Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (48 page)
“You see?” she snapped. “We almost got caught!”
“Keep your voice down,” said Cassandra. Quickly she grabbed Jancis hand and began dragging her away from the scullery. There was little time until the moon shadow, but they were close to the garden now and past the worst of their journey. Cassandra quickly located the door that would take them outside. It was just as she remembered it, just past the scullery and neatly hidden behind a bend in the hall. The door was rusted, like everything else in this rarely used area, but Cassandra forced it open with a tug. Flakes of rust fell from the hinges as the door screeched open, revealing a dark and overgrown patch of weeds. Startled by the state of the garden, it took Cassandra a moment to remember its layout. There had been a lawn here once, well-manicured and lined with lilies. Recalling a simple path of cobblestones, she looked down and caught a glimpse of its remains, a ribbon of neglected stones beneath the encroaching grasses, winding its way into the darkness of the garden.
“This way,” said Cassandra. She led Jancis into the weed patch, then shut the door behind them. “It’s a bit overgrown. . . .”
“A bit? Cassandra, I can feel the grass up my skirt!”
“It’ll hide us better,” said Cassandra, then plowed ahead with Jancis in tow. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and up above she saw the stars. They winked at her like long lost friends. The moon was stout and bright in the heavens, throwing its light on the forgotten garden. Cassandra stopped, unable to move, unable to pull her gaze from the sky. She let her hands drop to her side, and all at once forgot the curse of the amulet and the danger of being outside.
“It’s beautiful. I had forgotten how amazing it is.”
The stars were abundant, too numerous to imagine. They swept across the sky in a milky arc. Cassandra’s legs wavered beneath her.
“Cass? Are you there?”
“Yes,” whispered Cassandra. She looked at Jancis, at her confused face and unseeing eyes, and she pitied her. Smiling, she took her friend’s hand again. “Come. I’m going to explain it all to you.”
They walked alone through the tall weeds, brushing aside the grasses as they made their way at last to the abandoned garden. The tower rose over them, but that was abandoned too, so they were not afraid of being seen. Cassandra spied the small stone bench in the center of the garden, where once she had sat and dreamed of Lukien, and where Akeela had bored her with love poems. The bench, like the rest of the garden, was thick with moss and lichens. Rows of dandelions rose up through the brickwork, and the beds of lilies and other perennials overflowed with tall, choking weeds. A few gallant rose bushes bloomed among the tangles of unpruned fruit trees, and rotting apples littered the grounds, chewed to pieces by insects. The place stank of ferment. But Cassandra didn’t care. She was mesmerized by it all, and even the decay enchanted her.
“We’re here,” she whispered.
Jancis’ blind eyes maneuvered over the garden. “Are we alone?”
“Oh, yes.”
There was not a soul to be seen or heard. Cassandra marveled at the silence. Far in the distance, she could hear the dull murmur of people on the parade ground, gathered for the coming moon shadow but Lionkeep itself was a tomb, with only the breeze creeping through its halls. Cassandra looked up at the moon, so perfect in the sky, ready to be devoured in the shadow of their world.
“Can you see the moon shadow?” Jancis asked.
“Not yet,” said Cassandra. But then the smallest sliver of darkness came across the moon. “Wait . . .” Cassandra squinted, then heard a cheer go up from the parade ground. “Yes! It’s starting.”
Jancis smiled and squeezed Cassandra’s hand. “Tell me.”
Without fear, Cassandra draped an arm around Jancis and began to tell her everything she saw.
Gilwyn waited an hour for the moon shadow to begin, mindlessly cutting off slices of sausage as he sat back against the cold stone of the balcony. Teku had finished her apple and amused herself by jumping from one gargoyle to another. A pleasant breeze stirred through the balcony; all was silent but for the far-off merriment from the parade ground. Gilwyn glanced at the moon. Figgis had been very precise about the time of the shadow, but Gilwyn had no timepiece to test the old man’s accuracy. Still, he suspected it would be very soon. Then he saw the first brush of shadow. He put down his knife and struggled to his feet.
“Look, Teku, it’s starting.”
Darkness slowly crept across the moon’s surface. Gilwyn heard a cheer rise up from the parade ground and knew that somewhere in that throng, Figgis was smiling. He laughed, delighted for his mentor.
“He did it,” he said. “He was right.”
Excited, he went to the edge of the balcony and leaned out over the rail. Teku climbed onto his shoulder, as if to get closer to the sky. Together they watched as the moon shadow took hold, gradually inching its way across the distant orb. The world fell silent. And in the silence Gilwyn heard something remarkable.
Voices.
Startled, he looked down from his perch and saw two figures in the garden far below, cloaked by the overgrown plants. Gilwyn took a quick step back, not wanting to be seen. But the figures in the garden had not discovered him. They spoke in hushed voices, their faces turned toward the moon. Once again Gilwyn peered over the balcony to steal a better look. They were women. One was much older than Gilwyn, at least thirty, with plain brown hair streaked with gray and clad in unremarkable clothes. But the other was a vision, and stopped Gilwyn’s gaze cold. She was young and remarkably beautiful. Her raven hair tumbled down her back like a waterfall. Her skin was perfect, vibrant and glowing with health, and her skirt clung to her in the breeze, revealing her alluring shape.
“Who . . . ?”
In all his visits to the castle, Gilwyn had never seen her before. He supposed she was a visitor to Lionkeep, a diplomat’s daughter, perhaps. But whoever she was, she was far more interesting than the moon shadow. Gilwyn sank down behind the balcony, spying her through the space between rails. Her hand was raised toward the moon—she seemed to be describing it to her companion. Gilwyn realized suddenly that the older woman was blind, no doubt one of Queen Cassandra’s servants. But the younger girl was no servant, certainly. Her clothes were far too expensive, her face and hands too regal.
“She’s beautiful,” whispered Gilwyn. There was a sudden pain in his heart. He wanted to call down to her, to rise from his hiding place and wave for her attention, but he knew that he was only a librarian’s apprentice, and no one as beautiful as she could ever care about a clubfooted boy.
The moon shadow continued for almost an hour. The figures in the garden watched the celestial show. Gilwyn missed it entirely. Too enamored with the dark-haired girl, he hardly noticed the passing of time. And when the moon shadow was over, the two strangers fled the garden, disappearing quickly into the confines of the trees. When they were gone, when he was sure they couldn’t see him, Gilwyn emerged from his hiding place and stared into the empty garden.
“Teku,” he said softly, “I have to meet that girl.”
25
N
ight after night, Gilwyn returned to his little hiding spot, hoping to catch a glimpse of the dark-haired girl. Night after night he would brush his hair, smooth down his clothes, and go with Teku to the balcony, anticipating her arrival. And night after night he was disappointed.
ight after night, Gilwyn returned to his little hiding spot, hoping to catch a glimpse of the dark-haired girl. Night after night he would brush his hair, smooth down his clothes, and go with Teku to the balcony, anticipating her arrival. And night after night he was disappointed.
The girl had captivated Gilwyn. He spent his days in the library daydreaming about her, causing him to bring the wrong books to the scholars or to forget his chores entirely. And though Figgis repeatedly asked what was troubling him, Gilwyn kept the knowledge of the girl to himself, sure that Figgis would berate him for skulking around Lionkeep looking for her. So he did what he could to finagle plum assignments out of his mentor, anything that involved delivering books or messages to the castle. There were always manuscripts being requested by Akeela and his staff. Still, Gilwyn’s many trips to the keep went unrewarded, and after a week of pining he knew more drastic measures were needed. Since the girl wasn’t blind, she could be anywhere in the keep. Yet the hope of running into her in the castle’s “open” spaces had proved fruitless. Gilwyn realized that his best chance of seeing her meant trespassing into the queen’s forbidden wing. Her servants were blind anyway, he reasoned, and so would never detect him if he was careful. But he couldn’t speak to anyone—he couldn’t risk being recognized, not until he knew the girl would actually meet with him. It was a dilemma that seemed to have no answer.
Then Gilwyn remembered Teku.
Teku had many talents. She was a monkey, but Figgis had trained her to be much more than a pet for Gilwyn, and her time with the old librarian had made her intelligent and resourceful. And she was a Ganjeese monkey, an extra special breed. Ganjeese monkeys were expensive and sought after, because they could learn anything, and not just tricks. They could understand language and reply in rudimentary grunts and chirps, and they bonded with their masters in an unusual, almost preternatural way. Teku had been Gilwyn’s right arm. More precisely, she had been his crippled left hand. When he needed a book or scroll he couldn’t reach, she fetched it for him. She scaled the library’s bookshelves faster than Figgis ever could with his ladder, and she had made the daunting task of navigating the place easy for the crippled apprentice. In many ways, she was Gilwyn’s best friend. Now, he needed a favor from her.
It was forbidden for Gilwyn or anyone else to enter the queen’s private wing. But Teku was a monkey, so she wasn’t really confined by such rules.
Was she?
Gilwyn didn’t know, and he was past caring. He would write a note to the strange girl, address the paper to her alone, and hope that whoever found Teku would know to bring his message to her. It was risky, because anyone might find Teku’s note and read it themselves, but he wouldn’t sign the letter with his own name. He would be more crafty than that, asking the unknown girl to meet him in the abandoned garden. There he would spy from his private perch, and if she came alone he would meet her. If she came with others, he would hide. And if she didn’t come at all. . . .
Gilwyn quickly suppressed that idea. His one hope was to lure the girl into a secret rendezvous, a hope that rested on the little shoulders of a monkey.
Years of working with Figgis had made Gilwyn good with words, but in the end he settled on the simplest of sentiments for his note. He addressed it to the “dark-haired beauty,” explained how he had seen her in the garden the night of the eclipse, and asked her to meet him tomorrow night in the same spot. And when he had finished he sat back and considered what he had written. He decided that his note needed at least some sort of signature, so at the bottom of the paper he wrote, “Your Adoring Servant.”
Satisfied, he folded up the paper and stuck it in his pocket. Calling Teku to his shoulder, he emerged from the study and went in search of Figgis. He found the old man laboring with a stack of manuscripts that had just arrived from Paaral, a city north of Liiria and well-known for its poetry. Figgis’ wrinkled face glowed happily as he pushed the wooden cart full of papers down the hall, searching for just the right place among the endless leaves of poetry. When he saw Gilwyn, he waved him over.
“Gilwyn, they’ve come,” he said. “I need your help cataloging them.”
“All right,” said Gilwyn. “We’ll do it as soon as I get back from Lionkeep. You said there were some books to deliver, right?”
“That can wait.” Figgis hefted his ledger and began scanning the shelves, tabulating the book numbering system he himself had created. “It’s going to take all day to get these Paaral poems in order.”
“But you said King Akeela was waiting for the books.”
Figgis shrugged. “No hurry.”
“But I always deliver the books to Lionkeep around noon. Graig is probably expecting me.”
Figgis turned to regard the boy. “You’re very keen on going to Lionkeep lately.” His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“No reason. Just trying to get my work done on time.” Gilwyn smiled, sure that Figgis suspected something. Mercifully, Figgis didn’t pursue it.
“All right then, keep your secret.” Figgis shooed Gilwyn away. “Off to the keep with you. But don’t dawdle—there’s work to be done.”
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