The Moon Master's Ball (7 page)

“Oh.” Tilly looked behind herself at the
huge tent towering above. “Perhaps some other time.”

“It’s just that Mother is at home,”
Drosselyn persisted, looking a bit like a child who had just
dropped her candy in the muddy grass. “I couldn’t convince her to
leave.” She frowned.

“Well, I’m afraid I have something that I
must get done. And I’m not terribly fond of this Circus.” Tilly
looked cautiously around, as though the creature that haunted her
dreams might spring upon her at any moment.

“Oh?” Drosselyn took a step closer. “Why
aren’t you?” She tilted her head, still playing with her hair.

“Just . . .” Tilly thought desperately for
an excuse. “Childish reasons.”

“Perhaps you’re afraid?”

Tilly blinked. “Excuse me?”

Drosselyn’s smile was sweet as honey. “I
would be afraid if I were you.” Her sweet bearing vanished for a
moment, revealing a steely look of determination and . . .
jealousy? Tilly couldn’t quite tell.

But the moment passed. “Well!” Drosselyn
smiled brightly, the strange expression gone from her eyes. “I’ll
leave you to accomplish that
something
you were about to do
before I apprehended you. Goodbye.”

Tilly watched Drosselyn until she
disappeared into the crowd, heading off towards a shimmering
emerald-and-gold tent, over the entryway of which hung the banner
“Tippets and Pumpkins.” Taking a step backwards, Tilly shook her
head. It would appear that odd conversations were becoming part of
her daily routine.

As she stepped into the main tent once
again, she couldn’t help but marvel at the huge poles reaching up
to support the heavy canvas, and at the various stunning acts
taking place all around her. Trying to ignore a woman walking
across a thin rope high above her, Tilly maneuvered around diverse
onlookers and headed towards the Moon Master’s wagon at the back of
the tent. It seemed stranger than ever without the mouse guiding
her, and she suddenly missed the small companion who had so
unsettled her only the day before.

She found herself standing in front of the
dark green curtains, and for a moment she wished there was a door
instead so she could knock. “Um . . . hello?” she called out,
feeling awkward. “It’s Tilly Higgins again. I have another message
from Lord Hollingberry.”

There was a long silence before she heard
the Moon Master’s melancholy voice. “You may come in.”

Tilly spread apart the curtains and stepped
through. It was darker inside the wagon than it had been the day
before. “H—hello?” Once again, she couldn’t find the Moon Master.
Could he blend in with the shadows? Tilly jumped when he suddenly
appeared as if emerging from the back of the wagon.

“Yes?” He stared at her blankly, and she saw
that his eyes were red and puffy. He looked almost as though he had
been weeping.

“Lord Hollingberry has another, um, letter
for you.” Tilly pulled it from her pocket and handed it to him,
trying not to stare at his disheveled clothes.

He took the letter without even glancing her
way, again opened it with only one hand, and read it quickly before
folding it back up and stuffing it inside his shirt. “Thank you.”
He turned his back as though to leave, but stopped abruptly. “When
you leave, would you mind telling Indigo Bromley that it’s time?”
His normally rich voice was strangely dull, much like the hollow
hoot of an owl.

“It’s time? That’s all?” Tilly asked.

He nodded. “Yes. Goodbye, Miss Higgins.” He
began to walk off into the shadows of the wagon, and Tilly wondered
if it was really as small as it appeared.

“Wait!”

He stopped, not turning around to face
her.

“I . . .” Now that she had stopped him, she
didn’t know what to say. For some reason she couldn’t explain,
Tilly felt that letting him dissolve back into the darkness would
be wrong. “Are you all right?” She didn’t know why she cared. Her
mission was almost accomplished; she should talk to Indigo Bromley
and then go home. But the Moon Master’s shoulders, which had seemed
so strong the day before, now seemed weak, crushed.

He turned his head until Tilly could see his
angular profile. “Do you recall the mouse on my shoulder
yesterday?”

She nodded. “Yes. Scatter was his name.”

The Moon Master’s hand clenched into a fist.
“He . . . he was killed last night. And what’s worse even than his
death”—he turned slowly to face her, passion suddenly strong in his
voice—“is that they killed him for no
reason.
”

Tilly blinked. “Who? Who would do such a
thing?”

Lifting one hand to his face, the Moon
Master rubbed his eyes. “Forget I said anything at all, Miss
Higgins.” He waved her away and began to move back into the
shadows. “Forgive me for darkening your day.”

Then he was gone again, and Tilly almost
felt inclined to follow him. Who had killed Scatter? And why?

The Moon Master didn’t appear to be
completely of a sound mind. Perhaps the mouse had simply run afoul
of a hungry cat, and he had convinced himself that a creature more
sinister had killed his pet

Something told her this wasn’t the
truth.

Tilly frowned as she stepped out of the
wagon. Somehow she had become more a messenger than a maid in the
past few days. Now another message for Indigo Bromley. Yesterday
she had found the magician in his personal wagon outside the main
tent, so she maneuvered her way towards the exit. Her life seemed
crazier than the bizarre acts playing out around her. Would she
ever lead a normal existence?

“Well, well. Hello again, Miss Higgins.”

Tilly nearly jumped out of her skin before
she recognized the familiar voice of Indigo Bromley. He chuckled.
“Still as jittery as ever, I see.”

Tilly exhaled slowly. “I was looking for
you.”

“It would seem you
weren’t
looking,
since you walked past without even noticing me.” Bromley’s deeply
accented voice rumbled from his throat. “What is it that you
require, little maid?”

“The Moon Master told me to tell you that .
. . it’s time. That was all he said.”

All charm evaporated from Indigo Bromley’s
bearing. His face looked ashen. “You’re . . . you’re
sure
that’s what he said?”

She nodded. “Yes. What does it mean?”

He looked away from her and cleared his
throat.

Tilly suddenly wished she could take back
the question. “Well . . .” she said, backing away from him. “I’ll
be leaving then.”

Indigo didn’t respond as she slipped away.
He stood frozen, looking like a flamboyant and colorful statue. His
extreme reaction upset Tilly. Everyone around her knew something
big and terrible that she didn’t know, and they were all playing
with her as if she were a doll in a child’s game. Determined not to
be left in the dark any longer, Tilly marched towards Winslow
village and the small inn that was lazily puffing smoke from its
chimney.

She wouldn’t go back to Winslow Manor just
yet. Whatever this web of secrets that had formed around the
village and the Circus was, Lord Hollingberry and Caroline were at
the center of it, Tilly was sure. It was time to take out her
feather duster and brush away the cobweb of secrets woven
throughout her life.

It was time to speak to Caroline.

Mrs. Gregson was enjoying her day alone in
the kitchen. Little was on her mind as she stirred together the
ingredients to a lemon poppy-seed cake, Lord Hollingberry’s
favorite. No one else was home but the lord himself, and although
the cook was terribly fond of Tilly, she was glad to be alone. She
bustled about her domain, thinking there was nothing better in life
than a clean kitchen.

The back door creaked and she heard someone
enter. It was probably Tilly, home from wherever she had got off
to.

“Tilly?” the cook called as she squeezed
some lemon into the batter. “Would you mind handin’ me the—” Mrs.
Gregson stopped. It wasn’t Tilly who had entered after all.

Anger swelled up from her chest and shone
brightly in her eyes as she saw Mrs. Carlisle in
her
kitchen.

“Hello, Mrs. Gregson. What are your skilled
hands baking today?” Mrs. Carlisle asked as she roamed the large
space, gazing at different pots displayed on the walls.

Mrs. Gregson huffed. “Get out.”

“I suppose the reason your food is so
utterly delicious is that you use magic to make it. Am I correct?”
Mrs. Carlisle continued, ignoring Mrs. Gregson.

The cook grabbed a sturdy nearby pot and
brandished it menacingly towards Mrs. Carlisle. “You’re mad!” she
stated.

The invading housekeeper chattered her teeth
thoughtfully before muttering foreign words under her breath.

Mrs. Gregson started to move towards the
woman she so despised. “What’s that gibberish you’re mumblin’? I
said, get out!”

Before she quite knew what was happening,
Mrs. Gregson’s raised arm froze and the pot slipped from her grasp
to clatter on the floor. Her eyes felt heavy, and though she fought
to keep them open, her eyelids slid shut. She fell, joining her pot
on the hard kitchen floor.

Mrs. Carlisle clicked her teeth again,
shaking her head as she focused her small black eyes down at Mrs.
Gregson. “I expected more from
you.
”

Then she slipped quietly from Winslow Manor,
scurrying quickly back to her home.

Tilly hastened down the street with her back
towards Winslow Manor, trying to ignore its imposing shadow that
leaned over the other houses to glare disapprovingly at her. She
knew Lord Hollingberry wouldn’t commend her for going to see
Caroline behind his back; but since he wouldn’t answer her
questions himself, Tilly felt that she must ask her old friend
instead. Perhaps nothing unusual was going on in Winslow. Perhaps
she was simply being used as a courier between a delirious old lord
and a crazed young man.

But why had Caroline been talking to Lord
Hollingberry the day before, when Tilly had just returned from the
Circus? Tilly had never known them to have any sort of relationship
before.

She mulled these thoughts over as she
mounted the steps of Apple Tree Inn, noting absent-mindedly that
weeds were reigning supreme in the flower garden. Pushing open the
inn door, she felt the chill of an absent fire in the hearth. In
fact, there was no hearth at all in the small room. No chairs or
tables were set up, and no candles glowed placidly in the corners.
Indeed, this didn’t appear to be Caroline’s inn at all.

“You were right, Mother. It
did
work.”

Tilly whirled around to face the person who
had just spoken behind her. Drosselyn closed the whining door and
looked at her mother, who was stepping out of the shadows.

“Of course it worked. My magic always does,
silly girl.” The old woman chuckled and rubbed her hands together,
looking at Tilly with glistening, beady eyes that resembled a
rodent’s. “But I have to say that
was
surprisingly
simple.”

“M—Mrs. Carlisle. Drosselyn.” Tilly nodded
to each of the women. “Hello. I seem to have entered the wrong
place. Silly me.” She smiled, hoping they would do the same. But
their returning smiles made her stomach clench with sudden
dread.

“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Carlisle, taking a step
nearer. “You came to the right place. Didn’t she, dear?”

Drosselyn tossed her hair over one shoulder
and sighed, apparently bored with the whole ordeal. “She did.”

“I don’t think you understand—” Tilly began,
but Mrs. Carlisle cut her off.

“Don’t play innocent, darling.” The woman
walked towards her. “We have you now, and we also took care of your
little fairy godmother, so don’t expect any rescue attempts.
Mallory?” Mrs. Carlisle turned to the shadows and addressed
someone. “Escort Tilly the Tardy to the basement, will you?”