Moonblood

by Martin Ash

  Marshilane wept quietly by his side. I caught her eye and she nodded in affirmation of my question.

  ‘You say she was last seen last night?’

  ‘After the banquet, sir.’

  ‘Didn’t you or someone else wake or attend her this morning?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Is that usual?’

  ‘It’s not unusual, sir. Mistress Moonblood often prefers to be left alone. Sometimes she gets up early and goes off, or she stays here studying or playing if she has no lessons or other duties. She likes to be alone sometimes. Generally, if she needs me before breakfast she rings for me.’

  ‘But it’s halfway through the day. Weren’t you concerned earlier?’

  ‘No, sir. Often a good part of the day will go by without my setting eyes on the Mistress. I wouldn’t have thought it odd even today, except for what happened last night and that when I came to make her bed I found this.’ Marshilane’s chin trembled and she gave way to a flood of tears. ‘Oh, the demons, what has become of her?’

  I stepped across the room and drew aside the heavy drape, revealing the secret entrance by which I’d come. ‘Do you know about this?’

  Her face told me that she did not.

  ‘Lord Flarefist?’

  The old fellow looked around blearily. ‘What?’

  ‘Are you aware of the existence of this secret passageway?’

  He closed his eyes, frowning, perplexed. ‘Secret?’

  ‘This passage leads directly to the nursery.’

  Flarefist stirred himself as though with colossal effort, and shuffled towards me. He peered into the blackness of the passage for a long time, then at me. ‘What’s happening here, Bindin? I don’t understand. Why all this?’

  At that moment there was a sharp knock at the door. Flarefist turned slowly. ‘Come,’ he said in an emotionless voice.

  The old sentry from the nursery entered, puffing and red-faced. Evidently he had been all around the wing in search of Lord Flarefist, only to find the old man just along the corridor.

  ‘My lord—‘ he began, then was lost for words as his eyes fell on me.

  ‘He has come to relay a request from myself that I be permitted a weapon in order to safely explore this passage,’ I said.

  ‘You wish to explore it?’ asked Flarefist.

  ‘Not now. I’ve already done so.’

  Flarefist scrutinized me as if uncertain of who I was. His brow furrowed. ‘What’s happened to your face?’

  ‘It was burned, Lord Flarefist. In your fire.’

  His eyes widened. ‘The devils!’ he said with a sudden growl, straightening. ‘The deceivers!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘All of ‘em! Why? What do they hope to gain? Well, I can tell you, they’ll get nothing from me!

  Then the brief fire was gone. He sagged again. He took a shuddering breath, heaved his old shoulders and sighed, shaking his grey had inconsolably from side to side.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he slurred. ‘I just don’t’.

  His stick scraped upon the floor. He turned and made his way slowly from the room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Irnbold has still not found the courage to venture out of his apartment, but he had covered his head. His chosen headpiece was unelaborate, a length of yellow and white cloth, wound so as to cover scalp, ears and nape, its end hanging down his back.

  I told him about Moonblood. He gave a cry of despair and covered his face with his hands.

  ‘Again, it’s something your predictions failed to give warning of.’

  ‘Yes, that’s how Flarefist will see it. Oh, woe! I’m destroyed! He will kill me!’

  ‘I’m not sure—‘

  ‘Did you tell him? Did you make him see that I was accurate and correct in regard to Redlock’s birth.’

  ‘An opportunity hasn’t yet presented itself.’

  ‘Nor will it now. Oh, he will blame me for Mistress Moonblood. He will have me hanged or burned. But I was not called upon to cast Moonblood’s birthchart. How can I be blamed?

  ‘Had you cast it, would you have foreseen this?’

  ‘Who can say what would have been revealed?’

  ‘What if you cast it now? Might it give a clue?’

  Irnbold paused to consider. ‘It may indicate possible negative influences on this day. It cannot be precise about the way in which those influences manifest.’

  ‘In Redlock’s case you were not so restrained.’

  ‘Because of the prophecy! Redlock’s was a birth foretold.’

  ‘Do you know of any more of the prophecy than the part you recited to me?’

  Irnbold looked blank. ‘That is all that I’m aware of. Did you not read it yourself?’

  ‘I did. I simply wondered whether there might be more.’

  He thought for a moment, scratching his cheek with one hand. I noted the swelling around his joints, presumably aggravated by his current emotional state. ‘I did just once hear mention of a bane of some kind, though it’s never been repeated in my hearing since. It was Sardus who spoke of it.’

  ‘Sardus? The Master of Ledgers?’

  ‘The same.’

  ‘He died recently, so I understand.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was the cause of his death?’

  Irnbold shrugged. ‘He was hoary with age. He simply passed on.’

  ‘And there was no one trained to take over his role?’

  ‘It was hardly necessary. Sardus was all but redundant. He appeared from time to time to oversee certain rituals. Apart from that, he merely kept records and accounts, a task which was given to a clerk when Sardus’s eyes grew too weak and his hand too unsteady to write.’

  ‘Tell me about the bane.’

  ‘Truly, Master Dinbig, I’ve said all that I know. It was merely something I overheard Sardus say to Lord Flarefist: “The bane is unproven,” he said, “but I would take pains to ensure all conditions are met.” I took little note at the time. I had no reason to, for I did not know to what it referred. But on reflection it was obvious that they were discomfited by the thought that I might have overheard.’

  ‘ “…ensure that all conditions are met.” That would seem to refer to the conditions laid down in the prophecy.’

  ‘I would think so.’

  ‘And Flarefist, presumably, was happy that all conditions were met.’

  ‘As were we all. You’ve seen the prophecy; everything was in accord.’

  ‘Yet disaster has befallen Ravenscrag.’ I gingerly kneaded my tender jaw between finger and thumb. ‘What can you tell me about Moonblood? You’ve been her teacher, have you not?’

  Irnbold nodded. ‘She has long expressed interest in my craft. With her parents’ permission I began teaching her the rudiments. She is quick to learn, and eager. She asked me to show her magic, believing me to be secretly adept.’

  ‘Are you?’

  Irnbold managed a troubled smile. ‘If I were, would I be here now?’

  ‘I know magic, and I am here.’ I observed his face. ‘Do you like Moonblood?’

  ‘She’s an intelligent, engaging child. I enjoyed the periods we spent together. Others have found her flighty and headstrong. When the fancy takes her, so I understand, she’s capable of wilful disobedience. But that has not been my experience. She seems often preoccupied, though; sometimes impatient, as though her thoughts dwell on matters and goals elsewhere. What can have become of her? Oh, this is tragedy!’

  ‘Tragedy? We don’t know that to be so. Or do you know something you have not confessed?’

  ‘No, no. Of course not. I spoke without thinking.’

  ‘Do you know of the secret way that connects Moonblood’s chamber with the nursery?’

  Irnbold’s anxious eyes widened. ‘No. Is this true?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Then that means…’

  ‘We don’t yet know what it means. Nor can we afford to jump to conclusions. To your knowledge, when not engaged with
her lessons, how does Moonblood occupy her hours?’

  ‘I can’t say with certainty. Apart from when she comes to me for lessons our meetings are infrequent and largely haphazard. We may be present occasionally at the same table, or pass somewhere in the castle. She has a liking for solitude, sometimes taking herself off for hours at a time.’

  ‘Where does she go?’

  ‘I don’t know. Sometimes into the forest, I’ve heard.’

  I recalled my chance meeting with Moonblood the previous evening. ‘Isn’t that dangerous?’

  ‘Evidently it has not been adjudged so.’

  ‘Has she no close companions?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. But truly, I’m not the person to ask. You’d be better enquiring of her mother, or Moonblood’s maid, Marshilane.’

  ‘What of suitors? Moonblood is now of an age, and is not uncomely.’

  ‘There have been a number. Flarefist guards her jealously; he would marry her into House Condark, or elsewhere into a position of advantage and influence. But Mistress Moonblood wants none of it. To her father’s chagrin she has spurned all her admirers bar one.’

  ‘And who is the one?’

  ‘The vagabond, Linvon.’

  ‘Linvon? Linvon the Light? The juggler?’

  ‘She was captivated by him. Enchanted. And he was by no means unheeding of her. But when Flarefist became aware that there existed a reciprocal interest between the two of them, he had Linvon ejected from the castle.’

  ‘But not before Linvon had lifted some of the Ravenscrag silver.’

  Irnbold nodded. ‘Yes, a crafty fellow.’

  ‘Describe him, this Linvon.’

  ‘He’s young, perhaps twenty years of age. Clever, witty, charming in a roguish sort of way. Not at all of the usual run as far as Ravenscrag is concerned. It’s easy to see how Moonblood might be beguiled by his charms.’

  ‘Handsome?’

  ‘Oh, very handsome!’ Irnbold’s eyes held a distant look, a wistful smile touching his purple lips. He grew aware of himself and looked away unhappily.

  ‘Where is he from?’

  ‘No one knows. He came, he went. That, I imagine, is the pattern of his life.’

  ‘And he was here… when?’

  ‘Perhaps two months ago. In the spring.’

  ‘And he hasn’t been seen or heard of since?’

  ‘No.’

  I gave myself to thought. Was Linvon the culprit I sought? Had he taken far more than mere silver? Had he taken Ravenscrag’s daughter?

  Worse, I saw again the bloody garment on Moonblood’s bed – was Linvon her murderer? Was it Linvon who had taken Redlock and replaced him with that squirming, drooling monster?

  I stopped myself. I was in danger of committing the error which just seconds ago I’d warned Irnbold against: leaping to conclusions, impelled by wild speculation, hurling myself without reason into the churning, vivid dark.

  I said, ‘It’s curious. Lord Flarefist vividly recalled Linvon’s theft of the silver, yet made no mention of his “friendship” with his daughter, which in his eyes was surely the greater misdemeanour.’

  ‘Lord Flarefist’s memory is at times, how can I put it… “selective”,’ Irnbold observed. ‘He recalls what he wishes to recall, or perhaps what his mind will allow him to. I suspect worms in the brain. He’s a very sick man.’

  I nodded. ‘Tell me now about the witchery. It was mentioned when I first arrived.’

  ‘A couple of isolated incidents, nothing more. A report came in from a nearby village. Local women were suspicious of a neighbour whose cheeses had ripened too soon. A month later a woman from another village was reported to have taken a were-lover who visited her at night. They were said to have conducted rituals by moonlight. Two peasant children died suddenly, seized by violent fluctions, fever and vomiting.’

  ‘What action was taken?’

  ‘Lord Flarefist sent men to investigate. The women were arrested and examined. In both cases they were found to be marked with the supernumerary nipple. They suffered the mandatory punishment: they were immersed alive in boiling oil. Witchery is greatly feared in these parts.’

  ‘Were they given a trial?’

  ‘The evidence was deemed sufficient in itself to leave no question as to their guilt.’

  ‘Are you, of all people, satisfied with that explanation?’

  Irnbold lowered his eyes. ‘I am not a lawmaker.’

  ‘And they were executed by Flarefist’s command?’

  He nodded. I closed my eyes. Flarefist, for whom I had felt pity.

  But he had never been considered cruel, I reminded myself. Prone to excess, yes. Somewhat cantankerous, and given to bursts of temper. But on the whole just, even benevolent. Until recently. His mental and physical decline had turned him into a despot, a man beyond reason, a law unto himself.

  ‘Who was it who examined these women and discovered the “evidence”? I asked.

  ‘Captain Monsard, I understand.’

  ‘Did he apply to Lord Flarefist before carrying out sentence?’

  ‘I believe not. His orders were sufficient in themselves to permit him a degree of autonomy.’

  ‘No doubt.’ I expelled a long breath between my teeth. ‘Did others see the supernumary nipple?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know for certain. Perhaps Monsard’s sergeant-at-arms. Perhaps not.’

  I shook my head. The deed was done; I couldn’t undo it. I endeavoured to put it out of my mind. ‘Flarefist was concerned about this “spate” of witchery, wasn’t he? Did he fear that something might impend – something of the nature of what we have witnessed here?’

  ‘If he did, he did not confide as much to me.’

  ‘I wonder…’ I mused out loud. Then: ‘Irnbold, this creature, the weird-cub that has taken Redlock’s place, have you ever seen its like?’

  Irnbold shook his head. ‘Never.’

  I rose, baffled. ‘Nor I.’

  The old astrologer reached out and grasped the sleeve of my tunic, his face pained and anxious. ‘Master Dinbig, I’ve done all I can to help you. Now help me if you can. Please. Moonblood’s disappearance… Flarefist will be convinced I know something. Perhaps my fate is already sealed, but speak for me. Please, tell him I am blameless.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can,’ I said. There were tears in his eyes. I squeezed his hand, and he winced with pain, so tender and inflamed were his joints. I apologised. ‘You won’t be harmed. Flarefist and Sheerquine are anxious to have this mystery resolved. They know I rely on you for information. And when I have the information I require, they will see that you are innocent. That is, of course, if everything you’ve told me is true.’

  ~

  Leaving Irnbold I returned to my apartment, had Radyerd bring me quill and ink, and wrote and sealed a brief message. I summoned my guard, Bris. He and Cloverron had been kicking their heels around the castle all day. They were disarmed and quartered in a stable-loft, and from what I gathered had spent the latter hours playing dice and winning good money from off-duty Ravenscrag guards.

  ‘Have you learned anything useful, Bris?’

  He shook his head. ‘The guards are zestless and wary, in their manner and their game. They will not be drawn into conversation. What’s more, they accuse us of cheating when we win!’

  I passed him the letter. ‘Take this to Mistress Cametta at her home, and bring back her reply.’

  The message was a request to visit Cametta, ostensibly to discuss her purchase of certain fineries from the selection I’d brought with me to Ravenscrag. When Bris had departed I went out to speak to Moonblood’s maid, Marshilane.

  I found her in the company of two other members of the castle staff. She was still in a state of some distress and they were endeavouring to comfort her. At my request she agreed to a walk around the castle precincts where we might speak together candidly and in relative privacy. I asked her how long she had been Moonblood’s maid.

  ‘Since she was an infant.’
r />   ‘And presumably you’ve come to know great affection for her.’

  ‘Oh yes, sir. Very much so.’

  ‘Would you say she feels a similar affection for you?’

  ‘Oh, I can’t say as to that, sir. Mistress Moonblood thinks me an old fuddy-duddy and a fusspot. She is always telling me I’m too strict, or old-fashioned, or over-protective. Then sometimes she comes running to me for comfort, or we sit together and she tells me stories, or I tell her, or we read poetry to one another. Sometimes she plays tricks on me, just to make me angry. Then she laughs when I do. And sometimes…’

  Her voice trailed off.

  ‘Yes, Marshilane? Please hold nothing back. It’s important for Mistress Moonblood’s sake that I build up as detailed a picture of her character as I can.’

  ‘Well, sometimes – when she’s peeved, or I’ve had to scold her for some misdemeanour or caprice – she says unkind things.’ Marshilane dabbed at her reddened eyes with a white linen handkerchief. The end of her nose, too, was red from weeping. ‘She calls me uneducated, or stupid, or timid.’

  I looked aside at Marshilane. She was a dumpy woman of average height, in her mid-thirties. Her hair was dark brown, gathered beneath her maid’s cap. There was a reserved, kindly, stolid air about her. I believed her unmarried, and imagined that would probably be unlikely to change. She smiled to herself. ‘Then later she’ll come back and tell me how she’s made herself sad for saying such things, and beg me to forgive her. As if she need ever beg!’

  ‘It sounds to me as though Moonblood is as fond of you as you are of her,’ I said. ‘You say she is also a solitary child?’

  ‘A dreamer. Oh, she’s bright and inquisitive. Always asking questions about things I can’t answer. Always talking about fairies and giants and magic and things. A head full of stuff and nonsense. She even told me she’d met a giant. I don’t know where she gets it all from, I’m sure.’

  ‘Are there giants hereabouts?’

  ‘I’ve never seen one, sir. Nor has anyone else that I know of. I remember my grandfather telling me when I was little that he’d seen giants when he was a young man hunting away in the north. He said there weren’t many left; they were dying out.’