Goblin Moon by Teresa Edgerton Page B

you should know the
words, which are based on an ancient invocation to the sun and the
moon.
    “You frown, Miss Vorder, as though you disapprove,”
she added. “Will you tell me why?”
    Sera shook her head, uncertain how to express what
she felt. “These children . . .” she said at last. “Their
circumstances are so wretched, their condition so miserable. I
cannot imagine anything worse than the lives they already lead.
What need have their parents to—to invent bogeymen with which to
scare them?”
    “No need at all,” said Mistress Sancreedi. “These
children are quite capable of imagining their own bogeymen. You are
shocked by what you have seen here. The condition of these children
moves you to pity and disgust. But to see them at their worst, you
would have to come here at night.
    “Few of these children have beds to sleep in,” said
Mistress Sancreedi. “They spend the nights huddled together with
their equally wretched brothers and sisters in a pile of filthy
rags in some draughty corner. Rats are their frequent bedfellows,
and the violent squabbling of drunken parents a familiar lullaby.
More often than not, these children go to bed hungry. Is it any
wonder if they sleep lightly and their dreams are more often
nightmares? But worst of all, perhaps, is their fear of hobgoblins,
whenever the moon is full.”
    “It is very sad,” said Sera, with another shake of
her head. “But there is nothing supernatural about hobgoblins, you
know. They are just—just vermin. And they only come out when the
moon is full because subterranean tremors make their tunnels
unsafe.”
    “As you say,” Mistress Sancreedi agreed. “They are
only vermin. But they possess a rudimentary intelligence, and
unlike rats and other vermin, they have clever little hands which
enable them to unfasten latches and pry open windows; they have a
hundred different ways of gaining entrance to these old, tumbledown
houses. Moreover, they run quite mad above ground, and their bite
is poisonous.”
    “You would say that the poison is a mild one, and the
wound not serious if treated properly,” the apothecary added, when
Sera opened her mouth to speak. “But rosewater and oil of clove are
quite beyond the means of these folk. That little lad over there .
. .” Mistress Sancreedi indicated an emaciated urchin, not more
than six years old, who leaned on a crutch and stumped along on a
wooden leg. “He was bitten by a hob before he learned to walk. His
mother did not send for me until the poison had spread from his
foot to his leg. I came in time to save his life, but not to save
the limb.”
    Mistress Sancreedi gave a weary little sigh, as
though she was suddenly oppressed by many such memories, and
changed the subject. “But tell me something of your cousin, Miss
Vorder. Has her health improved at all?”
    “It has not,” said Sera. “I do wish that Cousin
Clothilde had been more reasonable and not dismissed you!” Yet it
was not to be wondered at that Mistress Sancreedi’s prescription—a
sensible diet, moderate exercise, and mild herbal draughts to aid
Elsie’s uncertain digestion—had not found favor with Cousin
Clothilde.
    “I fancy,” said the apothecary, “that the Duchess had
something to do with my dismissal. Marella Carleon has done a great
deal of good in this world—indeed, I believe she is universally
regarded as a great philanthropist—but she also has much to account
for.”
    As they continued on their way, through the dirt, and
the garbage, and the gloom, Sera launched into a long story of
Elsie and all her ills, which somehow became an account of her own
wrongs and ended with Sera telling Mistress Sancreedi all about
Lord Krogan and his disgraceful behavior.
    “And I simply do not know what I should do. If I
complain to Cousin Clothilde, she is certain to believe instead
whatever lie Lord Krogan chooses to tell her; he will be able to
convince her that I said or did something improper to encourage