Once In a Blue Moon (34 page)

“So far, nothing conclusive,” said the Sombre Warrior. “Go take your walk, ladies. I’ll call you when we’re ready to proceed again.”

“Come away, Gertrude,” Catherine said kindly. “I’m sure there are flowers and birds and butterflies, and all kinds of interesting things to look at among the trees.”

She paused, as she realised the soldiers were piling all the bodies into one big heap.

“Are you going to bury them, Warrior?”

“No, your highness. We’ll make a cairn for them, with wood and stones. It’s better than they deserve.”

“Then why bother?” said Gertrude.

“Because this is the Forest,” said the Sombre Warrior, “and we don’t want to attract attention.”

•   •   •

C
atherine and Gertrude didn’t get far into the Forest before they came upon an overgrown, disused graveyard. They picked their way carefully through the tightly packed trees, following something that might have been a trail, once upon a time, and then suddenly the trees just fell away to either side and the two women stumbled into a small clearing, facing a collection of headstones and modest monuments, and a few rows of sunken graves. Gertrude immediately wanted to turn around and go back, but Catherine stood her ground, quietly charmed. It was like a scene from one of those old gothic novels she’d always enjoyed so much as a teenager. And sure enough, when she looked through the trees at the other end of the clearing, she could just make out the ruins of an abandoned manor house.

Catherine drifted dreamily among the graves and headstones, looking from one half-erased inscription to another. Time and the elements had wiped most of the old lettering away, blurring the engravings and obliterating lines of well-meant poetry. She couldn’t find a complete name or date anywhere; the names had been either smoothed away by the years or buried under sprawling moss and lichens. Catherine knelt down before one stone showing a simple bas-relief of a young woman’s head in profile, but there was nothing to identify her. Nothing to say who she was, or who might have mourned her. She looked like she might have been around Catherine’s age . . . The Princess shuddered briefly.
There is only one thing you can be sure of in life,
her father had told her on more than one occasion.
Nothing lasts . . .

Catherine straightened up suddenly, as Gertrude’s shadow fell over her, and the two women stood side by side for a while, looking about them.

“Some welcome to the Forest Land this is,” said Gertrude. “Our carriage falls apart, we’re attacked by hired killers, and when we go for a nice little walk we end up in a graveyard!”

“To be fair,” said Catherine, “those are the only interesting things that have happened so far.”

“We could have been killed!” said Gertrude.

“But we weren’t,” said Catherine.

Lady Gertrude sniffed loudly. “I haven’t been able to identify a single birdsong or butterfly since we stopped, my poppet. And the trees are just so . . . big. Almost overpowering . . . It’s all so different from the gentle woodlands of our own dear Redhart. It’s all so . . . rural. Unplanned. Untamed. I don’t like it.” She looked through the far trees, at what remained of the old manor house. “I wonder what family lived there . . . and why they chose to live all the way out here, so far from anywhere civilised.”

The walls of the manor house had collapsed inwards long ago, leaving the roof to fall in on top of them, and all kinds of intruding vegetation had forced its way in through the shattered windows. It didn’t look strange or mysterious, like one of the sinister ruins in Catherine’s books; instead, she thought, it looked sad, and lost. A great thing brought low by neglect and the passing of years.

“This must have been the family graveyard,” she said. “And given how many graves there are, the family must have lived here for generations.”

“Really can’t see why,” said Gertrude sniffily. “A most inhospitable place, my sweet. We shouldn’t be here.”

“Nowhere else to be,” said Catherine. “And at least it is . . . interesting.”

Gertrude rolled her eyes up to Heaven at the use of that word again and sank down heavily on the nearest headstone—which fortunately held up under her weight—with the air of someone washing her hands of the whole affair. Catherine wandered happily among the headstones and markers, trying to find at least one intact name. It was all very quiet, very peaceful, and she liked to think everyone there was at rest.

When she first saw the ghost, she thought it was another of the skeletal attackers. She glimpsed something white and glowing out of the corner of one eye, looked round quite casually, and then her head came up sharply as she found herself looking straight at a gently shining figure. It jumped, startled at being so suddenly picked out from its surroundings, looked frantically back and forth, and then hid behind one of the larger headstones. Which wasn’t big enough to hide most of it. Catherine could still see its glow quite clearly, and more than enough of it to tell it wasn’t any man with painted-on bones. She walked right up to the headstone and glared at the white shining figure fidgeting behind it.

“You! Yes, you—who else would I be talking to? Come out from behind that gravestone at once! Who are you?”

There was a long pause, and then the whole figure emerged slowly into the light, shuffling his bare feet and looking bashfully at her. He was faint, almost transparent at first, just a human shape with few details. But the more Catherine looked at him, the more the ghost seemed to come into focus. As though he were clear and distinct only when someone living was there to see him. His face was soon clear enough, every detail present and correct, but the rest of him remained stubbornly unfocused. Or perhaps, undecided. The face was that of an old man, with long white hair and a full white beard, kind eyes, and an uncertain smile. There was nothing scary or threatening about him. He looked more like some long-lost uncle, unsure of his welcome. Or even his right to be there, in that graveyard. He shone with a gentle light. He smiled at Catherine, and nodded several times.

“Hello. Yes. Nice day, isn’t it? I’m a ghost. Who are you?”

“Come away, Catherine!” called Gertrude, just a bit shrilly, from the far side of the cemetery. “Never talk to ghosts, my poppet! It only encourages them!”

“I always wanted to meet a ghost,” said Catherine, studying the shimmering form before her with great interest. “Castle Midnight was supposed to be lousy with the things at one time, but I never saw any. And not for want of trying. What’s your name?”

“Ah,” said the ghost. “Starting with the hard ones first, are we? Bit of a problem there, I’m afraid. I don’t remember. I’ve been a ghost for so long I’ve forgotten whose ghost I am. Who or what I was when I was alive . . .”

“How long have you been haunting this place?” said Catherine.

“I don’t know,” said the ghost. “I used to haunt that old manor house, until it fell apart so much I didn’t feel comfortable there anymore. Too many shadows, and too many unexpected noises . . . So now I just hang around here, and talk to the stones, and the graves. Not that they ever answer back, of course. In fact, I think I’d find it rather upsetting if any of them did. I think . . . my name might be Jasper. Yes. There’s a stone just over there, with that name on it . . . and the name does feel oddly familiar. Like it might mean something.”

“Well, Sir Jasper,” said Catherine. “I think . . .”

“Sir Jasper!” said the ghost delightedly. “Oh yes! That sounds right! Sir Jasper! Yes. I like that. Still doesn’t ring any bells, though.”

“Have you always haunted this part of the Forest?” said Catherine. “Were you a part of the family who lived here?”

“Perhaps,” said Sir Jasper. “I suppose so. I’ve been dead so long it’s hard for me to be sure of anything. Certainly I don’t remember being anywhere else, before being here. But I think I’m going to have to leave this place soon. I don’t want to, but . . . I don’t feel safe here anymore. The Darkwood isn’t far from here, and it’s started growing again. Just a little. Just recently. I can sense it. And that makes me very nervous.”

“But you’re a ghost!” said Catherine. “What have you got to be nervous about?”

“I don’t know!” said Sir Jasper. “That’s what’s so worrying!” He sighed, then bestowed his gentle smile on Catherine again. “I’m afraid that as ghosts go, I’m a bit rubbish. And more than a little chicken. I’d jump at my own shadow, if I still had one.”

“Are you really frightened of the Darkwood?” said Catherine.

“Oh yes,” said Sir Jasper, looking down at his bare feet poking out from under what might have been a nightgown. “In the night there are things moving, in the shadows that shouldn’t be there. And I can feel the strength of the Darkwood, where it’s always dark and the sun has never shone. I can feel its growing power. The Darkwood has an influence on all the things around it. I don’t want to be . . . what it would make of me. So I can’t stay here. But I don’t know where else to go.”

“Well, that’s easily settled,” Catherine said briskly. “You’re coming along with us, to the Forest Castle.”

“What?”
said Lady Gertrude.

But Sir Jasper was already jumping up and down on the spot in excitement, clapping his pale hands together. “Can I? Can I really come with you?”

“Of course you can,” said Catherine.

Sir Jasper looked past her, and lost some of his enthusiasm. “Ah . . . I don’t think your companion agrees.”

Catherine looked round to find that Gertrude had retreated to the farthest end of the graveyard. She was standing with her arms folded very tightly across her chest, shaking her head vigorously.

“What is the matter with you, Gertrude?” said Catherine. And then she stopped and turned back to the ghost. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sir Jasper. We haven’t introduced ourselves, have we? I am the Princess Catherine of Redhart, on my way to a forced marriage with Prince Richard of the Forest, and that is my companion, Lady Gertrude.”

“Delighted to meet you!” said Sir Jasper. He put out a hand for Catherine to shake, but her fingers passed right through his. Sir Jasper withdrew his hand and looked at it sadly. “Old habits die hard. Even when you’re dead . . .”

“Come away from him, my Princess!” said Gertrude loudly. “It’s not at all proper for you to talk with strange people without your chaperone present.”

“Then come over here and join us,” said Catherine.

“No thank you,” said Gertrude very firmly.

“Don’t let appearances fool you,” said Catherine.

“Trust me, they haven’t,” said Gertrude.

“He’s quite harmless, really,” said Catherine.

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Sir Jasper.

“I would,” said Catherine. “
Come here
, Lady Gertrude.”

The Lady came very slowly forward, one reluctant and highly apprehensive step at a time. The ghost smiled at her in a hopeful sort of way.

“This is Sir Jasper the ghost,” said Catherine. “He’s coming with us to the Forest Castle, and I don’t want to hear any arguments about it. It’s always possible someone there might be able to help us find out who he is. Or rather, who he used to be.”

“Why doesn’t he know?” said Gertrude suspiciously.

“He’s a ghost!” said Catherine. “Who knows what’s normal, where ghosts are concerned?”

“Why is he wearing a nightshirt?” said Gertrude.

“Why is everyone talking about him as if he wasn’t here!” said Sir Jasper.

“I was hoping you’d take a hint,” said Gertrude.

Catherine stopped, and turned to look at Sir Jasper. His form had become much more definite, perhaps because now there were two people looking at him. He appeared to have a perfectly normal body now, wrapped in an old-fashioned nightshirt, which covered him from the buttoned-up top collar all the way down to his bare feet. The nightshirt was so detailed that Catherine could make out every single button, and even the touch of lace at the sleeves. Sir Jasper’s face was as pale and colourless as the nightshirt, and he still shone with a gentle ghostly light.

“All right,” said Catherine. “Why the nightshirt?”

“It’s traditional,” said the ghost, with great dignity.

Catherine looked him over, trying to decide whether the new appearance was an improvement or not. “Traditional?” she said finally.

“I remember a few things, about ghosts in general,” said Sir Jasper. “What’s proper, and what isn’t. I did try walking around with my head tucked underneath my arm, for a while. But I couldn’t see where I was going, so I kept bumping into things. And once I dropped my head, and I couldn’t find myself for ages . . .” The ghost shuddered delicately. “I’m pretty sure what I look like depends on who it is that’s looking at me, and since there hasn’t been anyone here for ages, I have to say . . . this is probably all your fault. Have you been reading those awful gothic romances?”

“The carriage must be ready by now,” said Catherine. “You can ride with us. Unless you can fly?”

“No,” said Sir Jasper, very firmly. “I’m not exactly substantial, you see. Not a lot to me . . . One good headwind and who knows where I’d end up.” He peered at Catherine thoughtfully. “I have to ask—what will the people of Forest Castle make of me?”

Catherine grinned. “I can’t wait to find out.”

•   •   •

T
hey made their way back through the trees to the carriage. Catherine and Gertrude stuck to the trail, such as it was, while Sir Jasper just ambled along, walking through anything that got in his way. He even drifted through some of the larger trees, because he was so busy looking eagerly around him that he genuinely didn’t see them coming. Apparently he’d been in the graveyard so long he’d forgotten what everything else looked like. All the surrounding wildlife took one look at him and then ran like fury in the opposite direction. While Sir Jasper in his turn tended to jump at sudden noises, and actually hid behind Catherine when a squirrel threw its nuts at him.

Moths, on the other hand, loved Sir Jasper. They came fluttering from everywhere at once to fly round and round him. Perhaps they liked his gentle glow. Either way, Sir Jasper was charmed by them, and even tried putting out a hand for them to land on, but they just dropped right through it. Eventually they all flew away at once, and Sir Jasper watched them go, wistfully, till they were all out of sight.