Hunter's Moon (14 page)

I rushed to the newsstand again the next morning to see if the
Mirror
had made any official comment on my story in the
Ladies' Journal
. There was nothing, not even a mention. It was a little disappointing, but not too much, because I hadn't genuinely expected them to want to draw attention to something that showed them in such a bad light, as the eager slave of the Queen.

But if the
Mirror
kept a dignified silence, I soon found out that many others did not. At work, the gossip around the tea-break table was of the strange story in the
Ladies' Journal
, which quite a few of the staff, especially the women, seemed to have read. Opinion was divided as to its merits. Some had enjoyed it and debated its true meaning, others thought it was nonsense – ‘It's just a story, after all,' said a typist, shrugging.

But the general opinion was uneasy.

‘Even if it's supposed to be a story, it is a bit too close to real life,' said a young woman from the hat department.

‘Really?' I asked, innocently. ‘In what way?'

The woman looked to one of her friends. ‘Well, Lady Belladonna Dalmatin's always had the title of Fairest Lady,' someone said. ‘Until –'

‘Until that story in the
Mirror
– the title was passed on to Lady Bianca, her stepdaughter,' put in her friend.

‘It is in very bad taste to bring that up again,' said the hat woman, ‘and so soon after all those tragic happenings, too.'

‘I bet the
Mirror
will sue,' laughed Jeremie.

‘It looks like the writer is from Aurisola,' I hazarded. ‘Isn't that where Lady Belladonna Dalmatin comes from?'

A few people nodded.

‘I wonder if it's someone who knew her there?' said another typist.

Miss Geldpen frowned at her. ‘Best to leave such speculations alone,' she said. ‘Now back to work, everyone.'

The seed of doubt has been planted, I thought, as I went back to my duties. Here and everywhere else. Soon the whole city would be buzzing with rumours. It was a wonderful first strike against the woman I hated, and I wished that I could share my triumph with someone. With the Prince, preferably … But of course I could not.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, for though my body was kept very busy with deliveries, my mind was buzzing with thoughts of my success and what might follow it. I was so exhausted by the time work was finished that though I'd intended writing another instalment of the story once I was back at the safe house, I just could not stay awake. That night, I had all kinds of strange dreams and when I awoke the next day, my head was full of weird,
ominous images. I passed the newsstand again on the way to work, but as the
Ladies' Journal
published the second instalment of ‘The Queen and the Magic Mirror' at the same time as the first, I didn't bother to check today's edition for my work would not be inside. For a couple more days, there would be no news on that front.

The morning passed slowly, but then I got a delivery job that made me feel as though fate was handing me an occasion to do some investigation, for what I had to do was deliver to the
Mirror
offices a packet of photographs of our new range of hats.

‘Take a cab, Jana, you look exhausted,' said Master Philipi who, despite his eagle-eyed fussiness, was a kind man.

I arrived much more quickly than I would have done walking, and when I turned up at the
Mirror
offices, I was just in time to see someone else arrive there, a visitor at whose sight all my confident cockiness about my small triumph vanished like smoke.

No, it wasn't my stepmother. It was Drago. Thank God he did not see me, for his vehicle had arrived instants before mine. He had just stepped out of it when I saw him, and I shrank back into the cab until he had passed through the
Mirror
's double doors, out of sight. My head was pounding, my palms prickling, my heart racing. Fear invaded every part of me. The terror of that moment in the forest, when Drago had turned on me and told me what he'd been sent to do, crept through my pores, paralysing me. If he recognised me – and for that frightened moment I was convinced he would look right at me and see through my disguise – he would come after me and kill me. He'd spared my life once, but he wouldn't
again, I was sure of that. He couldn't afford to let me live a second time. He'd told me never to return, and I had. He'd have to kill me or risk Belladonna finding out he'd not done it in the first place.

‘Hey, little lady! Isn't this where you wanted to go?' came the irritated voice of the cab driver, breaking into my thoughts.

I almost told him I'd made a mistake and asked him to drive on somewhere else, but there was the delivery I had to make. And, further, how could I ever believe I'd achieve my ultimate goal if I fell at the first real hurdle?

Controlling myself with an effort, I said, ‘Yes, it is. Sorry.'

Hurriedly paying the fare and a tip on top, I walked into the
Mirror
offices with my head down, thinking that if the worst came to the worst and I happened to cross Drago in there, all he'd see in a quick glance was a Ladies' Fair messenger in a silly hat. And that would hardly be an unusual sight around here.

But despite my reassuring thoughts, it was with a furiously beating heart that I delivered the packet of photographs to the girl at the front desk.

‘Hey, wait for your receipt,' she called after me, as I attempted to scuttle away.

I had to go back and wait for her to write it out slowly, all the time mortally afraid that Drago would reappear. But he didn't and so I got out safely.

Forcing myself to walk calmly to the end of the block, I halted for a moment in a side street, out of sight of the main road but still with a clear view of it. I was trying to get my breath and my steadiness back, for much to my disgust I was trembling from head to foot. It was then I happened
to look back into the main road – and saw Drago walking straight towards me!

I can't describe the feeling that seized me then. I do not believe there is a word for it. I didn't think; all I did was act. Running down the street, I came to a narrow alley and dived down it. At the end of the alley was a door and I ran towards it, thinking I might open it and hide on the other side. But it was locked and though I hammered on it, nobody answered. Heart beating wildly, I raced back down the alley and was about to go back into the side street when I saw Drago turning to come down the alley!

Had he seen me? I had no idea, but now I was trapped. Terrified, I made for the only hiding place I could see – a large box full of scrap metal, which was obviously awaiting the scrap-metal merchant's cart. I couldn't get into it, for it was too tall, so I squeezed behind it, ducking down as far as I could. There I squatted, uncomfortably, my ears buzzing from the wild beating of my heart, my head filled with thoughts that it was a silly place to hide, for Drago would be certain to find me in a trice as soon as he started looking. But there was nothing else I could do.

Instants later, I heard the ringing of boots on cobbles. The footsteps – firm, unhurried, relentless – got closer and closer and, crouching down further, I bit down on my lip so hard that I could feel the blood come. Now he was here, right in front of the scrap-metal box … I felt oddly calm, almost disconnected from my body, from my mind, from fear itself. In a moment he would find me; in a moment he would kill me. But even that hardly seemed to register in my mind anymore.

And then the footsteps went past me.
Past the box. They did not even pause, but kept going, down the alley.
Then came the sound, quiet in reality, but loud in my painfully tuned ears, of a key turning in a lock. In the next moment came two more sounds: the scrape of a metal door opening, and then the scrape of a metal door closing.

Stunned, I could not react at first, for my mind was quite blank. Then thoughts came rushing in: he has gone in through that door I had beaten on but could not open; he hasn't seen me, he hasn't been looking for me, he doesn't know I am here! Now I can go, run away, and never look back! I can stick with my plan – go back to Ladies' Fair and see if I can find out any information through my job there. It will be safer that way.

I was about to do exactly as my disordered thoughts urged me to when something held me back. Questions. What was Drago doing here? Where did that door lead? And I knew, whatever he was doing here, whatever this place was, that it had something to do with Belladonna, the mistress to whom he had dedicated a lifetime of loyalty.

I had to find out what that was.

The calm, strong part of me pushed aside the fear I felt. And so I climbed out of my hiding place and hurried down the alley to the door. I stood and listened for a moment. Not a sound. I tried the handle. It turned in my hand. Very quietly, I opened the door. I saw stairs leading down into darkness. The hair rose on the back of my neck and I almost turned back. But in an instant I had recovered my courage and, very, very quietly, closed the door behind me, taking off my shoes so that my stockinged feet would make no sound.

I was in total darkness as, clinging to the wall, I began to grope my way down the stairs.

Down, down the stairs I went. It was very quiet, except for the beating of my own heart. It was madness, I knew, to go down into that place. Every step I took brought me closer to discovery for if Drago should suddenly start back up the stairs, then I was lost.

But he didn't come, and so I kept walking almost despite myself, my throat thick with fear, my skin crawling, but determined to know what was down there. After walking down a little further, I came to the bottom to find … nothing. The stairs ended at some kind of landing. Reaching out, I could feel damp stone walls, very close together. It was some kind of small, square room – and there was no obvious exit, for I walked around the whole space, feeling the walls, and found no door, no window … nothing.

My head was spinning. Where had Drago gone, then? He had come down the stairs. He hadn't gone back up. He wasn't a magician! He couldn't walk through walls, surely.
Yet the fact was that somehow he'd disappeared from this place, because there was no other place the stairs led to.

Struck by a sudden thought, I felt along the bricks of the walls a second time, this time pressing each one. A third brick, then a fourth. I had almost given up the idea when, on the ninth attempt, a panel sprung open and, peering inside, I saw that it opened onto an elevator. The hair rose on the back of my neck and I thought, again, that I should turn back. But I'd gone too far to stop now, so I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button that was marked by a downwards arrow. At once, the elevator started moving down, so rapidly it felt as though we were plunging, freefall, down a bottomless well.

The elevator stopped. The doors opened. I stepped out and found myself standing at the end of a very long passageway, which had no features except rough stone walls, a damp floor, and dull lamps lighting the way. I began to inch my way along the passageway, going as softly as I possibly could, keeping in the shadows as much as I could, and looking always for places where I might duck out of sight if anyone came. I saw that every so often there were sections where the stone stuck out enough to provide a very small possibility of concealment, and felt a little safer.

The passageway turned left, and I followed it. A little further along I came to a door, set in the wall. I tried the handle. It was unlocked. I opened it. And stepped into a strange, strange world.

It was brighter in here. I was in a large cavernous space, with a second door at the end, opposite from where I stood. It was lit by a few gas lamps here and there. This place must once have been some sort of warehouse or workshop,
I thought, for there were bits of rusty-looking machinery and other odds and ends lying around. Against one wall, close to the door where I stood, was a tall, wide wooden cupboard. Across the room from that, at the far end to me, was a row of ten cages, about the size you'd need for a large dog to stand upright. Most of the cages were empty but in four of them there crouched still, huddled shapes. My first thought was that they were animals – but then it occurred to me that they seemed to take up more space than any animal I'd seen. Were they people? I couldn't be sure from where I stood.

I was about to go over to have a closer look at whatever was imprisoned there when suddenly there came a sound that was midway between a low whistle and a buzz, with an eerie, mechanical quality to it. It came from outside the room, from behind the second door. At the sound, the huddled shapes in the cages began to stir and to shift, and a feeling of unease and fear filled the air. I knew that I must hide. Hurrying over to the cupboard, I opened the door as softly as I could. It smelt stale and musty and there were strange stains on the floor but it was empty, and it was my only option. Pulling the door shut behind me, I put my eye to the keyhole.

I was just in time, for at that moment the door down the end of the room opened and Drago came out. He was carrying a bag and he headed straight to the cages. Kneeling down, he took a blanket out of the bag, laid it down on the floor near the cages, then took out some other things I couldn't see properly, as his back was to me.

He straightened up and I heard the creak of a key and the scrape of a bolt as a cage was unlocked and Drago dragged something – no, I could see what the shapes were,
now – dragged
somebody
out of the cage. I could not see the person's face, only a vague outline of their shape from behind. From their clothes, scrappy, dirty and old as they were, I thought that it was likely to be a small man, or a boy.

The person was limp as a rag, not struggling. It was as though he were drugged, or so weak he could not even try to fight. The three remaining people in the cages were still again, frozen like statues, as Drago placed his unmoving victim on the blanket. Then Drago raised his arm and I saw something silver flash in the air – not a knife, but some kind of two-pronged needle – as he brought the weapon down, plunging it deep into his victim's neck.

Realisation hit me like a punch to the belly. Drago was the beggar killer!

An unearthly scream of terror and grief came from the cages and filled the air as the poor beggarman arched his back, convulsing wildly. I heard the muffled drumming of his heels on the blanket, and felt rather than saw the agony contorting his face, turning it into a frozen mask of horror. And then came a smell. A thin, strange smell, something I had never come across before. All I could say for sure was that it wasn't the smell of blood. There was no blood, not that I could see …

It was all over in an instant, yet it seemed like an eternity. Soon, all spasms ceased and Drago, who had been squatting motionless over the body of his victim, waiting patiently for the death throes to end, moved away, dragging the body wrapped in the blanket away from the cages and towards the second door. In the next moment, he passed through the doorway.

Now was my chance. I had to get away at once.

But my heart stopped me. My head told me to go, but my heart told me that I needed to stay and
do
something. What I had just seen was so terrible that I could not just run away. Knowing, now, that Drago was the beggar killer, I knew I had to find out more. But on no account must I alert him or his prisoners, or I was lost, too. And so I crept out of the cupboard and, ducking and weaving behind the bits of machinery, made my way to the door through which Drago had passed. What was he doing inside? I reached the door and began to inch it open, but just as I did, one of the prisoners lifted her head and looked straight at me. I saw a pair of frightened, wide grey eyes, set in a pitifully thin face under skeins of tangled fair hair. And I felt as though my blood had turned to ice.

For I knew that gaze. I knew it, from the past. The terrified girl crouched in the corner of the cage staring right at me was none other than my childhood friend Margy.

But she didn't recognise me. I could see that. And I had a feeling it wasn't because I was disguised in my glasses and my uniform. Her wide eyes were empty of any recognition; all that was there was fear. Fear had turned her mind, clouded her memory, emptied it of anything except the knowledge that she was going to die here in this terrible place.

Never. Never! My mind filled up with heat. Suddenly, I didn't care about finding out more than I knew already. I didn't care what Drago was doing, beyond that door. I hardly even cared about my own safety. I only cared fiercely that nothing like what had happened to that poor man would happen to Margy. I had to get her out.

I ran over to the cages and tried to open one but the doors were locked, bolted. I could not get them open
without the key. So I had to get the key. And that was in Drago's possession.

I must have been a little mad, I think. How else can I explain what I did next? I snatched up a rusty iron bar, swung open the door and, when I came upon Drago in the next room, kneeling over the body with his back to me, I hit him on the back of the head as hard as I could.

He fell like a log, toppling forward onto the blanket-wrapped body of his victim. The glass bottle he'd been holding, which contained a small amount of clear liquid, shattered as he fell, and the liquid spilled out onto the floor. As it did so, there was a hissing sound, and the liquid turned into a kind of silver mist before vanishing and leaving behind only for a moment a faint smell – the same strange one as I had smelt before.

I had no idea what the liquid – or the smell – was. All I could see was that Drago had been somehow extracting the liquid from the victim's body using that same strange two-pronged needle, but made of a faintly phosphorescent material that looked terrifying. This was the same thing he'd used to kill the poor beggar. It lay on the floor near the shattered bottle and I made no attempt to pick it up. It turned my stomach, but I had no time to speculate what exactly it was, for more urgent matters filled my mind.

Drago lay very still. Had I killed him or was he just unconscious? As evil as he was, the thought that I might have killed a man filled me with horror. Either way, I wasn't going to take the chance of hanging around to see. Rummaging frantically through his pockets, I quickly found a bunch of keys and was about to leave when it struck me that I should tie him up – for if he came to,
I might be able to stop him from escaping before I could alert the police.

The bag he'd brought in was propped against a wall. I searched through it, hoping for a rope or wire or other kind of tie, but to no avail. The rest of the room was empty, but after it was another room, and in that was a long shelf filled with an odd assortment of things – small, empty bottles, some stone jars, also empty, blankets stacked up in neat rows, empty flour sacks – and yes, a coil of rope. I was about to pick it up when I noticed that at the far end of this room was a curtained alcove. Seized by an instinct I could not explain, I hurried over to see what was behind the curtain.

I don't know what I was expecting, exactly, but it certainly wasn't the sight that greeted my eyes and made me freeze on the spot, breath whistling in my throat. For there, unnaturally still, glaring straight at me out of icy blue eyes, stood Belladonna.

I wanted to run but I couldn't. Her gaze was so sharp, so hard, so glittering, that it fixed me to the spot like a butterfly stuck down by the sharp edge of a pin. But she did not move towards me, to grab me, to kill me. Not one tremor. Not one blink. Not one …

And then, with a spasm of mingled relief and unease, I realised that this wasn't my stepmother. Or at least, it wasn't the living, breathing Belladonna. This was the dummy replica of Belladonna, the one that had been unveiled at the Ladies' Fair spring fashion show.

At that moment, there came that eerie sound again, a half-whistle, half-buzz, and now I saw that it came from the waxen Belladonna and that it was vibrating, ever so slightly. The paralysis that had frozen me evaporated as I took to my heels, not understanding what I'd just seen
and heard but not really wanting to, either. Some devilry was afoot, I knew that, but what it meant, I had no idea.

Grabbing the coil of rope on the way back through the room, I tied Drago up as best I could. I could see his chest slightly rising and falling, so knew he wasn't dead. But as I rolled him carefully off his victim's body, a sudden, sickening thought struck me. Margy was in one of the cages, but I hadn't seen her brother, my friend Rafiel, there. Could this dead man be Rafiel? With a feeling of dread, I slowly folded back the corner of the blanket to uncover the victim's face … and looked on the pale dead face of a stranger, a small, thin young man with red hair and blue eyes that were open in a look of utter terror. As much as I felt for this young man, the biggest thing I felt was relief, overwhelming relief that this poor young man was not Rafiel. Saying a rapid prayer, I gently closed his eyes and folded the blanket back over his face, for there was nothing I could do for him now.

I went back to the cages, my fingers slipping with cold sweat as I fumbled with the keys. I managed to unlock the three cages that held prisoners and, pulling open the bolts, flung open the doors.

‘Come on!' I yelled. ‘We don't have much time!'

Out scrambled the first prisoner, a wiry, tough-looking woman of around thirty-five, and then the second prisoner, a young man in his early twenties, pitifully thin and small, like the poor soul who had just been murdered by Drago. But Margy didn't move. She crouched in a corner of her cage, trembling like a leaf, shrinking away from me when I tried to touch her so that in the end, it was the beggarwoman who, by dint of soft words, managed to coax her out.

‘Quickly!' I called, as I raced to the elevator, the others stumbling after me. Poor Margy had to be led in by the beggarwoman.

We reached the small dark landing, and I whispered, ‘Stay close, there's still a way to go.'

The others nodded, except for Margy. She was holding onto the beggarwoman's hand with a tight grip, but her eyes were wide and blank as ever. Remembering the bright, lively girl she'd been when I knew her, I felt a sharp pang.

‘You'll be safe now, Margy, I promise,' I said. ‘I swear it on my life.'

Her gaze flicked up at me, but she said nothing.

The beggarwoman touched Margy's shoulder gently and said, ‘She hasn't spoken since we were taken. I fear the poor girl's mind is quite gone.'

I swallowed. ‘She can be healed. I know a place where she can be healed.'

I hurried down the passageway to the lift, the others following on my heels. We got there and went up the stairs without incident, emerging into the alley, which was quite deserted. Ushering everyone out, I locked the door behind us, using a key from the set I had stolen from Drago. I wanted to make certain that when Drago awoke – and, given the crack on the head I'd given him, I doubted that would be soon – even if he managed to free himself, he'd be locked in.

‘Come on,' I said, as we stood outside the door for a moment, adjusting our eyes to the light. ‘We'll go to the City Police first and then I can …'