Goblin Moon (38 page)

“Yes,” said Sera. “But even so . . . a house and
land, you said, which he could not have sold or gambled away, no
matter how profligate his style of living, because of the
entail—“

“Excuse me,” said Mr. Budge, “but have you never
considered that the title itself, and therefore any accompanying
inheritance, might be a sham? Many hundreds of miles lie between
Thornburg and Nordmark, and Jarl Skogsrå would not be the first
foreigner to maintain an imposture for the space of many
seasons.”

Sera took a deep breath. No, this had never occurred
to her, but it sounded plausible, entirely plausible. “Have you,
Mr. Budge, reason to believe that the Jarl is not what he claims to
be, but a penniless adventurer instead?”

“No,” said the tutor. “I have no just cause to think
so. Like yourself, I merely wish to consider Lord Skogsrå an
imposter. Nevertheless, some careful inquiries might yield
gratifying results.”

They passed the aviary and moved on in the direction
of the statue orchard. “Yes, perhaps,” said Sera. “But as you said:
Nordmark is such a great distance away, and I know no one, no one
who has ever even been there, except for Lord Skogsrå himself. I
would not even know where or how to begin to make those discreet
inquiries.”

“Then allow me to assist you,” said Budge. “I do have
a friend in Nordmark, a fellow student from my days at the
university, now serving as a language professor in Ghyll. And
another friend, now that I come to think of it, who spent two years
in Katrinsberg, which as you may know lies on the border between
Ruska and Nordmark. Were I to write to these old school-fellows of
mine, we might learn something to Miss Elsie’s advantage.”

They walked on in silence for some time after that.
“Mr. Budge,” Sera said at last, “you are very obliging. I scarcely
know how to thank you.”

“Not at all,” said Budge. “I am happy to assist you.
And after all, it is no great thing for me to write to my
friends.

“I must confess,” he added, “that I do not like the
Jarl any better than you do. There is something in his presence—I
cannot put a name to it—which invariably causes my skin to
crawl.”

Sera stopped and stared at him. “My dear sir, do you
actually
believe
in intuition?”

The tutor inclined his head. “I do, Miss Vorder, most
emphatically. Do I suffer in your opinion on that account?”

Sera hardly knew what to think. “You are so wise and
sensible, sir, and your education so superior, I cannot help but
wonder—seeing that we are so totally in disagreement on this one
issue—if my own views on the matter might possibly require
revision.”

They had circled the orchard and were heading back
toward the gardens, when Sera chanced to catch sight of Elsie. Pale
and trembling, Elsie was obviously in the grip of another attack of
panic—her first since leaving Thornburg.

“I beg your pardon,” said Sera, dropping Budge’s arm
and rushing off to offer her assistance.

But by the time Sera arrived, the attack had already
passed. Elsie was sitting on a marble bench beside Jarl Skogsrå,
with a weary little smile on her face and an expression of deep
contentment in her eyes. That contentment quickly faded when Sera
knelt down beside her.

“I am perfectly well. You are fussing again, and it
is very tiresome. Haakon takes excellent care of me, as you ought
to know by now. He can soothe my fears with a word and a
smile.”

Sera stood up again, blinking back tears. That Elsie
should speak to her so reproachfully, and before Lord Skogsrå, too!
She felt bitterly mortified.

Mr. Budge had followed her across the garden. “I
think,” said the tutor, “that you would benefit from that glass of
lemonade that I offered you earlier.”

“Yes,” said Sera, and allowed him to lead her over to
the refreshment table.

“How very extraordinary,” said Budge, as Sera sipped
her lemonade. “This is the first time that I ever witnessed one of
Miss Elsie’s attacks, though I have heard them described. Perhaps
you can tell me, is Jarl Skogsrå actually able to bring her out of
them with a few spoken words?”

“Always,” said Sera, with a catch in her voice. “He
is always able to do so; while I, who have cared for her all of
these years, am totally helpless.”

“How very extraordinary,” the tutor repeated
thoughtfully. He stood in silent contemplation for several minutes.
“Miss Vorder,” he said at last, “perhaps you would be kind enough
to tell me, have you received any communication from your . . .
friends in Thornburg, since you arrived here?”

“No, I have not,” Sera said, more sharply than she
had intended. The question, coming when it did, had surprised her.
It sounded almost as though he knew of her arrangement with Lord
Skelbrooke. But that was highly unlikely; certainly,
she
had said nothing to anyone, and (at least so far
as she knew) Skelbrooke and the tutor were not even acquainted.

Yet why else should Budge have asked with such a look
of interest? And why, in any case, should he frown and shake his
head, as though he found her denial so particularly disturbing?

It was the following afternoon—when Elsie and Skogsrå
were walking in the gardens, the Duchess was upstairs in her
bedchamber resting, and Hermes Budge had gone into Pfalz on some
unnamed errand—that Sera, feeling at loose ends, wandered into the
vast library in the west wing in search of amusement. There were a
great many rooms in the mansion devoted solely to books, for in
addition to inheriting many volumes from his ancestors, the Duke
was a great collector of scholarly tomes, but only in this room had
Sera found any of the plays or the histories which were her
particular delight.

Lord Vodni was in the library when she arrived,
seated in a comfortable armchair, with a volume of poetry lying
open in his lap. “Miss Vorder,” he said, putting his books aside
and immediately rising to his feet. He had been out riding earlier
that day, and he still wore buckskins and a scarlet coat, a pair of
highly polished black boots—a costume vastly becoming to a man with
his fine figure and his restless, romantic appearance.

“I wonder, sir,” said Sera, “if there was a letter
for me today?” It was Vodni, as the Duke’s secretary, to whom the
butler brought all of the mail to be sorted.

“That is the second time this week you have asked me
that question,” said Vodni. “I begin to suspect some secret
attachment. I believe that I am growing jealous.”

Sera felt the hot blood rising in her face. “I can
assure you, my lord, that it is nothing of the sort,” she answered
sharply.

“I beg your pardon,” said the secretary, growing
suddenly very earnest. “I am wrong to tease you. Your
correspondence is no business of mine.”

Sera turned around to examine the nearest bookshelf.
Locating a volume of ancient history, she took a seat opposite the
Baron, and opened her book.

“You have not yet paid a visit to the Duke,” Lord
Vodni commented. “Though he lives very retired in his own
apartments and many days he is not well enough to receive visitors,
he has expressed a desire to meet you—motivated, it seems, by a
previous acquaintance with your grandfather.”

Sera looked up from her book.

“Perhaps you might be willing to visit him soon,”
said Vodni. “I fear that His Excellency is not always lucid, but
when he is, he can be a fascinating companion. Yes, he is really a
most interesting old man.”

“I should like very much to become acquainted with
the Duke,” said Sera.

The Baron rose to his feet. “Then come with me, now.
This is one of his better days, and we might do well to seize the
opportunity.”

Sera accepted readily, very eager to meet the learned
old man.

“I daresay,” ventured Vodni, as they left the
library, “that you have not yet explored the entire house. The
Wichtelberg has a long and fascinating history . . . Do you know
when and how it was built?”

“I know that it was built by dwarves, many hundreds
of years ago,” said Sera. “That, of course, explains the name.”

“It passed through many hands—many, many hands—before
it came to the ancestors of the Duke. And every new owner made
extensive modifications. Some of these modifications did not
survive, and it is principally the dwarf work which you see now,
for stone endures, and the wichtel are meticulous craftsmen. Yet
the frescoes on the third floor are accounted very fine, and the
chandeliers in the dining hall—I beg your pardon, I do not mean to
lecture you. It is just that I have such enthusiasm for this fine
old house.”

“But please continue,” said Sera, who had been
listening with pleasure. “Your enthusiasm is contagious.”

They walked down an empty corridor. “I will show you
a curiosity,” said Vodni, pausing before a long expanse of wall.
There was a decorative molding near the ceiling and another near
the floor, but the wall was otherwise blank. The Baron bent down
and pressed one of the carved rosettes on the molding, and a
section of wall slid aside, to reveal a hidden staircase. “It is a
pity that I did not think to bring a light, for then you might have
inspected the mechanism, which is very elaborate—rather more
elaborate, I believe, than is strictly necessary to perform such a
simple task—but very ingenious, oh, remarkably ingenious.

“We believe that the Wichtelberg was once occupied by
gnomes; they have a fondness for these devices.” He pressed another
rosette to close the panel, but the section of wall refused to
slide back into place.

Vodni aimed a kick at the secret door, as if by doing
so he hoped to jog something loose. But when the panel still
refused to move, he kicked it again and yet again much harder,
evidently angry because the mechanism did not appear so impressive
as he wanted Sera to think. Then, with a visible effort, he
regained his composure.

“We will leave it open; it scarcely matters. I beg
your pardon,” he said, with an apologetic laugh. “As you can see: I
possess a wicked temper, a vile disposition. I do not doubt that
you are shocked.”

Sera, who so often felt the urge to vent her rage in
the same fashion, was not at all shocked. “Pray kick the wall
again, Lord Vodni, if it affords you any satisfaction. I find
myself in complete sympathy with you. I can assure you, sir, that
my own temper is a match for yours

Vodni laughed again. “And yet, Miss Vorder, you
contrive to control that temper. You invariably display an
admirable self-restraint.”

“Ah . . . but I have so very many
opportunities
to practice that self-restraint,” said
Sera, “it is little wonder I have mastered the art.”

They continued on toward the Duke’s chambers, both of
them in high good humor. Sera realized that she was enjoying
herself—she, who rarely cared for the company of young men. Oh, to
be sure, she was fond of Jedidiah—but he was only a boy—and Hermes
Budge was old beyond his years. As for Francis Skelbrooke . . . no,
she could not say that she
liked
Lord
Skelbrooke; the effect he exerted on her was far too disturbing.
Yet here was Lord Vodni, fully as handsome and quite as courteous,
and she found that she liked him exceedingly.

After much navigation of marble halls, Sera and the
Baron reached their destination. “I will go inside and announce you
to the Duke,” said Vodni, opening a door and disappearing
inside.

He reappeared a few moments later, and ushered her
across the threshold. “His Excellency is delighted to receive
you.”

Sera, who had spent a good part of her life in the
company of her elders, discovered that the Duke was considerably
older, even, than she had anticipated: a frail wisp of an elderly
gentleman in an antique periwig and a brocade dressing gown. He sat
in an oak armchair of medieval design, by an open window.

“Miss Vorder, your servant. I am informed by Lord
Vodni that you are the granddaughter of Gottfried Jenk. Yes, indeed
. . . indeed you do have a great look of him. I like the way that
you hold yourself,” he said, with an approving nod. “And am I to
assume that your grandfather, Mr. Jenk, took an active interest in
educating you?”

Sera sat up a little straighter. “When I was younger
he educated me himself. But I have lived with my father’s relations
these last five years, and they do not approve of scholarly young
women. My Cousin Benjamin, however, possesses an excellent library,
and I continue my studies as best I can.”

The Duke directed a mischievous glance in Vodni’s
direction. “And how old is she now, d’you think?”

The Baron made a humorous face. “I would not presume
to guess. Why do we not ask the young lady herself?”

“I am eighteen,” said Sera. “I shall be nineteen at
the turn of the year.”

“Eighteen years old, and five years in the house of
your cousins,” said the Duke. “And I do not doubt that your
grandfather was educating you in your cradle. That would make
thirteen years as Jenk’s pupil. I am pleased to make your
acquaintance, Miss . . . I do crave your pardon. I have forgotten
your name.”

“Miss Seramarias Vorder,” said his secretary.

The Duke bobbed his head. “Miss Vorder, yes. It is
not often that I am so fortunate as to encounter an educated woman.
The Duchess, of course, is a notable exception. I am pleased to
make your acquaintance, Miss Jenk. Pray stay awhile and visit
me.”

Chapter
32

Which transports the Reader to the High Seas, and
then Back again to Thornburg.

Skelbrooke soon lost track of the days he spent in
the dark hold of the ship. It was all ceaseless motion, and foul
smells, and the endless throbbing of his left foot. He tossed and
turned, alternately burning with fever and shivering with an ague.
They had robbed him of the Sleep Dust to which he was addicted, and
without the drug in his system true rest eluded him. He spent his
nights and his days, too, in a kind of waking nightmare, the victim
of terrifying hallucinations and agonizing sensations.