Goblin Moon (46 page)

“If they have not already arrived at the gardens,”
said Vodni.

Sera shook her head, gave an impatient twitch to the
midnight blue folds of her skirt. “It is not a warm night . . .
they would hardly be so foolish as to go for a walk in the gardens.
Please take me back upstairs to the ballroom, Lord Vodni.
Undoubtedly, we shall find Elsie there.”

As they proceeded in the direction of the stone
staircase, the earth began to rumble and shake. Sera clutched the
Baron by the arm. “You must not worry,” he said soothingly. “These
tremors are common here. We are quite accustomed to them, when the
moon is full.”

Sera was ashamed of herself, for being so
weak-spirited. “As we are also accustomed to them in Thornburg,”
she said, as steadily as she could. “But never so strong as
this.”

The rumbling gradually died away, and the Baron
smiled brightly. “You see, it is nothing. We may yet feel a
stronger one, but you need have no fear; the Wichtelberg was built
to withstand these shakes. When we go upstairs you will see that no
one regards the earthquake. It is the merest commonplace.”

Sera tried to return his smile.
It is only that I am already in such a pother over Elsie
. . .
But as they continued on toward the steps, the earth
began to shake once more, flinging her forcibly into the Baron’s
arms.

“I
beg your
pardon,” said
Sera, when the ground grew quiet again, and she had disentangled
herself from Vodni’s embrace.

“But no,” said the Baron, pressing her hand. “I
believe that this is fated. I have longed to speak, but never until
now did I have the courage. Yet here are we alone, and you so
recently in my arms—I am encouraged to ask you to be my wife.”

He was so very handsome and so very much in earnest;
Sera felt her heart begin to flutter.
He is an
agreeable man. I like him very much. This may well be the only
respectable offer that I ever receive.
Yet try as she might to
answer him “yes,” the word simply refused to come.

“You are much too kind, Lord Vodni,” she finally
managed to say in a stifled voice. “But I find . . . I find that I
cannot accept your very obliging offer.”

The Baron was thunderstruck. It had evidently not
occurred to him that her affections might already be engaged, or
that she could have any other reason for refusing him. “Cannot,
Miss Vorder? But what does this mean? Is it possible that you have
formed another attachment?”

“No,” said Sera, recovering her voice. “There is no
one else. At least—No, there is no one else. I do beg your pardon,”
she added miserably, “I believe that I may be guilty of encouraging
your attentions. But I never thought that you had any serious
intentions, and I am exceedingly sorry if anything I have said or
done has caused you unnecessary pain.”

In the dim light of the colored lanthorns, Vodni had
gone quite pale. “But I shall not take no for an answer,” he said.
And without any more warning than that, he swept her back into his
arms and began to kiss her.

This was a new experience for Sera, and not
altogether an unpleasant one. She found that she rather enjoyed
being kissed by Lord Vodni—until his grip on her waist began to
tighten, and his kisses became so unbearably rough. “Lord Vodni,”
she gasped, averting her face. “I demand that you release me at
once!”

“I will not,” said Vodni, against her ear. “You are
toying with my affections, Sera. You have aroused my passions and
now you are going to have to satisfy them!”

While Sera was forced to acknowledge a certain
justice in his complaint, for all that, she was not going to stand
there and allow him to maul her any further. Particularly as he was
now kissing her neck in a manner that she found entirely
disagreeable, and he had become quite appallingly free with his
hands. She stepped on his foot, grinding in the pointed heel of her
jeweled slipper as hard as she could.

With an angry cry, he relaxed his hold, and Sera was
able to squirm out of his grip. By now, they were both breathless
and trembling with outrage. “I beg your pardon,” she said,
struggling to maintain her dignity, “but I really cannot
permit—“

When Vodni reached out to embrace her again, Sera put
her hands on his chest and pushed with all of her strength. The
Baron took a step backward and tumbled into the underground
lake.

He landed in the water with a loud splash, soaking
Sera in the process. He disappeared for a moment below the surface.
Then he bobbed up again, made a grab at the pavement along the
edge, and pulled himself up.

Sera had not intended so ignominious a fate for
him—had not even known they stood so near the edge—but she
determined at once to improve on the circumstances.

“Lord Vodni,” Sera said sternly, as he sat dripping
and bedraggled at her feet. “I do hope that this will be a lesson
to you!”

Vodni curled his lips in a snarl of pure rage. And
then he did something strange and terrible. He reached into his
sleeve under the wide ruffle of lace, gave an odd little tug, and
began stripping the
skin
off of his hand.
As Sera watched in horror, he peeled off a padded glove of flesh,
uncovering a scaly birdlike claw.

Good heavens . . . Lord Vodni is
a troll!
Sera had less than a moment to absorb this amazing
fact, before Vodni reached out with that horrible taloned claw and
made a furious swipe at the velvet skirt.

Sera turned and ran toward the stairs. A moment
later, she heard the troll’s footsteps hitting the walkway behind
her. Fear lent speed to her flight, but Vodni’s legs were longer,
the high-heeled slippers hampered her, and she soon lost her
initial advantage. Sera was half way up the staircase, Vodni only a
dozen feet behind her, when the earth rocked, and she fell to her
hands and knees on the stone steps.

Entangled in her heavy velvet skirts, it was
impossible for her to regain her footing. Sera sat down hard on the
stairs just as the troll caught up with her. Managing to get her
feet free of the skirts, she aimed a well-placed kick, knocking one
of Vodni’s legs out from under him. With a startled cry, he lost
his balance, tumbled backward, and rolled down the stairs all the
way to the bottom.

For a moment Vodni lay very still, and Sera sat on
the steps, too bruised and breathless to move, certain that she had
killed him. Then the troll raised his head and sat up.

Sera rose painfully and turned to run up the stairs.
But then she heard something—a gentle voice down below, warning
Lord Vodni not to follow her. Sera knew that voice. She hesitated,
took a step upward, stopped, then turned and stared down at the
foot of the stairs. The troll stood facing a slight young man
dressed like a pirate, who was flourishing an unconvincing
gilt-edged cutlass, seemingly a part of his costume.

“If you attempt to pursue the lady,” said Francis
Skelbrooke, as he reached up and removed his mask, “I shall be
obliged to kill you.”

Vodni only sneered at him. “Am I to be frightened by
that toy?” Apparently considering the man as negligible as his
weapon, the troll turned and started up the stairs.

He had climbed no further than the second step when
Skelbrooke reached into his sash, pulled out a large pistol, and
shot him in the back at point-blank range. The ball came out
through Vodni’s chest, spattering the stone staircase with his
blood. The troll cried out, dropped to his knees, and crumbled to
the steps. A dark stain spread rapidly across the back of his
scarlet coat.

Sera sat down again, rather suddenly.
I will not swoon . . . I never swoon!
But
nevertheless, the world went dark just for a moment. Only minutes
ago, she had been firmly convinced that Vodni was the best and most
amiable of men, and she had hardly been granted the leisure to
adjust her attitude before witnessing his violent demise.

She sat there numbly and watched as Lord Skelbrooke
stooped to examine the body. Then he stood up, opened one of the
powder horns he wore as part of his costume, and calmly proceeded
to reload his pistol.

“I must learn to curb these impulses and correct the
habit of firing at close range,” said Skelbrooke. “This shattering
of flesh and bone is so very far from pleasing.”

He slipped the reloaded pistol back into his sash and
climbed the stairs. Sera tried to think what she ought to say, but
her mind still moved slowly

“I—I believe that I ought to thank you, sir, for
saving my life,” she managed to say.

“Not at all,” replied Skelbrooke, sitting down beside
her. “You seemed, if I may say so, to be handling the situation
quite capably. Indeed, I almost hated to interfere. Had you been
matched against any ordinary man, I would have been pleased to
stand back and watch, but trolls being trolls, I chose to err on
the side of caution.”

He was gazing at her in such a way that Sera—who was
already rather flushed—began to feel warm all over. “How very
beautiful you do look tonight,” he said. And lifting her chin, he
kissed her gently but firmly on the mouth. The kiss lasted a long
time.

“L-Lord Skelbrooke,” she said, when he finally drew
away. “Whatever are you
doing
here?”

“I should think that the answer to that was rather
obvious,” said Skelbrooke, sliding an arm around her waist. “I am
kissing you, Miss Vorder.”

“Lord Skelbrooke,” she said, more firmly this time.
“I meant to say—why are you here at the Wichtelberg—here in this
grotto?”

“I came to stop Elsie from marrying Lord Skogsrå,”
said Skelbrooke. “He is a troll and a cannibal, and—I am perfectly
persuaded—wishes to drink her blood.”

“Yes,” said Sera. If Vodni was a troll, why should
Skogsrå not be one as well? But it was then that she remembered
what first brought her down to the grotto. “I fear there is
something terrible about to happen tonight,” she exclaimed, surging
to her feet. “I can’t find Elsie or Jarl Skogsrå. “

“We will each take a different direction and look for
them,” said Skelbrooke, offering her his hand. “Do not speak to the
Duchess, for she is not to be trusted. But if you should encounter
Mr. Budge, by all means enlist his aid.”

So it appeared, after all, that the two men were
acquainted. This was certainly a night for surprises, but Sera was
too tired to ask any more questions. Hand in hand they climbed the
staircase, until they reached the top and went their separate
ways.

Chapter
40

Wherein all Masks are finally Discarded.

Sera searched frantically, through corridors and
galleries, libraries, salons, and dining rooms. She went back to
the ballroom and looked there once more. She could not find Elsie,
she could not find Skogsrå, and she could not find the Duchess.

They have all disappeared; it is
very ominous. Two trolls. They were both of them trolls. How could
they both be trolls and the Duchess not know of it?
thought
Sera.
Lord Skelbrooke is right, she is not to
be trusted. She only pretended to be so kind . . .

Sera searched the entire first floor without success.
The Wichtelberg was so vast—she knew only a small part of it—and
supposing that Elsie was not even there—supposing the Jarl, with
the Duchess’s connivance, had spirited Elsie away?

And sooner or later, someone will
go down to the grotto and find Lord Vodni; and what an uproar there
will be then!

She was running up a long marble staircase to the
second floor when she met Lady Ursula and Lord Vizbeck coming down.
“Lady Ursula, have you seen my cousin Elsie?”

Lady Ursula and her companion exchanged a glance.
“But yes, only a few minutes past,” said Lady Ursula. “And very
sweet she looked, in her gown and her veil, rather like a bride on
the way to her wedding.”

Sera gave a little gasp of surprise. “You—you saw
her, Lady Ursula—where?”

The lady made a vague gesture upward. “I must say it
was very mysterious and rather intriguing, the way Lord Skogsrå
took her by the hand and whisked her away. Almost as though—but you
want to know
where.”
She turned a puzzled
frown on Lord Vizbeck. “Do you know, I don’t quite remember . .
.”

“They were going into the little salon, what is it
called? The Clock Room,” Lord Vizbeck supplied.

Sera rushed past them, the midnight-blue velvet skirt
trailing behind her. She reached the top of the stairs, before she
thought to turn back and call down. “Lady Ursula, Lord Vizbeck, it
is very important. If you encounter Lord Skelbrooke or Mr. Budge,
please tell them where they may find me. If something is not done
to stop Elsie from marrying Lord Skogsrå tonight, the results will
be tragic.”

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and hurried
toward the Clock Room. But when she came to the door, she paused in
the corridor, under one of the old oil portraits, to catch her
breath and collect her wits.
What if Elsie
refuses to listen to me? Oh, but she will . . . she must . . . as
soon as she sees that I am in earnest.
And with that thought,
Sera threw open the door and ran into the room.

A candle-light wedding was in progress, among the
ticking clocks and the wagging pendulums. Mr. Ulfson, the clergyman
from Pfalz presided, with his book already open and his hand
up-raised for the first blessing.

When Sera burst into the room, everyone turned to
look: the Duchess in her scarlet gown; Lord Skogsrå, all satin and
lace and fringes; the old Duke with his silver-headed cane; Mr.
UIfson, still standing with a hand in the air. Everyone turned to
look but the bride. Elsie stood perfectly still, in her gown of
white brocade, her spangled veil, and her wreath of pansies and
lilies; Elsie stood like a figure made of wax, gazing steadfastly
up at the clergyman.