The Moon and the Sun

Hugging Lorraine’s cloak around her, she hurried onto the terrace. The moon had set but the stars shed a little light. The luminarias marking the King’s pathway had burned to nothing. The fountains lay quiet. Marie-Josèphe ran across the cold dew-damp flagstones, past the Ornamental Pools, and down the stairs above the Fountain of Latona. Beyond, on the Green Carpet, the musketeers’ torch spread a pool of smoky light.

Motion and a strange shape in the corner of her eye startled her. She stopped short, catching her breath.

The white blossoms of an orange tree trembled and glowed in the darkness. Gardeners, dragging the orange-tree cart, slipped from the traces to bow to Marie-Josèphe.

She acknowledged the gardeners, thinking, of course they must work at night; His Majesty should see his gardens only in a state of perfection.

They took up the cart again; its wheels crunched on the gravel. When His Majesty took his afternoon walk, fresh trees, their blossoms forced in the greenhouse, would greet him. His Majesty’s gaze would touch only beauty.

Marie-Josèphe hurried to the sea monster’s tent. The lantern inside had gone out; the torch outside illuminated only the entry curtain and its gold sunburst.

“Say a prayer before you go in!” said the musketeer corporal.

“An incantation!”

“He means an exorcism.”

“There isn’t any demon,” Yves said.

“We heard it.”

“Flapping its wings.”

“Wings like leather.”

Yves grabbed the torch, flung aside the curtain, and strode into the tent. Out of breath from running, Marie-Josèphe slipped past the musketeers and followed her brother.

The tent looked as they had left it, the equipment all in place, melted ice dripping softly to the plank floor, the cage surrounding the fountain. The odor of dead fish and preserving spirits hung in the air. Marie-Josèphe supposed the guards might have mistaken the unpleasant smells for brimstone.

She believed in demons—she believed in God, and in angels, so how could she not believe in Satan and demons?—but she thought, in these modern days, demons did not often choose to visit the earthly world. Even if they did, why should a demon visit a sea monster, any more than it would visit His Majesty’s elephant or His Majesty’s baboons?

Marie-Josèphe giggled, thinking of a demon on a picnic in His Majesty’s Menagerie.

Her laughter brought her to Yves’ attention.

“What are you laughing at?” he said. “You should be in bed.”

“I wish I were,” Marie-Josèphe said.

“Superstitious fools,” Yves muttered. “Demons, indeed.”

The torchlight reflected from a splash of water on the polished planks.

“Yves—”

A watery trail led from the fountain to the cluster of lab equipment. The gate of the cage hung open.

Yves cursed and hurried to the dissection table. Marie-Josèphe ran into the cage.

The sea monster floated a few strokes from the platform, its hair spreading around its shoulders. Its eyes reflected the torchlight, uncanny as a cat’s. It hummed softly, eerily.

“Yves, it’s here, it’s safe, it’s all right.”

“Stay there—There’s broken glass. Are you barefoot?”

“Are you?”

Shards of glass flung sharp sounds as Yves swept them into a pile.

“My feet are like leather—we never wore shoes on the galleon.”

He joined her in the cage, holding the torch out over the water. A spark fell and sizzled. The sea monster spat at it, whistled angrily, and dove.

“It slithered around out here. It climbed the stairs! I didn’t think it could make progress on land. It knocked a flask over, it fled back to the fountain… I must have left the gate ajar.”

“You tested it,” Marie-Josèphe said. “You latched it and rattled it.”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t have. Tomorrow I’ll get a chain.”

Yves sat abruptly. He slumped forward, his head down, hair hanging in rumpled black curls. Marie-Josèphe snatched the torch before it fell. Concerned, she sat beside her brother and put her arm around his shoulder.

He patted her hand. “I’m only tired,” he said.

“You work so hard,” Marie-Josèphe said. “Let me help you.”

“That wouldn’t be proper.”

“I was a good assistant when we were children—I’m no less able now.”

She feared he would refuse, and that would be the end of it. I no longer know my brother, she thought, distressed. I no longer know what he’ll say, what he’ll do, before he knows it himself.

He raised his head, frowned, hesitated. “What about your duties to Mademoiselle?”

Marie-Josèphe giggled. “Sometimes I hold her handkerchief, if Mlle d’Armagnac doesn’t snatch it first. She’d hardly notice I was gone. I need only tell her you need me—so your work might please the King…”

His brow cleared. “I’d be grateful for your help. You haven’t become squeamish, have you?”

“Squeamish!” She laughed.

“Will you document the dissection?”

“I’d like nothing better.”

“The dissection will occupy my time. Will you take the charge of the live sea monster? Feed it—”

“Yes. And I’ll tame it, too.”