavours are simultaneously undone or undermined by yourselves.’

  ‘Of what possible value is this devil’s by-blow?’ Lord Flarefist blustered.

  ‘Lord Flarefist, can you not see? This ‘devil’s by-blow’, this ‘demonspawn’, may yet be your son.’

  Flarefist’s head jerked back. His eyes blazed. ‘You insult me, sir!’

  ‘I intend no insult.’ I coughed, my throat and lungs burning. The smoke blew in twisting wreaths, up and across the platform. ‘Lord Flarefist, Lady Sheerquine, you are taking it as proven that Redlock has been abducted and this creature put in his place. But we don’t know this. It may well be that he has been transformed, and that this is yet he. If that’s so, then you have cast your only son and heir into the flames. Had I not intervened you would have lost all hope of reversing the foul magic that has changed him, and he would have died a slow and agonizing death.’

  I looked down at the horrid little thing in my arms. It drew back its leathery grey lips and bared its teeth and hissed. Its flesh was surprising cold to the touch, and it seemed unharmed by its ordeal.

  Lord Flarefist’s facial muscles were working convulsively as he struggled with the unpalatable concept.

  ‘But let us consider the other prospect, which is that the creature is not Redlock,’ I continued. ‘Even then, can you not see that it’s in your best interests to keep this infant safe? Think! This baby may have parents who, like you, must be grieving for the loss of their precious child. Somewhere beyond these castle walls those terrible progenitors roam, searching. Perhaps even an entire community of the creatures! They may even have Redlock! Do you want them to come here, to find that their beloved newborn has been cast living into a fire?’

  ‘Grotesque and preposterous!’ stammered Flarefist.

  ‘Grotesque indeed. And preposterous on the face of it. But the facts are what they are.’ I addressed Lady Sheerquine. ‘My lady, why did you allow this to happen?’

  She elevated her chin, allowing her gaze to encompass something vague and distant beyond the courtyard wall. ‘It was his lordship’s decision. He is lord and master here.’

  My earlier experience suggested this was not entirely true. In name and title, Flarefist was lord and master, but I had seen that the greater power was wielded by his spouse. To Flarefist I said, ‘If I’m to conduct this enquiry in a proper manner, I must insist that you make no more such decisions. The safekeeping of this child is vital to all our interests. If you cannot accommodate this, then I can be of no assistance to you.’

  ‘Captain Monsard, flog him!’ commanded Lord Flarefist. ‘A dozen lashes.’

  Monsard stepped forward and put his hand to my upper arm, clasping it tightly to steer me away. I made to protest. Lady Sheerquine spoke quietly into her husband’s ear. Lord Flarefist clenched his jaw, then spoke again. ‘Not yet, Captain. I’ve chosen to exercise lenience. He shall be given another chance. But be aware, sire, I’ll tolerate no further delinquency.’

  ‘Lord Flarefist, I’m merely endeavouring to exercise my commission in accordance with your own instructions.’

  ‘You’re a scoundrel. I know it and you know it. You will be making a grave mistake if you attempt to fool with me.’

  ‘Might this infant be examined and, if found to be unhurt, taken to some place of safekeeping?’ I asked. As I spoke, the hideous thing stretched itself in my arms and emitted a strange mewling sound. It opened wide its jaws as if to yawn, and promptly disgorged a jet of thick, warm, foul-smelling yellowish liquid into my face.

  I wiped myself with my charred sleeve. Lady Sheerquine gestured to a servant, who came forward and gingerly relieved me of the writhing burden and dropped it into a jute sack.

  ‘Are you harmed yourself, Master Dinbig?’ Sheerquine enquired.

  ‘I think I’ve suffered just minor burns.’

  ‘You have lost your hair and eyebrows.’

  ‘If that’s my only loss, I can count myself fortunate.’

  ‘I will send my physician to your rooms.’ She turned to leave the platform.

  Flarefist, apparently in two minds, made to follow her. He aimed a parting shot my way. ‘Remember, I can have you clapped in irons at any time.’ He raised his voice. ‘All of you! You will all rot together in my dungeons!’

  All?

  For the first time I became aware of the audience: Ravenscrag’s guests. Wansirians predominated, and the majority of these I assumed to hail from Ravenscrag town or its environs. There were also the notables I had recognized in the market-place, from Kemahamek and Jihrango, plus a few unfamiliar faces. I saw that many of these folk were fettered and manacled; others stood unchained, yet it was plain from the manner of the castle guards that they were prisoners. I gaped in disbelief. Lord Ulen condark returned my stare with bland dignity. One arm was bound in bloodied linen. His wife beside him was stiff with impotent anger, their son, Ilden, sullen and hot-eyed.

  I turned back to the old lord of Ravenscrag. ‘Lord Flarefist, do you know what you’ve done?’

  Flarefist paused upon the top step of the platform, enveloped for a moment in the smoke. He regarded me as though I were an imbecile. ‘I’ve arrested ‘em!’

  ‘On what charge?’

  ‘Charge? What charge to you think, man? One or more of ‘em is behind it! They’ve taken my son!’

  ‘You have evidence of that? Many of these people are foreigners of high status.’

  ‘When I have the identity of the guilty the innocent will be free to leave.’

  ‘Lord Flarefist, this action will bring the wrath of nations down upon your head. And what
of House Condark? Do you expect its members to sit idly by, knowing that their head and his family are incarcerated in your dungeons?’

  Flarefist pointed an angry, trembling finger at Ulen Condark. ‘It is House Condark that has engineered this sedition! He thought to inherit Ravenscrag, and when he learned that my son was to be born he took him from me!’ His voice had risen to a near shriek. He fought back tears. ‘They will pay! The perpetrators will swing! Captain, take them from my sight!’

  Madness. Madness. I looked to Lady Sheerquine for a rational response, but she was on the other side of the courtyard, disappearing into the castle. Flarefist stomped down the steps, hammering his stick and muttering incoherently, and crossed the yard in her wake.

  The ‘guests’ were led away. As I made to leave I caught a queer chuckle close by my shoulder. There stood Hectal. He looked up at me, cocking his head like a knowing bird, innocent cunning in his seamed face.

  ‘Hee-hee!’ he cackled, and touched his finger to his right cheek, drawing down the eyelid. The wind shifted; smoke gathered around the two of us, then blew away. Hectal grinned. He pointed at the sky, then turned and scampered off into the castle.

  Chapter Ten

  Markin, the castle physician, came directly to my chambers in the tower. He examined me and pronounced me not seriously burned. He applied cooling salves and compresses to injured parts, ordered ice to suck and chilled herbal distillations to be sipped, bandaged a knee and advised me to expect blistering and delayed shock.

  Markin had been the family physician for more than two decades. I marked him down for later questioning. In the meantime I had dispatched the servant, Radyerd, to Lord Flarefist and Lady Sheerquine requesting an immediate, urgent audience. Radyerd returned while Markin was still attending to me, with the news that Flarefist and Sheerquine expected me forthwith. I regarded myself in the mirror on the wall, and scarcely recognized my image. Gone were most of my long brown locks. In their place were short, frizzy tufts and shapeless startled strands. My brows and finely trimmed beard and moustache were likewise reduced to spiky, crisp patches. In places the skin was red and black, blistering here and there. The elegant, self-assured young man of an hour ago had been replaced with an unsightly, part-cooked ruin.