Goblin Moon

by Teresa Edgerton

  "I have never been more certain of anything," said Jenk. "I am prepared to take any risk. But you," he said, suddenly remembering the coldness that still existed between them, on Eirena's account, "you must not think that I would ask you to do anything against your will."

  But Caleb was well and truly caught, too intrigued by the possibilities to back out now. "Guess I would be interested in helping you out, at that. Reckon it's not an opportunity I'd be wise to pass by."

  "Why then," said Jenk, closing the lid of the coffin, "I believe that we shall attempt the conjuration at the dark of the moon, five nights hence.

  CHAPTER 36

  Containing further Stratagems of the Duchess.

  The season of Gathering was advancing, and down in the little wood below the Wichtelberg the leaves on the oaks and the beeches were turning gold. Though the days grew shorter, the weather continued sultry, and the Duchess and her guests had taken up boating, rowing out on the lake in tiny gilded skiffs shaped like walnut shells, or exploring the mysterious waterways of the grotto.

  On the twenty-third day of the season, a baggage-laden coach came rattling up the drive and deposited a man and two women below the house. The Duchess, who was just returning from an outing on the lake, was there to greet them on the lower terrace.

  "My dear Lady Ursula . . . and you Lady Vizbeck . . . how very pleased I am that you were able to come," said the Duchess, in her high sweet voice. "Lord Vizbeck, a pleasure. And I understand that congratulations are in order."

  "Indeed," replied Lady Ursula, removing her hat and her gloves. "We are to marry as soon as the bridegroom comes of age. And I—can you believe it? but I assure you that it is true—I have promised to practice habits of economy."

  "I confess that I find it difficult." The Duchess's smile lost none of its sweetness. She turned toward Lord Vizbeck. "What a very sanguine young man you must be!"

  The Jarl and Elsie, also present, sensed a certain hostility between Lady Ursula and the Duchess. Elsie was too well bred to mention this circumstance, but not so Skogsrå, who broached the subject that same evening, as he escorted the Duchess to her bedchamber after supper.

  "Why is she here, this woman whom you so obviously loathe? Why do you invite her? And you suspect her, too, of stealing your so valuable magic parchment."

  "I invited her—along with her callow bridegroom-to-be and his rather more amusing mother—in order to get at the truth," said the Duchess. "How am I to learn whether she has taken my parchment when she is in Marstadtt and I in Zar-Wildungen?"

  The Jarl raised a single painted eyebrow. "The truth. It seems that we are all here that you may learn the truth. But what have you learned? Miss Sera Vorder—"

  "Remains silent about her grandfather's activities. She has been up to visit the Duke a half a dozen times, and always in Vodni's company, but of Jenk's homunculus or His Grace's supposed patronage, not a single word does she say." The Duchess shook her head disapprovingly. "I cannot believe that she is really so ignorant, and so I redouble my efforts to gain her confidence. Meanwhile, she makes herself exceedingly tiresome—she and Mr. Budge, with all of their snooping and asking questions. I must admit," she added reflectively, "that I am sadly disappointed in Hermes Budge."

  The Jarl made an impatient gesture. "Then send him away."

  "And direct Sera's suspicions toward myself?" asked the Duchess. "Now, that would be extremely foolish. For now, she is willing to believe that you are imposing on my good nature. If she ever learns otherwise . . ." The Duchess tilted her head, and a tiny sigh escaped her. "She will cease to be of potential use to me, and then I shall have to take steps I had rather avoid."

  "It always comes to this," said Skogsrå. "All gives way before the Gracious Lady's consuming interest in Jenk the alchemist and his experiments. And this, I suppose, is the reason you have sent Lord Vodni into Thornburg?"

  "That is so," said the Duchess, "but as Jenk himself did not send for him, I have no way of knowing what sort of welcome Vodni will receive there."

  Vodni returned two days later. The Duchess received him in an elegant salon on the second floor, which was known as the Clock Room, for it housed a large and varied collection of curious old timepieces. There were mantelpiece clocks and long-case grandfather clocks; clocks driven by falling weights, pendulums, and springs; clocks made of wood, metal, crystal . . . indeed, of every conceivable material. In addition, a glassed-in cabinet at one end of the room housed a number of china figurines, each concealing an internal timepiece. The dainty little Duchess, seated on a gilded sofa, looked rather like a part of the collection herself.

  She rose from her seat and greeted the Baron with a glad little cry. "Did Jenk admit you—did you see the child? Pray tell me everything at once!"

  Vodni took her hand by the fingertips and raised it to his lips. "I have seen the homunculus and she is truly amazing: physically perfect, although of course very small, and possessing a certain unusual cast of coloring, which some might even find attractive. Her appearance is that of a tiny woman, and her only real defect, so far as I could discover, is her continued inability to speak."

  The Duchess resumed her seat, fussing and arranging the folds of her skirt in an agitated manner, though her face and her voice remained calm. "She cannot speak; I am scarcely surprised. It is not so very great a failing in one so young. So long—so long, my dear Vodni—as she appears otherwise intelligent?"

  Vodni replied by enumerating Eirena's many accomplishments. "But Jenk himself is inclined to regard her failure to speak as a serious defect. It is for that reason (he tells me) that he was reluctant to receive me. And I understood," he concluded earnestly, "that the Gracious Lady requires a child that is perfect in every respect."

  The Duchess smiled brightly, determined to make light of this supposed shortcoming. "Perfect. Yes, the child must be without any defect. I have suffered so much through the children in the past. But after all, this Eirena of Jenk's, she is virtually an infant!"

  Vodni began to move restlessly around the room. "But of course, you are correct. From the moment of her conception it is not above thirteen weeks. It is only because she appears physically mature and behaves so, too, that one expects so much of her."

  "But the formula," said the Duchess, growing impatient once more. "Were you able to obtain the formula'?"

  Vodni paused beside a large and elaborate timepiece with three different faces, marking the hours, the seasons of the year, and the movements of the planets. The clock-case was constructed entirely of glass revealing a multitude of springs and wheels and whirling gears inside. "Alas," said the Baron, "he denied me the formula, declaring that he will deliver it into the hands of the Duke himself, or not at all. His manner was odd, and (I thought) full of suspicion."

  "How very inconvenient," said the Duchess. "How very tiresome. But it is rather too late for me to confide in the Duke. I suppose we shall be forced to resort to less direct means, that I will have to arrange for the theft of the formula on my return to Thornburg.

  "Not that I am not entitled to the information, and perfectly justified in using any means to obtain it," she added, with a self-righteous toss of her head. "I have already paid a handsome price."

  The Dowager Lady Vizbeck was an energetic woman, with a penchant for long walks whenever she visited the country. Accordingly, she soon attached herself to Sera and Elsie, and insisted on accompanying them on their morning rambles. Sera was glad of her presence, for Jarl Skogsrå, in spite of his bad leg, had become a regular feature on these walks, and the sight of Elsie leaning so confidingly on Skogsrå's arm was a sight that was increasingly difficult for her to bear. It was becoming more and more difficult, too, for Sera to address Lord Skogsrå with even the appearance of civility, so she welcomed the opportunity to walk on ahead with the Dowager, while Elsie and the Jarl trailed behind.

  "Miss Vorder, I am delighted to find your cousin in such excellent health," Lady Vizbeck exclaimed, one morning as they strolled through the
wood in the direction of the ruined chapel. "So rosy, so blooming, so full of vigor as she appears to be. I vow that her recovery has been truly amazing."

  "Yes," said Sera, who could not help being pleased by Elsie's recovery—whatever she might think of Jarl Skogsrå and his methods. "Elsie is nearly as strong now as I am myself. And if it were not for her occasional spells, I would have nothing more to wish for."

  The chapel in the wood was wanting a roof, and the stained-glass windows had long since been removed. But the stonework was still very fine, though considerably weathered, and late-flowering vines wreathed the statues of the Seasons behind the altar.

  "I think it exceedingly romantic," said Elsie, and an intimate glance passed between her and the Jarl. "I am so glad that the Duke refused to tear it down."

  "Yes indeed," said the Dowager, "it is a very pretty spot. It reminds me, just a little, of the Chapel of the Seasons at the cathedral—after it burned down and before they rebuilt it. I daresay you don't remember the original chapel, for it was destroyed—Let me see, it must have been the same year you were born. It can't have been earlier, for you were named in the original chapel. I remember the occasion very well."

  "Did you attend the ceremony, Lady Vizbeck?" Elsie asked politely. "And the Duchess, I suppose she was there when I was named, as well. It is the reason that she likes to think of me as her godchild."

  "The Duchess?" Lady Vizbeck gave a surprised little laugh. "But of course she was not there, and that was the cause of all the fuss."

  Sera who had not really been listening to this conversation, began to attend with great interest, for she had often wondered about the circumstances surrounding Elsie's naming, and how, against all custom, Elsie had acquired an "unlucky" thirteenth godparent.

  "I had no idea," said Sera, sitting down on a slab of mossy stone by the altar, "that the ceremony did not go smoothly."

  "It was all because of the Duchess," Lady Vizbeck explained, sitting down beside Sera and opening her fan. "She had been originally chosen as one of the sponsors, but she arrived over two hours late. You can easily imagine what a flutter poor Clothilde was in—the guests all waiting—the bishop growing impatient—to say nothing of the other eleven who had other engagements that same day. In the end, Clothilde grew desperate and persuaded Lady Wurzbach to stand up as the twelfth. Marella arrived just as Clothilde and the baby were leaving the chapel, and she went into a terrible rage!"

  The Dowager turned to Elsie. "You have never, I suppose, seen the Duchess in a rage? It does not happen often, for in general she is the soul of good nature—then, too, being that she is the Duchess, people are always so eager to oblige her.

  "Well . . . she was angry enough on this occasion," Lady Vizbeck went on, delighted to have such an interested audience. Even the Jarl, who was leaning against the ruined altar, bent a little forward, as if intent on hearing every word she uttered. "'Of course I am late. I always come late!' said Marella. 'And I think you might have taken that into account and made your arrangements accordingly!' And that was certainly true.

  "You will not remember this," she added, "but the Duchess and your mama were polite but distant for many years afterwards. I do not perfectly recall when it was that the Duchess and Clothilde mended their quarrel."

  "But I remember," said Elsie. "I was ten years old, and Mama and I met the Duchess at the cathedral. She embraced me and called me her goddaughter—I admit that I was very much surprised. I suppose," she added reflectively, "that the Duchess derives some consolation for her disappointment, by pretending that it is actually so."

  But Sera shook her head. "Yet I find it very strange. Were I in the same position as the Duchess, I do not think that I would care to be reminded of an occasion when I had felt so dreadfully insulted."

  "Indeed," said Lady Vizbeck, "I am inclined to agree with you. But there is never any accounting for the Duchess and her whims!"

  The season was drawing to a close, and soon the Duchess and her houseguests would return to Marstadtt. Determined to end her sojourn in the country with some spectacular display, some magnificent entertainment that would leave the Duke's neighbors marveling at her ingenuity, she eventually decided on a masked ball, to be held on the night of the next full moon. She had ten days to make the arrangements: to write up the invitations and send them out to the neighboring gentry and Zar-Wildungen nobility, to plan the menu and conceive the decorations—but the Duchess (being, as Lady Vizbeck had so rightly characterized her, a creature of whim and caprice) was used to arranging festivities on such short notice and she took up the challenge with considerable relish.

  She was also arranging another, smaller affair, to take place on the same evening, but for that her plans (of necessity) were attended by a certain amount of secrecy. Only Jarl Skogsrå was in her confidence. They discussed the matter one afternoon, while the Duchess sat by the great iron aviary in the garden, watching the antics of the ape Sebastian, as he cavorted among the trees and the vines, and teased the birds of bright plumage.

  "It is a pity that the chapel is so unsuitable, considering that Elsie has taken such a fancy to the place. But the nights are growing colder, and I am afraid we must be practical."

  "Elsie," said Skogsrå, "need not be considered. She is scarcely like to notice her surroundings. Nor will she have eyes or ears for anyone but me. You may count on me to make certain of that."

  "Very true," said the Duchess. "Well then, we must give thought to the witnesses. I shall be Elsie's, of course, and for you the Duke—"

  "I do not want the Duke," said Skogsrå. "With all due respect to His Excellency, I had far rather have Vodni."

  The Duchess was surprised. "Vodni? But between you and Lord Vodni there is—"

  "—there is no love between us. But there are other bonds," said the Jarl. "And Vodni is the one that I choose."

  The Duchess shook her head. "Vodni will be occupied elsewhere."

  "That is true," said Skogsrå, showing his teeth. "But he has such energy, this Nicolai Vodni, surely he can do all in one night."

  Rising from her seat, the Duchess picked up her parasol and slipped her arm through his. "As you wish, then. You must please yourself in this matter."

  They wandered through the gardens for some time, among the statues and the fountains. The Duchess was in good spirits, but the Jarl felt uneasy. "I cannot help but wonder," he said at last, "why it is that you are so eager to assist me to my heart's desire. Do not think me ungrateful, for my gratitude in this matter must naturally be commensurate with the intensity of my craving. But so long as I fail to understand the Gracious Lady's interest in this matter, I cannot help feeling as though I were no more than a pawn in some deeper game of her own."

  He stopped and fixed the Duchess with an intent stare. "Why have you chosen Elsie, so gentle and inoffensive as she is? You have some quarrel, as I have heard, with her mother, but as for the girl herself: what has she ever done to harm or insult you?"

  The Duchess opened her parasol, spent several long moments adjusting the ruffles and the ribbons before she answered him. "She has never harmed me, but she was the occasion for an insult, and by all the laws and customs of the Fees, that is every bit as bad. I am not so much my father's daughter that I am able to explain that, but I am fairy enough to feel it instinctively."

  She took up his arm again, with a weary little sigh. "And it is not that I feel no regret, for indeed—indeed Lord Skogsrå, I do. Just as, in an entirely different way, I must suppose your own peculiar instincts exact an equally peculiar penalty.

  "We are as we were made," said the Duchess, as they headed in the direction of the house. "And if we must suffer for that, in our separate ways . . . then so must Elsie."

  CHAPTER 37

  Which takes the Reader back Several days to the

  night of the Dark of the Moon.

  The moon-faced clock in the bookshop was chiming half past ten, when Gottfried Jenk and Caleb Braun stepped out onto the cobblestone street and loc
ked the door behind them.

  Caleb carried a covered lanthorn, Jenk a basket, a crowbar, and a roll of papers. The bookseller had spent much of the previous day enscribing mysterious-looking characters and sonorous passages from Catalana's Book of Silences and the rest of the time gathering together the paraphernalia he needed to effect the conjuration.

  Clouds covered the sky, swallowing up the stars. A damp breeze blew in off the water. The two old men were heading for the cemetery behind the cathedral. Caleb felt a bit put out; he saw no reason to go so far. "Don't see no point in going to no graveyard, when the body's back there at the bookshop. Tomfoolery, just plain tomfoolery, that's what I call it! And supposing we conjure the wrong ghost?"

  "The spells specify a graveyard." Jenk spoke tensely. They had argued again about Eirena on the day the Duke's man came to see her, and he and Caleb had been eyeing each other warily ever since. But they were both in too deep, far too deep, to seriously consider dissolving their partnership now.

  "In Necromancy, as in every species of magic," he went on, "it is essential to observe the correct forms. And I bring the medallion with me, and a scrap of cloth from his robe. Yes, it did begin to disintegrate the moment it left the coffin, but even a handful of dust will serve our purpose. There is no possibility of summoning up the wrong ghost."

  "Aye . . . maybe," Caleb sniffed. "I guess you'd know all that better'n me. But if we've got to go to a graveyard, ain't there a perfectly good boneyard on Fishwife Hill, and no one like to take any notice—supposing they catch sight of us, poking about?"

  But Jenk was set on the cathedral graveyard. "This is a mighty conjuration that we hope to perform, and it were best accomplished in suitably impressive surroundings."

  Ominous sounds filled the night: a stifled cry followed by a splash down by the river—a skittering and a squeaking of rats in the shadows. With the moon dark, there was no danger of an encounter with hobs, but when Caleb thought he heard furtive footsteps following behind him, he pulled out a long knife he kept tucked in his belt, and allowed the blade to flash in the light of a street lamp as he walked by. Beside him, Jenk tightened his grip on the crowbar.