Moonblood

by Martin Ash

  ‘Not that I noticed, sir. I had to pass the door to the banqueting hall, so I saw all of you there. And there were servants in the kitchen.’

  ‘But nobody up here?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘How did you come to get the position of wet-nurse to Redlock?’

  ‘My own child was born dead, sir. Just five days ago. I’ve been scullery-maid here for the past three years, so her ladyship made me wet-nurse.’

  ‘Do you know who else is lodged on this level?’

  ‘His lordship and her ladyship have their apartments here, sir. At the far end, just around the corner. And Mistress Moonblood – her chambers are along the passage.’

  ‘Anybody else?

  ‘Master Hectal, sir. He has rooms further along, in the tower.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll probably want to talk to you again later. For now, this good fellow will escort you back to your room. Thank you for helping me, Blonna, and don’t be afraid. You will not be harmed.’

  The poor girl threw me a stricken look as she followed the sentry out. I stood alone, gazing around the nursery. I hoped I was right. I hoped I could guarantee her safety.

  Chapter Eleven

  It came to me then, quite suddenly, as I stood puzzling over the enigma of Redlock’s abduction. It was actually staring me in the face: nobody had entered the nursery while Blonna dozed. They had not needed to. Because someone, or something, was already there!

  The culprit had entered the nursery much earlier, had remained there awaiting an opportunity to abduct or magically transform the child. He, she, or it, could only have entered in Blonna’s absence. Blonna had been absent only at the beginning of the banquet, when Flarefist was presenting his newborn son to his guests.

  I stared at the great black monolith that towered against one wall. The only other explanation was that Blonna was lying – and that I did not believe.

  No! One further possibility: the fireplace. I made a cursory inspection, and rejected it. Certainly, someone of unusually slender build might have entered via the flue. But they could never have done so without displacing a large amount of soot, which would have fallen into and around the fireplace. The fireplace was clean but for a few particles of lint and wood splinters.

  I advanced to the armoire and opened its heavy doors. This time, as I poked my head inside, I looked for something specific. I was not disappointed. The layer of dust on the floor of the armoire showed signs of disturbance, as if somebody had recently been within.

  I climbed inside. I drew closed the doors and sat down. A slim shaft of light pierced the dark through a small crack where one door did not meet flush with the central pillar of its frame. With an eye to this crack I was able to view much of the room, just as our faceless intruder would have done. I could see quite clearly the table and the door, and the area where Redlock’s crib had stood.

  This intruder, then, had waited until Blonna slept. I wondered, had her tiredness been induced? A drug in her drink or food? I would ask her what she had eaten or drunk that evening, though it was hardly more than an academic point.

  So, the felon had removed the water, knowing that Blonna would have to fetch more. And when she did, obliging soul, the door of armoire had opened. An unknown had crept forth, had abducted or performed perverse magic upon Redlock, then left via the nursery door.

  Abducted, or transformed?

  If Redlock had been abducted, the kidnapper must have brought with him the monstrous little creature that was put in the baby’s place. But could the creature have been kept silent during the entire time it was held there in the armoire? This was a period of up to two hours. From my brief acquaintance with the creature I deemed it highly unlikely.

  I was looking, then, at magic. Very powerful magic. That scrabbling monster which Flarefist had thrown into the flames was in fact his newborn son and heir, Redlock.

  A chill ran down my spine. With what were we dealing here?

  ~

  I decided to talk to the astrologer, Irnbold. He was quartered in an area of the castle towards the east wing. There was no guard upon his door; Flarefist had assumed correctly that the old astrologer would be too terrified to emerge from his apartment.

  Irnbold did not immediately answer my knock. When I knocked again I heard, after some delay, a movement inside, then a low voice, ‘Who is it?’

  I announced myself and my purpose. There was a sliding of bolts and a lifting of latches. The door opened a little way. Irnbold peered nervously out. His eyes, wide beneath startlingly thick, dark eyebrows, darted over me then into the passage beyond, fearful of any company I might have brought.

  Inside I came straight to the point. ‘I’m most curious as to your manner, your utter, apparently unshakeable confidence regarding your predictions concerning Redlock’s birth.’

  That confidence was notably absent now. Irnbold quailed before me, quite drunk but unfortified. He wrung his thin hands. His old-young face, with its long purple nose and purple cheeks threaded with broken veins, was etched with anxiety. He wore no flamboyant costume today, just a simple green robe. His head was uncovered, which to my knowledge was unusual. For the first time I saw his pate. It was completely hairless, the skin shrivelled and mottled red and white, and curiously criss-crossed with pale bluish scars and markings which extended over the back of his neck and his ears.

  ‘It was in the heavens,’ he declared, swaying. ‘It was written there, plain to see.’

  I glanced about me. We were in Irnbold’s work-area, which occupied a large part of the chamber in which we stood. On tables and shelves were tomes large and small, ancient and modern, plus the various arcane instruments, aids and bric-a-brac which an astrologer utilizes in plying his trade.

  I shook my head. ‘Too precise. The entire castle was of a mind. You seemed infected, unnaturally so. Normal astrological predictions cannot account for that extraordinary certainty.’

  ‘But I was correct! Don’t you see?’ He swung his arms in an exaggerated gesture which caused his balance to falter. He gathered himself. ‘The child was born on the day and the hour that I predicted. It was a boy, as I said it would be.’

  ‘You did not say he would be abducted, or transformed by magic into an unrecognizable monstrosity. Why could you not predict that?’

  Irnbold stared at me fretfully. His hands pecked at one another in agitation. ‘That was a random event. It was not in the stars.’

  ‘Just so. Your craft is not infallible, your predictions may at any time be rendered invalid by the unforeseen. Yet you treated Redlock’s birth as if it had already occurred, as if there was no possible question as to its successful outcome. And somehow you managed to persuade Flarefist and others to your point of view, to an extent beyond all reason.’

  ‘It was not only I.’

  ‘I’m aware of that. But I suspect yours was the most persuasive voice.’

  With an anguished groan Irnbold slumped onto a chair. He groped for a mug and a flask of spirits which rested on a table beside him. ‘Can you protect me?’

  ‘As to that, I can’t say positively. If I’m successful in solving this mystery I think your life will be spared.’

  He filled his mug, slopping the dark amber liquid over himself as he did so. ‘I’m finished here.’

  ‘That may well be so. But if I’m able to say to Lord Flarefist and Lady Sheerquine that you gave me your utmost cooperation, you may yet leave here with all your bodily parts intact.’

  ‘There’s little else to tell you. I made my charts, they showed that all would be well. Elmag, with her gift of farsight, arrived at the same conclusion quite independently. When we met and compared our findings we were amazed. Amazed! The concurrence was absolute. And everything accorded with the Prophecy.’

  ‘Prophecy? What prophecy?’

  Irnbold belched. ‘The Ravenscrag Prophecy.’

  ‘I’m unacquainted with it.’

  Irnbold’s dark eyebrows lifted, then fell again. The mug slewed in his
hand. He began to recite, haltingly, slurring his words:

  ‘O you have witnessed Ravenscrag’s sorrowful decline,

  see ye now assembled ‘neath the concealed moon,

  before the solstice nigh.

  On the second eve, make merry!

  For four must perish since the blood of the moon was spilled,

  but that done, one at last will come.

  A boy! You will know him by his head of flame.

  He shall step from the fiery hand.

  He shall render Ravenscrag anew.

  Look! The skies!

  Darkness and decay have ended.

  Regard the light that falls on Ravenscrag!

  Rejoice, then! Lift up your hearts and sing!

  You will know him, Ravenscrag’s salvation.

  Your days of ashes are done.

  I sat perfectly still. Irnbold’s long fingers scratched at his scrawny thigh. His knee bobbed rapidly up and down, his hands incessantly mobile. His head lolled upon his shoulders, then tipped forward as though the weight was too great to bear. I stared at the strange markings on his scalp.

  ‘From where does this prophecy come?’

  ‘From the most ancient days.’ He spoke into his breastbone. ‘It’s inscribed upon an ancient scroll kept in the castle archives. There’s more to it, but that is the relevant part.’ He lifted his head and with an effort leaned towards me. ‘But d’you see? Everything is there. Redlock’s coming, the circumstances. It’s all described there. It all fits. That’s why we were so sure.’

  My thoughts seemed to revolve in a slow whirl as they picked their way around his words. This was extraordinary. Everything apparently did fit.

  The second eve of the concealed moon, before the solstice nigh. Redlock had been born on the second eve of darkmoon, and the summer solstice was due later this month.

  Four must perish since the blood of the moon was spilled. Sheerquine had lost four infants since giving birth to her only daughter, Moonblood.

  You will know him by his head of flame. He shall step from the fiery hand. I recalled my one and only sight of the newborn child; how striking was his bright red hair.

  And the fiery hand? Surely Flarefist, his father?

  ‘I would like to see this prophecy in its written form.’

  ‘Then apply to Flarefist or Sheerquine.’

  I peered at his shrivelled old dome. The strange markings were aged and no longer clear, but I could see now what they were. I said, ‘What was your crime in Kimar?’

  Irnbold started. His free hand flew to his unprotected scalp; his drink spilled from his mug. His face registered dismay as he realized his omission: that in drunkenness and terrified distraction he had forgotten to cover his head. He glared at me with hostility, then his eyes brimmed with tears. Miserably he slumped back in his chair. ‘I loved someone.’

  ‘In itself that is no crime, there or anywhere.’

  Kimar is a nation in the south, on the shores of the great Yphasian Ocean. It had once been a member-state of the mighty Thonce-Hunvut Confederation.

  ‘I loved a boy, younger than I.’

  I nodded. Irnbold hid his brow with one hand. ‘He was beautiful, so beautiful. Strong, brave, highly intelligent. He was the son of a man of influence. It was many years ago. I was twenty-two.’

  ‘How old was the boy?’

  Irnbold spoke softly. ‘Fourteen.’

  ‘Is Kimar your birthplace?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you’ve never been back.’

  ‘I cannot. I was mutilated. They burned off my hair and scored me with the marks of deviancy. I’m under sentence of death should I return.’

  ‘And since then?’

  ‘I wandered, far and wide. Eventually Ravenscrag became my home.’

  ‘Do Flarefist and Sheerquine know anything of this?’

  He shook his head. ‘I have always kept my head covered. Even had I not, I doubt that any Wansirian would know the significance of these marks, but it was better that they asked no questions.’ He dropped his hand and looked at me, his features gaunt. ‘Did I deserve this, a lifetime of misery, simply for loving someone? I’ve never forgotten him, you know.’

  I was unwilling to speak. I knew that his punishment had not stopped at a scouring of the head. Mutilation for crimes was commonplace in Kimar. Irnbold would never have loved another since that time, at least not in the physical sense.

  And now he faced banishment again, if he survived. He had been arrogant, had perhaps even deliberately misrepresented what he knew in order to win favour for himself. But did he deserve such punishment?

  What was just? What was deserved? I could not say. I wondered where he would go.

  ‘Will you tell them?’ he asked.

  ‘I see no reason to, unless it is somehow relevant to this investigation.’

  Perhaps encouraged, he leaned towards me again, imploring, ‘Impress upon Flarefist that I was right. I correctly predicted Redlock’s birth, and that was all I was asked to do. Tell him that. Make him see.’

  Chapter Twelve

  There was a commotion in the inner ward as I made my way back from Irnbold’s apartment to the main wing of the castle. Two soldiers were manhandling a woman in the direction of the gaol. She was struggling and loudly protesting. I changed direction to intercept them. Drawing close, I recognized the prisoner as old Elmag, the farseer.

  Her wizened, wispy-grey-bearded face was bloody, as was the front of her blue peasant’s smock. I halted in front of them. ‘What’s happening here?’

  ‘We’ve brought her in. She tried to escape.’ The soldier who spoke was young, plump, with piggy eyes and hot cheeks. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Darean Monsard approaching from the gatehouse.

  ‘They beat me!’ cried the old woman. ‘Me! I’m frail, I’m old, I can’t defend myself, but they beat me. Cowards! Poltroons!’

  She threw back her head and spat into pig-eyes’ face. His lip curled. He raised a fist to strike her. I stepped in quickly and grasped his wrist. ‘What precisely were your orders?’

  It was Darean Monsard who replied. ‘To find the hag, wherever she might be hiding, and bring her back to the castle.’

  ‘Captain Monsard, did you instructions include inflicting violence upon the woman?’

  ‘My instructions, Master Dinbig, included curtailing her life if I deemed it requisite under the circumstances. As it happens, she tried to abscond into the woods when we found her, and I might well have ordered my men to put a couple of crossbow-bolts into her ragged old hide, but I refrained. But when we caught her and she struggled like a demented nanny-goat, a punch or two became necessary to subdue her. Does that answer your question?’

  I was uncertain of myself. I knew that a word could put me under Monsard’s brutal charge. Facing him, I had no delusions. He would be proficient in the application of torture. Knowing what he would know, I could be assured he would make my suffering endure, and relish every moment of it. I said, ‘Captain, I would cordially remind you that I am appointed by your liege-lord to conduct an investigation into the disappearance of his son and heir. This woman is a vital witness who can possibly provide invaluable evidence. She may be innocent of any crime. Please bear this in mind.’

  ‘If she comes to the gaol without a struggle she’ll suffer no further discomfort,’ said Monsard, tonelessly.

  I turned to Elmag. ‘I’d advise that you do as he asks. I’ll speak to Lord Flarefist and insist that you be kept safe. I’ll come and speak to you in due course.’

  ‘All I did was what I was asked,’ bleated the old woman, unwittingly echoing Irnbold’s parting sentiment to me of just moments before. ‘I don’t know anything about last night.’

  ‘Then why did you flee like a frightened rabbit?’ asked Monsard, prising something from between his teeth with the nail of one forefinger.

  ‘I knew what would happen. And I was right, wasn’t I?’

  ‘If you’re innocent no harm will come to you,’
I told her. ‘It’s better to go with them quietly.’

  I exchanged a loaded glance with Monsard. He nodded to his men, and the old woman was led away.

  ~

  I came upon Lady Sheerquine in the banqueting hall. She was supervising the last of the clearing-up operation from the night before. I watched her for a moment before announcing my presence. She was remarkable: robust, vigorous. It was hard to believe she had given birth less than twenty-four hours earlier.

  ‘Your ladyship, Elmag the farseer has been brought in. I understand your men were given orders that did not preclude killing her.’

  ‘Only should the situation warrant, Master Dinbig.’ She did not look at me.

  ‘Such a condition offers wide scope for interpretation. I wish to interview her later on. I would be grateful if you could ensure that she is both alive and in a condition to speak, and is generally well-cared for.’

  ‘I shall send word.’ She gestured irritably at a lackey polishing an escutcheon upon the wall. ‘You’ve moved it, you fool! Place it back as it was!’

  ‘Lady Sheerquine, why did you not mention the Ravenscrag prophecy?’

  Sheerquine elevated her chin with an abrupt movement, arching her elegant neck. She turned and surveyed me coolly down the length of her fine nose. ‘Is it important?’

  ‘By the account I’ve been given, you have adjudged it of prime importance.’

  ‘You’ve been talking to whom? Irnbold?’

  I nodded. ‘As regards my investigation I think this prophecy might be of incalculable relevance. May I see it in its original form?’

  Lady Sheerquine sighed. ‘This is tiresome. It was in the care of Sardus, Master of Ledgers. But he died two months ago and it’s not easy to find a replacement.’

  ‘Is there no one else who can show me?’

  She twitched. ‘Oh, very well. I shall take you myself. Follow me.’

  Walking straight and erect she led me along passages deep into the castle, to areas I had never been. At one point she paused to light a candle at a sconce. We moved on, through lightless places, through air heavy with must and age. At length Lady Sheerquine halted before a small arched portal. She produced an iron key from somewhere and unlocked the door, which opened with a doleful groan of hinges.