Hunter's Moon (9 page)

I hardly remember the rest of that day. It went by in a sort of grey blur, and the words and presences of the others were no more than vague shapes at the corners of my perception. They were all very kind, of course. But it was an effort to speak, an effort to eat, and I longed for night to come and to be left in peace. At last that time came, and I was left alone on my bed by the stove, my eyes wide open against the dark, my mind beginning to flesh out a plan.

I could not ask the outcasts for their help. This was their haven; I had no right to ask them to endanger their lives for me. I could not send messages to Emilia or Lucian for help – I had to assume that Belladonna would have spies watching my friends. I had to do this alone, which meant that I'd have to leave here once I had talked to the Prince and seen if he had any information for me and, after that, as soon as I could walk properly.

I would make my way to Sarmest – it couldn't be too far, as Rasmus had been gone no more than four hours
that morning, and he'd done a return trip – and from there I would take the coach to the port. I'd take the first steamer to Aurisola, make discreet enquiries there, then return to Lepmest. I'd hole up in the poor outer suburbs of the city, where no-one would know me, where no-one would ever expect me to be, and I'd plan the indictment against Belladonna, in preparation for our final confrontation.

I'd need money, of course. I didn't have any, for Drago had taken what I'd had, but I did have the jewellery I'd been wearing that terrible day. My gold name-day medal; my tiny pearl earrings; my mother's topaz ring. They were valuable. I could pawn them. And I could work, too. I had no real skills apart from drawing and a nice singing voice, but perhaps there was something I could do with that and if not, then I would wash dishes, clean floors – anything. Thousands of people had to do work like that. Surely I could learn.

I clung to these ideas and ran through the broad outline of my plans over and over, so that I would not have space for any other thoughts. I would never see my father again, not in this life, and the knowledge of that was like lead in my belly. But I could not let myself think of that or of how bitterly I would miss him. I could not afford to think of the love we had shared, of happier times, of useless regrets and wishes that things had been different, that I could rewind time to before that evil woman had met him. No. Lisbet's way was not my way and never could be. My father was dead and the girl I'd been had died with him. I would make the guilty pay. I would get justice for my father. I would expose Belladonna for what
she was. And then his spirit could be laid to rest. And with these thoughts, I finally fell asleep.

I woke suddenly in the middle of the night, my heart racing. I'd been dreaming that I was in my bedroom, at my home in Lepmest. But it was like a shadow version of my bedroom, strange, silent, dark. In the dream I was not alone. My father was there. But not my living father, a ghost. A sad-eyed, shadowy, restless spirit, begging for release, holding out a trembling hand to me. And in the dream I was paralysed. I could not go to him. I could not speak. I longed to reach my hand out to him but something stopped me. Something jerked me into wakefulness.

When I opened my eyes, I was completely disoriented. Still caught in the dream, I expected to find myself in my bedroom. Instead, I was in the silent dark in a place I did not recognise at first. It took me a moment to remember where I was. In the same instant, I realised I was not alone. There was a figure standing at the foot of the bed. I could not see its face, only that it was a tall, shadowy shape, the same height and powerful build as my father. The figure was utterly silent. I could not hear anything, not even a soft breath.

It really is my father's ghost? my mind whispered, even as the hairs rose on the back of my neck. Strangely, I did not feel in the least afraid. And unlike in the dream, I was not paralysed. I sat up. My stiff lips moved.

‘Father,' I murmured, ‘Oh Father, dearest Father … You have come to me … I miss you so, Father … I swear I will not rest until you are avenged and Belladonna pays for what she did.'

No answer. My eyes remained on the still figure that did not move but whose sorrowful glance I felt intensely.

‘Father, speak to me! Advise me! Please, Father, speak to me … Give me a sign! I beg you!'

Still the figure did not reply, but it reached out a shadowy hand and very briefly touched the quilt, just above where my injured ankle rested. For a fleeting instant I felt a tiny shock of cold. But it was so fleeting I did not have time to react before the figure moved back. As I regained my scattered senses and jumped out of bed, crying, ‘No! Wait!', it melted away into the deeper shadows and vanished from sight.

Groping desperately for the oil lamp and matches that Verakina had left on the table, I fumbled to light it. When at last I managed to light the lamp there was, of course, nobody there. My father's ghost had disappeared and I was alone.

And now the tears I had been unable to shed that day came flowing out of me in a hot burning flood of grief and despair, the sobs raking my throat like claws of iron. If only he could have stayed a moment more! If only I could have touched him, felt his love and care just once more! If only he could have told me what I must do! If only he had spoken even one word, given one sign!

After a moment, after I had grown quieter, I became aware of something else. My ankle did not hurt anymore, not with the dull ache of today, nor the throbbing pain of yesterday. When I'd jumped up from the bed to go to Father, I'd done so without hesitation, forgetting all about the fact that I was crippled. I unrolled the bandage on my ankle and looked at it in the light of the lamp. The swelling
had completely gone down. I touched the ankle, gingerly. It was not tender to the touch. It felt quite normal and I saw that my feet, too, beneath the bandage, had healed.

I sat at the table, prickling with excitement and awe, remembering the tiny shock of cold I'd felt at my father's touch. I had wanted a sign. And my father had given me one: I could walk unaided; he was telling me that what I planned to do was right.

Lisbet had said her mother came to her in dreams, and by that, she knew she'd done the right thing in making the choice she'd made to hide out here and not to avenge her mother's death. She'd implied that if I chose revenge, I would not only lose my peace of mind, I would also lose any chance of reconnecting with my father. But she had been wrong. It must be different for everyone, I had told her, and this proved it was so: my father's ghost had come to me, to tell me that I was on the right path. And that was the only sign I needed, the only peace of mind that meant anything to me. It did not matter if danger was ahead. The only blessing I'd needed had been given to me, this very night.

I did not want to tell anyone what I had seen – this was a special moment I would share only with my father. It was my secret source of strength and resolution, but it did put me in the awkward position of not being able to reveal that my ankle was fully healed, or Verakina would wonder how it had happened so quickly. So I rewrapped my ankle and the next morning used the crutches again to get up and go to breakfast.

Everyone was very kind to me, so kind, almost whispering around me, as though the fact that today would be my father's funeral, a funeral I could not attend, made me so fragile that I might shatter like crystal if their voices had too loud a tone. Fortunately, the calm I felt today looked like the numbness I had felt yesterday, and none of them suspected that the cold stone of fear and grief that had sat so heavily in my chest had turned into the volcanic lava of fierce exhilaration that surged through my veins. I knew I would be strong now, and that my father's ghost had
made me so. I did not need the pomp and circumstance of a state funeral to remind me of my duty, a duty that was sacred and intimate to me, in my deepest heart. I felt much closer to my father now than I ever would have done at a graveside.

Once again, most of the others left after breakfast for up top, though this time Grim stayed as well as Verakina. An hour or so later, Lisbet returned, red-cheeked and excited, to tell us that word had come that the Prince was on his way and that he should be here this very day, much earlier than anyone had expected. Verakina immediately began a storm of baking, while Grim scuttled around filling decanters with homemade fruit wine, filling the log chest and sweeping the floors. Lisbet worked to help both Verakina and Grim. I offered to help, too, and after some hemming and hawing from Verakina was given a soft cloth and set to polishing some silver goblets, a silver knife, and a large pewter platter, all of which were apparently only ever used for special occasions such as, clearly, a visit from the Prince.

‘Doesn't he come often, then?' I asked, as I sat at the table, polishing away – for the silver had been quite tarnished. ‘I thought you said he kept an eye on the havens all the time.'

Verakina raised an eyebrow. ‘He is not a landlord checking up on his tenants,' she said, tartly. ‘He protects us but does not intrude.'

‘But when you get new people coming in … like me … surely he'd want to know?'

‘We tell him, of course. But it is up to our judgement as to who we take in and who we don't. He does not interfere.
As to seeing him, he is at each Haven Council, of course. And once a year he visits each haven in turn. From time to time he also joins a night patrol. But this is a special visit. It hasn't happened before.'

‘It is because of me that he's coming … I hope it isn't too much trouble for you,' I said.

Grim shook his head. ‘You really don't understand much, little lady, do you?' Ignoring Verakina's glare and Lisbet's embarrassment, he went on. ‘How can it be a trouble to us, to welcome the man who saved our lives and gave us a home and a purpose? It is a privilege and an honour. Always.'

‘He is wise and kind and generous and brave,' added Lisbet. ‘There is nobody like him, not in the whole world.'

In only a few days I had gone from being trusting to being suspicious of all. I wanted to say that the Prince sounded too good to be true. I wanted to say that a man who never showed his face to his friends and never revealed his true name was hiding something. I wanted to say that it was dangerous to give trust so wholeheartedly. But of course I did not say any of those things, for I had promised to stay and wait for him, to listen to any information he may have for me.

As if reading the doubt in my mind, Grim went on. ‘We do not question why he does not speak his true name, why he hides his face. He is not some empty-headed society belle craving the world's approval. He is honoured simply by those he has honoured by his deeds. He asks for no further thanks.'

‘I am sure you are right,' I said, soothingly. ‘You must excuse my ignorance in these matters.'

Suddenly I needed to be out of this dark place under the earth. I turned to Lisbet. ‘Is it sunny, up top?'

‘Why, yes, it is,' she said, with a puzzled look.

‘I'd like to go up, just for a short while. I have been underground for some time and I miss the light of the sun. Perhaps, Grim, you might escort me?'

‘Of course!' he said, keen, I think, to make up for our little spat.

The passage to up top was through a door I hadn't opened in my explorations yesterday. It was a simple tunnel that went up and up, ending with a small door that had been cut into the side of a hillock. On the outside, the door was covered with grass so that when it was closed it could not be seen at all, it was so perfectly camouflaged.

Outside it was sunny, just as Lisbet had said, the light filtering green-gold through the young leaves of the trees. The air was mild, pleasant, scented. We walked a little way into a small clearing, with me remembering to hobble carefully.

‘A truly beautiful spring day,' Grim said, when we stopped to sit on a moss-covered log in full sunshine.

I nodded. Grim seemed happy to rest in the sun, and I asked him questions about what direction Sarmest was in and other such things. Whereas I had been reluctant to ask the others for help, I felt that Grim would be a bit more eager to see me go and I was right: he'd never really welcomed my presence here; he'd not liked his community disturbed by a stranger. Unlike the others, Grim had a hard core of suspicion and wariness that had never left him and probably never would. I understood that. It was how I'd have felt, had I been in his position. And thinking
that made me ask, suddenly, ‘Have you never sought revenge for what was done to you, Grim?'

He gave me a sharp look. ‘What makes you think I didn't?'

‘Ah. So you did, then?'

He shrugged. ‘That is my business.'

‘Of course,' I said. But I could tell from his expression that something must have happened. ‘Did the Prince advise you against it?'

He gave me a hard stare. ‘Why do you want to know?'

‘It was just something Lisbet said. About … About what happened to her.'

‘The Prince never spoke to me about it,' he said, after a moment. ‘And why should he? What I did happened before I came to haven.' There was a glint of fierce joy in his eyes. ‘I'd made my peace.'

‘Oh. I see.'

‘Not sure you do,' he said, with an unexpected smile, ‘but that's all right. I can see that your path is elsewhere. And you must take it. We must all do what is in us, not what others tell us.'

I looked at him, a little surprised to realise he seemed to understand better than the others. ‘That's exactly right,' I said. ‘No-one can choose our way for us.'

‘Now then,' he said, with one of his mischievous smiles, ‘I have chores to complete. Would you like to stay here a while longer, or come back in?'

‘Stay here,' I said, at once.

‘Very well. But as the door is automatically locked as soon as anyone goes in or out, you will need to signal to us when you want to come back in. Come here.'

He led me back to the hillock. It was impossible to see where the door was, and I watched carefully as Grim pushed aside some pebbles at the base of the hillock. Under them, almost invisible in the soil, was a small dun-coloured metal plate. He rapped on it three times, the first rap followed by a long pause, then a second and third rap, in quick succession.

‘That's the signal,' he said. ‘Do that and the door will be opened.'

Sure enough, no sooner had the sound of the raps died away when the side of the hillock opened, revealing the doorway. Replacing the pebbles over the plate, he said, ‘You got it, then?'

‘Yes. Thank you.'

‘Good. Make sure you don't wander too far. We don't want to have to go looking for you, you've been trouble enough as it is,' he said, with a crooked grin and, stepping through the doorway, he was gone, the door closing after him and vanishing into the side of the hillock again so smoothly that it was as though I'd dreamed its opening.

Left alone, I breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was good to be above ground, away from the cosy claustrophobia of haven. I went back to the clearing where I'd sat with Grim only this time, instead of sitting on the log, I took off my shoes and put down my crutches – hiding both behind the log just in case – hitched up my skirts, and climbed up a big oak tree I'd noticed while I was sitting with Grim.

From there I thought I might get a view over the tops of the other trees, and so it proved that I could. From the top branches I could see right over the top of a sea of green.
In the direction of north, I caught a shimmer of blue in the distance, which must have been the sea. To the south, closer, a huddle of roofs which must have been the market town of Sarmest. That was useful information: the port and the market town were in different directions. To the east was forest as far as the eye could see, and to the west was more forest and then, beyond that, a ragged range of mountains. The mountains. That was where Lucian lived, I remembered, the sudden thought making a wave of regret wash over me. I'd never see Lucian again. I couldn't risk it. For my sake – and for his …

Turning my mind determinedly from such thoughts, I concentrated instead on getting my bearings. I guessed that the west would likely be the direction the Prince was coming from, since he was coming from the mountain havens. I changed the plan I had been forming. I would not head south to Sarmest, but north, towards the sea. Judging from what I could see from the treetop, the port must be further than Sarmest from where we were. If Rasmus had taken roughly two hours to get to Sarmest, then perhaps the port might be three hours away, or a little more. I'd find out.

I was just about to climb down the tree when I heard the crackling of twigs somewhere below. Taking care to stay as still as I could, I peered down between the leaves but could see nothing. I had just persuaded myself that I must have heard a deer or another wild animal when someone came out of the belt of trees beyond the clearing. All I could see from above was that it was a man, tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a brown coat and a tightly fitting dark leather cap that hid all his hair. He was carrying a small pack on his
back and walking with a long, easy stride. I could not see his face or any other feature.

My pulse raced. Was it a traveller? If it were, I did not want to give away any hint that there might be a haven of any kind nearby. Was this the Prince? If it were, now was my chance to catch this mysterious figure unawares. It was best I stay put, sit tight, and see what happened.

The man passed my tree without stopping and left the clearing, heading towards the door in the hillock. I waited another moment, then cautiously climbed down the tree, retrieved my shoes and my crutches, and hurried as silently as I could after him. He went a lot faster than I did, though, and by the time I came in sight of the hillock, he'd already disappeared, whether into the haven or passing it by, I still had no idea. Well, there was only one way to find out.

Grim had shown me the spot where the entry plate was hidden. I'd thought I'd noted the spot exactly, but now all I could see were pebbles, scattered all around the foot of the hillock, and I had no real idea of exactly what pebbles he'd brushed aside to uncover the plate. I was on my hands and knees scrabbling through the stony ground to try to find the right spot when a hand fell on my shoulder, and a voice said, ‘Allow me.'

Startled, I jumped to my feet and stared at the figure behind me. It was the man from the clearing. He was facing me now, but I still couldn't see his features, for they were completely concealed behind a strange white mask that gave him a ghostly appearance. The eye holes were veiled with a translucent fabric of some sort. I could hardly even distinguish the colour of his eyes. Very few of
his features could be seen, for no strand of hair escaped from the leather cap he was wearing and his hands were also gloved in leather. I stared at him, my heart racing. Was it my imagination, or was he as tense as I was?

‘Have you been spying on me?' I asked, not intending for it to come it out as sharply as it did.

The man who must be the Prince replied, ‘I heard someone following me. I needed to know if that someone was a friend.'

His voice was deep but soft. Something about it nagged at the corner of my mind; sounded familiar. What it was I couldn't quite work out, though, and it made me feel uneasy.

‘We weren't expecting you so early,' I said, quickly, to cover my unease.

‘Clearly,' he observed, and now there was a smile in his voice. I could feel his gaze on me and I could not help colouring.

He said, gently, ‘I hope I haven't frightened you too much.'

What
was it about his voice that scratched at the edge of my mind? Something half-recognised, half-remembered, but not quite. And the tenderness in his tone … Surely I was imagining it, I thought. How could I remember the voice of someone I'd never met? And why would he feel anything for me, a stranger? I pushed the thought from my mind – it wasn't important, right now, because I had a question, something that was more important than silly feelings of deja vu.

I lied, ‘No, you didn't frighten me. But …'

‘But what?

‘I have a question. You know who I am.'

‘Of course,' he said, calmly. ‘Surely that is not your question?'

‘No. I … Rasmus told me you … you might have information for me. But you've come so quickly … And so I wondered –'

‘If I'd had time to gather what you hoped for,' he finished. As he spoke, he extracted a small flat parcel from his coat pocket, which he handed to me. ‘I am very sorry for what has happened to you and what happened to your father. This is everything I could find.' A pause. ‘There is no need for you to go to Aurisola.'