Goblin Moon (15 page)

“No, no, I assure you. There will be nothing like the
convulsions you have seen at the doctor’s establishment,” he
hastened to add, as Elsie blanched and averted her face. “These
violent reactions, as the body seeks to rid itself of disease,
these are not common in cases like your own. For you, I promise,
there will only be healthful sleep and sweet dreams—and perhaps a
little medicine which I shall prescribe for you, very pleasant to
the taste. Now what do you say to that?”

Elsie hesitated. “But my dear sir, you are too kind!”
said her mother. “Elsie can have no objection, no objection at
all.”

“But what does Elsie herself say?” insisted the Jarl,
holding her cold little hand to his heart and leaning forward to
listen, in that way he had, as if every word she deigned to speak
were of shattering importance.

Yet still Elsie hesitated. She looked to her father
for advice, but that large gentleman had allowed his attention to
wander elsewhere and was staring at the sky. And when she applied
to Sera, the older girl only shook her head, indicating that the
decision was for Elsie alone to make.

In truth, Sera liked this scheme no better than she
liked the Jarl, yet she could not explain her objection to the one
without first explaining her dislike of the other, and that she
could not do. Moreover, she knew that however vigorously she argued
against this proposal, Cousin Clothilde and the Duchess would argue
just as vigorously in favor of it, and then poor Elsie would be
caught in the middle. Her recent disagreement with her mother had
already cost Elsie so dearly, in terms of her peace of mind, it
seemed as though any treatment which the Jarl might devise would be
preferable to continued discord in the Vorder household.

“Well . . .” said Elsie, bestowing a tremulous smile
on the Jail, “it does not sound so very bad, after all. I think I
would like it a good deal better than some of the other treatments
I have had.”

Everyone except Sera was plainly delighted. “You are
a wise child and have made a wise decision,” exclaimed the Duchess,
giving Elsie another kiss.

But Sera thought she saw something, a glance and a
slight pressure of the hand, pass between Elsie and the Jarl, and
something in that gesture disturbed her. As the doctor took his
obsequious leave, and the others began to stroll in the direction
of the cathedral, Sera kept Elsie back and whispered in her
ear:

“Dear Elsie . . . you are not falling in love with
Jarl Skogsrå?”

“No, I am not,” said Elsie, so emphatically and with
such a decided nod of her head that Sera could not doubt her. “I
own that I find him very attractive, but there is nothing more to
it than that. And yet he looks to be a man who has seen and
experienced much suffering. and I find him utterly
fascinating.”

He has the look of a man who has
been the
cause
of much suffering
.
That was how Sera wanted to reply, but she had resolved not to
malign the Jarl unjustly. “He is clearly a man of exceptional
parts,” she admitted.

“But don’t you think that his manners have improved?”
Elsie said, as they hurried to catch up with the others. “He spoke
to you yesterday so kindly and so considerately, that I began to
wonder whether we might not have been wrong in supposing him so
very rude in the first place.”

Arm in arm, they climbed the broad stone steps to the
cathedral and entered the dark vastness of the ancient church. They
were not—as Clothilde Vorder had feared—late for the service, so
they had no trouble finding an empty box pew near the front of the
church.

Elsie’s father took a seat at the end of the stall
and promptly fell asleep under the carven figure of an owl-eyed
gargoyle. Jarl Skogsrå folded his arms with the look of a man who
was preparing to be bored, and Mistress Vorder and the Duchess
(with the indigo ape in her lap) arranged their skirts, took out
their fans, and entered into an animated conversation. But Elsie
and Sera knelt down on the green plush prayer stools, folded their
hands dutifully, and proceeded to pray.

Even with her head bowed and her eyes closed, Sera
was acutely aware of the beauty of the cathedral. As a child, she
had accompanied her grandfather to the Church of All Seasons, a
lovely old church that would always hold a special place in her
memory. On her first visit to the cathedral, the huge building
struck her as cold and rather daunting. By now, however, the
cathedral and its splendid architecture had long since captured her
heart and her imagination: the great stone pillars soaring upward
to support a magnificent vaulted ceiling, the wonderful rose
windows depicting the Seven Fates, or planetary intelligences, as
glorious winged figures glowing in jewel-like colors . . . these
never failed to inspire Sera to higher and better thoughts. Perhaps
best of all she loved to hear the deep voice of the ancient organ
competing with the joyous clamor of the bells.

When the music of the bells finally faded, the
organist struck a particularly thunderous chord, and the entire
congregation rose. There was a brief rustling of paper as everyone
opened hymnals and leafed through them in search of the proper
page. Then, with one voice, the congregation burst into song.

As they sang, the bishop approached the altar,
followed by a long procession of black-robed clerics and
white-robed choir boys, water sprinklers and thurifers, and solemn
little acolytes carrying embroidered banners. When the hymn ended
the congregation fell silent again. Then the bishop raised his
hands and began to recite the litany:

Then the Father of All created
the Heavens and the Earth . . . and the Creator assigned the Days
of the week and the Ordering of the Planets to the Seven Fates; and
to the Nine Powers he assigned the Ordering of the Year and the
population of the Earth
. . .

And the Nine Powers (or Seasons)
brought forth all the Creatures of the Earth and all the races of
Rational Beings, each according to his or her own Nature . .
.

When the service ended, Sera and Elsie closed their
hymnals, took up their prayerbooks, and followed Mistress Vorder
and the Duchess back up the aisle. “Do look, Sera,” said Elsie,
pausing just inside the great oak doors and touching her cousin
lightly on the arm. “That boy looks exactly like Jedidiah
Braun.”

Sera looked where Elsie indicated. In a low pew near
the back of the church sat a party of dwarves, decent and
prosperous in appearance. The only Man among them was a tall youth
in a plain suit of brown wool and a cherry-colored waistcoat. His
hair was lightly powdered, making it impossible to guess the exact
shade, but he had a good face, adorned by a pair of earnest dark
eyes, and his shoulders were broad and capable-looking.

Sera was amused by the resemblance. “The features are
very like, and the pigtail, too, but—“ Catching Sera staring at
him, the boy turned pink with embarrassment. “May the Fates
preserve us, it
is
Jed! But how came he
here, dressed so fine, and in such unexpected company?”

“He—he looks very well,” said Elsie, turning nearly
as pink as Jed himself.

“Indeed he does . . . so brown and healthy . I expect
that his new occupation—whatever it may be—suits him very well,”
Sera replied.

But Elsie shook her head. “I meant,” she said, in a
breathless little voice, “that he appears quite the gentleman.”

Sera looked at her sharply, detecting something in
Elsie’s face and manner now which had
not
been there earlier when she spoke of her attraction to Jarl
Skogsrå.

Heavens above
, thought Sera,
this will never do!
That Jed admired Elsie
was no secret. It was all perfectly harmless, for Jed was a good
boy who knew his place (if anything, he was at times a little
too
conscious): he would never fall prey
to unrealistic hopes, or make improper advances. But if Elsie were
to fall in love with Jed, nothing could come of that but heartbreak
and disappointment for everyone concerned.

“Do you think—do you not think it would be a nice
show of courtesy if we were to stop and speak to him?” asked
Elsie.

“I certainly do not,” replied Sera very decidedly.
“We have not been introduced to any of his friends, you know, and
perhaps they are not people with whom we ought to be acquainted.”
And, determined to do all in her power to avert disaster, she took
Elsie by the arm and whisked her out of the church and down the
steps.

So hastily and so heedlessly did they descend that,
at the foot of the steps, Sera collided with a slender gentleman in
apricot satin and gold lace. Blushing furiously, she disentangled
herself.

“L-Lord Skelbrooke. I do beg your pardon.”

Francis Skelbrooke bent to pick up the fan and the
prayerbook which had fallen out of her hands during their
collision. “Pray do not apologize. I can assure you that it was
entirely a pleasure,” he replied gently, and Sera blushed more
painfully than before.

He handed over the fan and the prayerbook, and then
turned his attention to Elsie. “And you, Miss Vorder, how do you
do, this fine day?”

Elsie, still pink and breathless from the sight of
Jed in all his splendor, replied faintly that she did very
well.

“Indeed?” said Lord Skelbrooke, looking from one
flushed and excited face to the other, and raising an eyebrow in
well-bred astonishment. “It must have been . . . a most remarkable
sermon. I regret that I was not present to hear it. Yet it is no
more than I deserve, for arriving so late.”

Sera tried desperately to remember the text of the
sermon and failed. With an heroic effort, she struggled to compose
herself. “The sermon was not particularly inspired, but the
music—the organ and the choir—“

“Ah, yes, the music,” said Lord Skelbrooke, taking
her hand and raising it to his lips. “I had forgotten, madam, that
you and your cousin were musically inclined. The grand old organ
and the heavenly choir . . . you must tell me all about them,
indeed you must.”

When Jed came home that night, carrying two thick
cloth-bound books under his arm, he found Uncle Caleb waiting up
for him, sitting in the little rocking chair by the fire.

“You look mighty fine . . . hair powder and all,” the
old man said, with a snort. “I see you brung home more books.
Geography and mathematics! Does that bottlemaker of yours imagine
he’s educating you for a gentleman?”

“He
imagines
that he’s
educating me to be of some use to him,” said Jed. “He’s expanding
his business outside of Marstadtt, and I’m to be in charge of the
foreign accounts. As for the hair powder, I been to church, and I
didn’t want to put Master Ule and his family to no—to
any
shame, that’s all.”

“Been to church?” said Caleb. “I been to church a
time or two in my life, and I never heard yet there was any shame
in a man appearing there in his own natural hair.”

Jed kicked off his shoes, sat down on the edge of the
lower bunk. “Well then, there isn’t. But we had dinner afterwards,
at Master Ule’s, and he gave me a hint afore—
before
time, his old mother is awful fine and she
don’t sit down to the table with anyone who don’t—who
doesn’t
dress for it.”

“Had dinner at home with dwarves?” Caleb sat up a
little straighter and began to look interested. “Your Master Ule .
. . he lives in one of thern dwarf mansions, does he?”

In his time, Caleb had been acquainted with very few
dwarves, but it was no secret they were a luxurious race. Even
dwarves of modest means lived in grand houses, sometimes pooling
the resources of several families to erect their lofty mansions of
stone, as ornate on the inside (it was said) as they were on the
outside, with elaborate pillars and pediments and balustrades,
fountains of porphyry, onyx, and white marble, and cavernous
high-ceilinged chambers which reminded them of their origins in the
caverns of the north. Caleb had never set foot inside one, but he
knew (or thought that he knew) what the mansions of the dwarves
were like. “Don’t hold out on me, lad—tell me everything you
seen.”

Jed stood up, stripped off his coat, and hung it
carefully on a peg on the wall. He knew all the same tales that
Caleb knew and while it was true that Master Ule’s home was very
old, very beautiful, and filled with fine things, there was nothing
on the scale that Caleb was obviously expecting.

“It was, the grandest home
I
ever been in,” he allowed at last. “We must of climbed fifty stairs
just to reach the second floor and old Madam Ule’s parlor. There
wasn’t no shortage of velvet draperies, or painted china, or
crystal goblets, or silver teapots—most of it real old, and been in
the family for hundreds of years, I guess. Them dwarves take real
good care of their things.”

He pulled up one of the unreliable chairs and sat
down by the fire. “It was old Madam Ule as lent me them books—they
set a great store by education, all the Ules—and if you got
something against book-learning, then all I got to say: you chose a
d----d strange occupation for yourself when you left the river!”
Jed proclaimed defiantly.

“Aye . . . Well, I ain’t got nothing against
books—most books,” Caleb was forced to allow. “And I guess you
won’t take no harm from geography and mathematics, nor working in
no import house, neither. Come to think on it,” he added
thoughtfully, sitting back in his rocking chair, “you may rise in
this world by and by—and not by any efforts of your wichtel
bottlemaker.” Caleb nodded emphatically. “Learn all you can while
you can, that suits me just fine.”

Jed, who had been in the process of poking up the
fire, stopped what he was doing and glared at Caleb suspiciously.
“What do you mean by that? Just what do you and Gottfried Jenk
think you are doing there at the bookshop?” he said, unconsciously
brandishing the poker as he spoke.