Strange Devices of the Sun and Moon (20 page)

“I don't know. We can only wait and see.”

They spoke of inconsequential things after that. Margery showed Agnes through the small cottage, the books and the scrying stone, the herbs that hung in bundles from the ceiling: yarrow, vervain, saxifrage, adder's tongue, hellebore.

They began to talk about illnesses, which herb was best for the cough, and Alice realized that Agnes, as a midwife, must have her own small store of knowledge. She felt irritated, even jealous. Margery had never spoken to her like this about the medicines she used. And surely they could spend the time better; surely they could make some plan, devise some way that she could see her son. She might even be able to steal him away from Oriana and keep him for herself. What would he be like after all these years among the Fair Folk? No matter—he was hers, after all, and not one of them.

Finally Margery set out a small supper, cold chicken and leg of mutton. Alice ate hungrily: she had had nothing since breakfast. But Agnes outdid her, eating everything that was put before her, her wide mouth in constant motion. What good will she be tonight? Alice thought again. Why is she coming with us?

Margery set down food for the cats and the women left the cottage. It was still early, not yet five o'clock. But darkness lay over the streets in front of them, an unnatural blackness caused by the low gray clouds overhead. A light snow still fell.

“This mild winter,” Margery said, as they walked through the dirty slush of London's streets. “I wonder if it was caused by the Fair Folks' presence here. And if it snows now because of their displeasure at not finding Arthur.”

“I wonder,” Agnes said. She had taken an apple from the cottage and was eating it as they went.

Their walk took them halfway across London, from Ludgate in the east to Moorgate in the north, a distance of nearly a mile. As they passed Paul's Alice saw that the stationers had gone home early, and the gallants and lawyers and tailors as well. She had never heard it so quiet. The stores and stalls on Cheapside had closed, and in the smaller streets the houses were unlit, shut tight for the evening. It was almost as if folks anticipated something, as if they knew not to be on the streets this night. Only the waxing moon, shining momentarily through the clouds, showed them their way.

At last they came to Finsbury Field. All of them were panting slightly, and Alice nearly laughed. What good did these three old women think they would do tonight?

Alice saw nothing on the field but old archery targets. She closed her right eye but the field remained, plain, substantial, unchanging. She looked at her friend, puzzled. “Now we wait,” Margery said.

The evening grew colder. Alice shivered inside her woolen cloak, and Agnes rubbed her arms and stamped her feet to keep warm. How long would they have to wait? Could Margery be wrong, could they have made the long journey for nothing? She thought of the wearisome walk back to her house and she sighed. Her breath showed silver in the air.

Margery touched her shoulder. “Look,” she said. Someone moved across the field.

Alice closed her eye again, but no light emanated from the man walking toward them. “George,” Margery whispered. Surprised, Alice opened her eye.

George came closer. Now she could see that he had three other men with him. “Who are they?” she whispered.

“Is that the man in black?” Margery said.

Aye, it was indeed. She marveled that her friend could make him out on such a dark night. But as she started to say so she heard Margery hiss, a long breath drawn in between her teeth. “Paul Hogg,” she said.

“Who?”

“An evil man. I wonder what his business is here. And who is the fourth?”

Paul Hogg motioned to the others at that moment, and they headed toward the three women. Alice pulled her cloak closer around her, trying not to feel afraid. Don't be foolish, she thought. Margery's here. But Margery had seemed worried by Hogg as well.

“Well, well,” Hogg said. “What brings three old women out on such a cold and desolate night? Or can it be that you have nowhere else to go? Have your fortunes changed so much since I last met you, Margery?”

“There speaks one who knows all about homeless women,” Margery said, addressing not Hogg but George. “He won't have told you, George, but his profession, before he became a wonder worker and cozener of the innocent, was turning people off their farms. Oh, he was famous for it—landlords all over England would seek him out if any of their tenants gave them trouble.”

“Aye, and what of it?” Hogg said, unperturbed. “It's a livelihood, the same as any other, a service rendered for money. But what of you, harridan? How many of the poor have you gulled, taking their hard-earned pence and promising them fortune, health, happiness? How many folks dying of the plague have you promised to cure? For how many lonely women have you pretended to see love in that dusty scrying ball of yours?”

“What have you told George of this night's errand, Master Hogg? Does he know why he's here, why you seek Alice's child?”

“Does she?” Hogg said, turning to Alice. “Do you know the plans Margery has for your son once he's found? For years she has meddled in things beyond her understanding, trying for some small measure of power. She hopes to find Arthur and exchange him for that power, for knowledge. Do you understand? Whatever she's told you is a lie. She plans to barter with your son's life.”

His voice sounded low and deep, almost plausible. Could what he said be true? Was Margery using her? Why had the other woman taken such an interest in her, in Arthur?

The cold wind whistled around them, breaking his spell. Nay—what was she thinking? Margery was her friend; she knew it. George had proved faithless but that didn't mean that all her friends would betray her. “That's not true,” she said, and was pleased to hear that her voice sounded steady.

“Alice, why are you here?” George said. “Why do you listen to this woman, this witch? I warned you at the stationers' meeting that you put your soul in peril by talking to her.”

Alice nearly laughed. “You warned me? Nay, you did more—you nearly sent me to the stake. But I might ask the same of you—why do you keep company with this man? Surely you, who claim to know all the dangers to the soul—”

“What Master Hogg does is lawful,” George said. “Those he keeps company with are the children of light, and no demons. But you, Alice—all your friends are the children of darkness. Hogg told me so himself.”

Margery laughed. “And you believed him? George, you're a bigger fool than I took you for.”

George opened his mouth to reply. But at that moment the fourth man touched Paul Hogg's shoulder. “There,” he said.

They all turned to look. The moon had pierced the clouds, and by its light Alice could see the Fair Folk coming onto the field. Four of the horned men led them, wearing silver mail and carrying silk banners that rippled like water. Behind the men walked Queen Oriana, shining in the moon's light, and even George gasped to look at her. How can he call her a demon? Alice thought. But then she remembered what Oriana had done to her, to Arthur, and she wondered if the queen's fairness hid an ugliness within. Could she and Margery be on the wrong side? Nay—they were not on any side; they were here only to see if Arthur came. Oriana could lose the war for all she cared.

Behind the queen came more horned men, their mail glittering like fish scales in the moonlight. Some of them were mounted, and all bore swords. The winged creatures Alice remembered flew among them, and behind them walked Robin Goodfellow, carrying his staff. And look—there was Brownie. Her heart turned to see him, so unprotected among the other warriors. Would he fight along with the rest of them? But he was made for dancing and merriment, not for battle.

Something moving opposite the queen's folk made them all turn to look. A huge horse came onto the field, its hooves striking fire where it walked. Several of the winged creatures skittered away from it as if blown by the wind. It raised itself on its hind legs and neighed, a sound like someone crying. Now Alice could see a shape clinging to its back, a sea-green creature with a long snout. She shuddered. Did George consort with these folk?

A shadow seemed to trail behind the horse, hiding its followers. The sea-creature put a horned shell to its mouth and blew a shrill note, and the horse charged. Then everything became a shock of motion as the two groups met.

Here a green man, as pliant as if he had no bones, grappled with one of the twig-people. Over and over they rolled, and the twig man laughed as Alice remembered them laughing the night of the revels. They almost appeared to be playing some sort of game or dancing an ancient dance, bending backward and forward in shapes a human could never assume. Then she heard something break and the twig man lay unmoving on the field. The sea-creature flowed forward to lift him but at that moment a horned man cut his way through and stabbed the creature to the heart. The substance that flowed from his wound seemed too watery for blood.

There a huge man, thick as a tree, headed toward the queen and the standard-bearers. He carried a club in one hand and a length of chain in another, and the links of the chain rattled like bones. Robin Goodfellow stepped forward to meet him. The chain whirled out and Robin caught it on his staff. A moving light covered the two of them, white near Robin and a tarnished green over the other man. Robin pulled the chain from the man's hand and with a sound like a snarl the man closed with him, his club raised. The light grew brighter and the man fell back.

More green men took the field, some walking, some riding the tremendous horses. And there were other creatures there as well, shadows covering their shapes: flying, cluttering forms that kept to the trees, things that scuttled near the ground. A few oddly shaped people came with them: a squat man with hands as long as forearms, a woman whose grin nearly reached to her pointed ears. They did not join the battle but stood off to the side, laughing and pointing at the knots of fighting.

Finally the train ended with a few who appeared to be human. Why would people fight for these folk? Or were they slaves, taken from among London's population?

Could Oriana's warriors stand up to these? Her band looked small and slight next to them, and it seemed to Alice that they were fewer than their opponents. Already the winged creatures had retreated to the edge of the field. Several of the twig-people moved this way and that, uncertain, and one of them somersaulted away from the battle. As Alice watched a mounted sea-creature bore down on one of the horned men and slashed out with its sword. But the queen stood tall and proud, watching the battle from within the circle of her guard. The moon shone over their standards like the sun playing on leaves.

Alice heard screams and strange cries, the flapping of wings and the pounding of hooves. Through it all she looked for Brownie. Finally she saw him, standing a little back from the fight, as if he felt he did not deserve to be included among such heroes. One of the boneless men moved to engage him in battle and he turned to meet it. Then more of the creatures darted out in front of them, and he was lost to sight.

Alice looked at Margery. Her friend stood still, a look of great concentration on her face. “A pity this battle will be lost as well,” she heard Paul Hogg say, not sounding sorry at all. “Or did you three think to change its course somehow?” He laughed.

“Nothing has been decided yet,” Margery said. “Don't forget—we have the advantage here. This time the war is fought at night, with the moon nearly full.”

“Hear her, Alice,” Hogg said. “She admits to it—her friends are night-folk, conceived in darkness.”

“Aye, and that's what may save us. Oriana's people are stronger in the dark.”

“You still hope!” Hogg said. He laughed again. “I tell you, you've lost. Again. Alice, where is your brownie?”

The fighting had moved to another part of the field; she could not see Brownie anywhere. What had happened to him? And how did this man know about him? But that was easy—George must have told him.

“Didn't you see him fall?” Hogg said. “Only one of the brave warriors to die this night.”

His voice was so full of malice that she turned to him angrily. Words she had heard in the churchyard but had never used formed on her tongue. He smiled, his lips like a blade. But just then she heard shouting on the field.

“The dragon! The dragon has come!” one of the standard-bearers called. Others around them took up the cry. The fighting stopped; everyone looked upward expectantly.

In the sky Alice saw not one but two dragons, one of them silver-white and the other a reddish-gold. Which dragon fought for the queen? All around her folks cried out in fear and wonder.

The red dragon spewed fire. On the field the twig-people scattered in confusion, screaming. “Hold!” one of the horned men called, but they paid no attention. The silver dragon moved toward its opponent, jaws open, vast wings spread. They grappled, claws out. Fire rained down upon the field.

Alice turned to Margery, but the other woman's expression gave away nothing. Agnes watched the dragons calmly, as if they were a pageant or fireworks display arranged for her amusement. Would nothing move this phlegmatic woman to wonder? But Alice remembered Agnes's comments on the queen, and she knew the midwife would be very interested in the outcome.

The dragons backed apart. One of them keened; the other answered. They flew in close again, their silhouettes framed by the moon. Their bodies and the moon seemed to form a coin from a country long fallen to ruin. She thought she saw blood drop to the field.

The silver dragon had been hurt; its wing hung crookedly away from its body. Near her someone gasped. But as they watched the wounded dragon made one final attempt. Its wings turned in as it flew forward; its neck extended and its jaws gaped wide. The red dragon backed away but its opponent had opened a long gash down its flank. The red dragon keened again and flew away.