The Moon Master's Ball (10 page)

“They’re gorgeous,” she whispered.

“So are you. Come along! Your carriage
awaits.”

Tilly followed her godmother back upstairs,
stumbling a bit from the heavy folds of her dress, and out to the
front of the inn. Lord Hollingberry was standing in front of a
majestic horse-drawn carriage, his breath visible in the
starlight.

“Tilly!” He stared at her. “You look
stunning.”

She was about to respond when she looked a
little more closely at the carriage, and her mouth dropped open. “A
pumpkin?
”

Lord Hollingberry looked from her to the
carriage that was indeed shaped like a pumpkin. “I realized my
carriage was terribly old and dirty, so I had to improvise. There
was a nice little pumpkin sitting out in the garden, and I think,
overall, it looks quite nice. Yes, quite nice.” He nodded to
himself and then stepped forward to help Tilly climb into it.

“Did Aminia teach you that trick?” asked
Caroline. “You seem to have forgotten a coachman.
You
certainly can’t drive it.” She crossed her arms, and one of the
horses attached to the carriage snorted in agreement.

“Naturally I picked up a few things from my
dear departed wife. And I did not forget a coachman. What do you
think took me so long over at Winslow Manor? I had to create a
spell from scratch! Plus, I had to rescue Mrs. Gregson from a nasty
sleeping enchantment I imagine our friend Mrs. Carlisle gave
her.”

“Mrs. Gregson? Is she all right?” Tilly
asked, panicked.

“She’s rampaging about the Manor at the
moment, but yes, she is quite all right. I suspect she had the
misfortune to be mistaken for your fairy godmother! And now,
Tilly”—Lord Hollingberry motioned for her to lean out the carriage
window and look where he pointed—“meet your coachman.”

Leaves rustled beside the inn, and Tilly
watched as a man, a very tall man, stepped out from the shadows,
tugging awkwardly on his coat. His wispy black hair was braided
down his neck, and his narrow face looked as though it had seen far
too much sorrow.

Caroline gasped. “Is that the Dorian Rat?”
she asked, mouth agape.

“Mallory is his name,” Lord Hollingberry
said soothingly. “And he is on our side. He wanted to help
Tilly.”

“Is he quite safe?” Tilly asked, not taking
her eyes off Mallory.

Lord Hollingberry nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Well, then,” Tilly said, drawing a shuddery
breath. “Take me to the Ball, Mallory.”

The people of Winslow had scarcely left
Bromley’s Circus since it arrived, and they milled about Bromley
Meadow, bubbling with excitement. Men, women, and children alike
wore attire they had purchased at the Circus. The pumpkin carriage
rumbled easily up the meadow and stopped once it arrived at the
colorful Circus tent. The tent’s curtains were closed, and a
platform had been set up outside, with a huge silk banner hanging
above it reading “The Moon Master’s Ball.”

The steady murmur of the village folk’s
voices rang through the cool night air, lending the atmosphere a
festive vibe. Tilly shivered as Mallory opened the door to the
carriage, offering her his hand. She ignored it, determined not to
forget he had once been a rat, and walked into the thick crowd.

“I hoped I would see you tonight,” a soft
voice said behind her.

Tilly turned, knowing full well to whom the
voice belonged.

“You look beautiful,” Rodger said, his eyes
scanning slowly across her dress.

She tucked a loose strand of hair nervously
behind her ear, annoyed when it popped back out. “Thank you. You
look . . . very nice as well.” She stumbled over her words, trying
not to show her uneasiness at being around him.

He laughed his most contagious laugh and
shook his head. Then his face became suddenly serious, and he took
a step closer, speaking in a low voice. “What are you playing at,
Tilly? You’ve turned so mysterious of late. We used to be friends.”
He touched the back of her hand hesitantly.

Tilly stepped backwards, giving him a stern
look. “I believe our friendship changed the day you wanted it to be
something more.” Biting her lip, she looked at the lush grass
beneath her feet. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” He shook his head. “You’ve
changed, Tilly. You’ve become . . . distant.” Rodger stuffed his
hands into his pockets. “I thought you felt something for me.”

She opened her mouth to say that she
did
feel for him—as a brother and friend. But he held up his
hand.

“I wish you all the happiness in the
world.”

He left her then, his dark green jacket
disappearing into the crowd, leaving Tilly with many unsaid words
sitting on her tongue. She swallowed them and turned, nearly
bumping in to her coachman.

“Mallory!” she exclaimed, and he looked at
her with an expression she couldn’t identify. “Get back to the
carriage. You aren’t needed here.” Tilly moved to step around him,
but he stopped her.

“I . . .” His voice was deep and strong, and
he appeared to be shocked when it left his mouth. “I must protect
you.”

“If I need protection from anything, it’s
from your kind.” Tears stung her eyes as she thought of her lost
friendship with Rodger. “Now please, return to the coach.”

“It was not my kind that killed the white
mouse,” Mallory said quietly.

But Tilly didn’t hear. The voice of Indigo
Bromley swept over the meadow, sufficiently stopping any chatter
and making heads whip around towards the platform.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Moon
Master’s Ball! Tonight I will introduce to you a man of mystery and
magic.” Bromley paced about the wooden stage, his colorful
coattails swishing behind him. “He has chosen to reveal himself to
you all this evening, and
only
for this evening will you be
permitted to know him.” Bromley stopped and winked at a group of
plump old ladies who had forced themselves to the front of the
crowd. “I give you the glorious, the stupendous Moon Master!”

He disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving a
lone figure standing where he had been. The crowd went silent in
anticipation as the smoke cleared, giving Tilly a complete view of
the Moon Master’s tall form.

As he stepped into the light, she saw that
he was no longer the broken man confined in an endless wagon. He
was strong, standing tall above the people of Winslow with grace
and authority. He wore a coat of dusky blue and silver that
shimmered in the moonlight and emphasized his cool eyes. Those eyes
flitted across the crowd, lighting a moment longer on Tilly than on
anyone else.

Then he spoke:

“Welcome, dear people of Winslow. You have
supported this Circus throughout many years, and for this, I thank
you.” Placing his hand over his chest, he dipped his head in
acknowledgement. “As you well know, I am the Moon Master, and I
invite you to celebrate life, freedom, and courage here tonight in
this colorful place.”

The Moon Master smiled, causing women to
swoon all across the meadow. Then with painful slowness, he raised
his arm, looked up at the sky, and snapped his fingers. The light
of the moon was snuffed out as though it were nothing more than one
of the weak candles flickering in Apple Tree Inn.

The crowd gasped in astonishment. An inky
blackness settled around the people of Winslow, and Tilly could
hear the panic rushing into their voices as they asked what was
happening.

But before the panic truly took hold, a
light shone in front of them. It was only a small golden sliver at
first, but it grew by the second. The curtains of Bromley’s Circus
were opening, and the people of Winslow rushed towards the light,
thrilled anew with their beloved Circus.

Tilly followed behind, not desiring to be
crushed by the wild townsfolk crowding around her. For a brief
moment she wondered where Mallory was. Probably already in the
Circus, she thought, skulking around in some dark corner.

Pushing all thoughts of the rat-man aside,
she lifted the skirts of her ballgown, displaying her crystal
slippers, and entered the tent. Endless rows of tables had been set
up under the big top. There were no odd acts taking place, and
members of the Circus troupe looked relatively normal as they
offered dainty entrees to the villagers.

A man offered Tilly what looked like a baked
mushroom wrapped in lemongrass, but she declined, her stomach
suddenly in knots. What was she to do here? It was certainly a
strange night at the Circus; though really, when had the Circus
been anything but strange?

“I hoped I would see you tonight.” A silky
voice spoke the same words Rodger had said earlier, yet with a
completely different meaning. Tilly turned at the sound of his
voice, thinking that while Rodger had sounded apprehensive and
worried, the Moon Master sounded earnest and thankful.

“Hello, Jasper.” Tilly fiddled with her
hands, feeling the absence of one of Lord Hollingberry’s letters to
play with.

His eyes lit up. “It’s been so long since
I’ve heard my name. I had almost forgotten it.” The Moon Master
offered her what was barely recognizable as a smile. “I am glad you
were first to say it.”

Tilly squirmed under his unwavering gaze.
“Oh. Well. I’m glad I know it now. I felt strange calling you the
Moon Master.” She laughed half-heartedly at herself and crossed her
arms to ensure that they wouldn’t hang ungracefully.

“You now know my sad story then.” He placed
his hand lightly on her back to direct her towards a table serving
a sparkling red drink.

Tilly nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry about
A—Aminia,” she stuttered, wondering if she should have brought up
the fairy godmother.

“That is the saddest part of my story,” he
stated. “Losing someone close to you is more haunting than a life
of cursed solitude.” Jasper picked up a glass and filled it with
the drink, handing it to Tilly.

She took it. “What is this?” she asked,
inspecting the different berries floating inside.

“Dewdrop punch,” he said. “The berries are
gathered early in the morning in Winslow Wood and are made into
this drink. The sparkles you see are the dewdrops themselves.” His
eyes smiled at the incredulous look she gave him.

Tilly took a cautious sip and then another.
It tasted like the early morning air one breathes in on cool days
when the fog is still drifting about the earth. Tilly had never
thought such a taste could exist, but as she sipped the drink
again, it transported her to an image of ripe berries frosted over
with dew.

The sound of a clock chiming ten echoed
across the tent, causing Tilly nearly to spill her drink. She set
the cup down on a table and noticed that Jasper’s posture had gone
stiff with tension.

“Miss Higgins?” The Moon Master’s silky
voice made Tilly’s eyes snap up to his face. “Would you care to
dance?”

It was then, as Jasper led Tilly towards the
dance floor, she noticed that the Circus no longer looked like a
Circus at all. The tent was gloriously draped in luxurious cloths
of ruby, gold, emerald green, and peacock blue. It looked like the
dance hall of a grand palace. An orchestra started playing a simple
waltz, and Jasper led Tilly through the steps. He held her with
only one arm, his left arm hanging limp at his side. She tripped
several times, Jasper’s constant grace making her feel
inadequate.

“Why,” Tilly asked to cover a misstep, “did
Mrs. Carlisle imprison you?”

His arm tightened about her waist. “She
imprisons
everyone who does not give her what she
wishes.”

She looked around at the people serving the
villagers. “You mean everyone else in the Circus is captured as
well?”

“Sadly, yes.” He nodded and spoke no more on
the topic.

Tilly looked at his lifeless arm. “What
happened . . .” She paused, unsure if she should finish. “What
happened to your arm?”

Jasper sighed but continued to lead her
flawlessly through the dance. “Many years ago, in the black of
night, a little girl strayed away from her parents. When she
happened by my wagon, I watched her, enjoying her innocence of the
horrors of life.” His voice was entrancing as he told his story. “I
sensed that she was special. That one day, she might even be able
to help me.” He looked pointedly at her. “But my enemy sensed this
as well.”

Tilly’s breath began to come in shallow
puffs. “Stop, please.” She didn’t want to know where this story was
going.

“She was attacked by a strange, large rat,
and I reached out my arm in an attempt to help her,” he continued,
heedless of her attempts to silence him. “Since Isla Carlisle
cursed me to never be able to leave the wagon, my arm was crushed
instantly, and the girl”—Jasper looked sadly at the scar on Tilly’s
neck—“was left with a scar that changed her life. Remember, Tilly.”
He drew her close and whispered in her ear. “Your enemy is my
enemy.”