Miranda and Caliban(20)

“I took it to be a promise,” I whisper.

“Ah, Miranda!” All at once, Papa’s expression softens into something more complicated, filled with sorrow and regret. “Sweet child, you are the very angel of my better nature, descended straight from the Empyrean. You should not have to plead for the companionship of this poor rough brute of a boy. You should have maids of your—” He halts and shakes his head. “No mind. What’s done is done, and the time to remedy it lies far in the offing. Very well. If Caliban obeys on the morrow and divulges the name, I shall grant him his freedom.” He raises one finger. “However, if he fails to obey, I shall be left with no choice.”

“I understand, Papa.” I dash at my tears. “Must it … must it ever be thus? Shall he forever be ruled by this threat?”

“I doubt that the threat of losing his reason is one our wild lad understands,” Papa says dryly. “’Tis your tender heart begs an answer.” I look down at the table and say nothing, feeling the weight of Papa’s gaze upon me. “Does it truly mean so much to you, child?”

“It is only that I am weary of being fearful.” I dare a swift upward glance. “And I have worked so very hard.”

“Very well.” Papa nods. “I shall make you this promise, Miranda. If tomorrow’s proceedings result in my freeing the spirit Ariel at such a time when the heavens are propitious, I give you my word that Caliban’s will—poor surly, grudging thing that it may be—shall henceforth remain his own.”

A sense of gratitude fills me like sunlight. “Do you mean it?”

“I have said it, have I not?” Papa says, but his voice is mild. “I pray you do not doubt my word when I give it. Mind you, it does not mean that bad behavior will not be punished.”

“No,” I agree. “Of course not.”

He lifts one finger again. “And it is contingent on the spirit Ariel gaining its freedom. Do I make my meaning clear?”

“Yes, Papa.” I hate that wailing spirit in the pine tree. I wish Papa cared half as much for me as he does for this Ariel. “As clear as day.”

As if to spite me, the spirit Ariel keeps up a terrible din that night. I lie awake with my hands pressed over my ears in an effort to shut it out. I think of Caliban alone in his cell, his belly gripped with hunger. I think about all that is at stake on the morrow.

Outside the moon climbs high overhead and bright moonlight spills into my chamber, inching across the tiled floor. Hour by hour, I watch it.

And even though I am a little angry still at Caliban, I cannot bear the thought of seeing him like Oriana. I cannot bear the thought of losing his companionship, I cannot bear the thought of being alone again. I cannot bear the thought of Papa’s promise being squandered.

At last I rise from my sleepless pallet. The spring night is cool and the moonlit tiles are cold beneath my bare feet. Caliban’s cell and the gallery above it are forbidden to me, so I steal into the garden outside my chamber and through the unlocked gate.

In daylight, I should have no trouble making my way across the palace grounds to Caliban’s cell, but everything is strange and unfamiliar in the bright moonlight. All the sharp-edged shadows point the wrong direction. I get turned about in the cypress garden, and wander into the next garden with its maze of hedges by mistake.

For a moment I panic. My heartbeat quickens and I blunder into the unruly evergreen bushes, my robe snagging on their prickly branches. I begin to fear I shall have to wait until dawn to find my way out, and that Papa will know.

I shall be punished for it.

And Caliban … I fear he may suffer for my disobedience.

Closing my eyes, I offer a prayer to the moon. “May God bless you, O Blessed Lady Moon,” I whisper. “Fortunate one, cold and lovely and shining, I beg you to guide my steps!”

The act of prayer calms me. The gracious Lady Moon helped Papa summon Caliban. Surely she will help guide me to him. When I open my eyes, the silvery light seems kinder and I remember that I have wandered this maze a hundred times, and it holds no mysteries for me. I have made a game of it to teach Caliban directions. I see moonlight glinting on the dome of the cunning little temple that lies at the heart of the maze, and I know where I am, only two turns within the northern entrance. I begin to count the turns to the southern exit: Left, left, right, left, left, left, right, left, right, right.

Even so, it is a relief when I stumble free of it at last and backtrack to my destination.

There is no gate into the little garden outside Caliban’s cell, but there are gaps in the walls. I clamber over one of them, awkward in my robes, bruising my shins on the rough outcroppings of stone. I think ruefully of the days when I would catch glimpses of Caliban crouching on the walls of my own chamber-garden, and I wish I had his gift for leaping and climbing.

To be sure, Caliban will catch no such glimpse of me tonight. The entrance to his chamber remains blocked; but there are chinks between the great squares of stone that block it. I creep across the garden, holding the skirts of my robe so that they do not trail in the cold dew, and find such a chink.

You are to have no communication with him during this time, Miranda.

That is what Papa said.

I am disobeying him.

As Caliban would say, I am bad.

But mayhap … mayhap if it is only me that speaks, it cannot be considered true communication?