“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?
I put my lips to a narrow opening in the stone blocks and call out softly. “Caliban? Caliban, can you hear me?” I wait for a moment until I think I hear the faint sound of movement inside his cell. “Caliban, it’s me, Miranda. Listen and say nothing.” Thinking, I choose my words with care. “I am sorry, but you must tell Papa the bad name tomorrow, Caliban.” My heart feels squeezed in my chest. “You must! For one way or another, he will have it from you. And if you do not tell him willingly…”
Oh, I wish I could see him, to judge how much he understands! I may have said too much already.
Inside there is only silence; but that is what I asked of him.
“Please, Caliban,” I whisper into the dark chink between the stone. There are tears in my voice. “Please? If you will not do it for yourself, do it for me. Do it because I beg you. Just tell Papa—Master—the name.”
Silence.
A part of me wants to shout to the heavens, wants to pound upon the stone with my fists. It wants to be certain that Caliban has been roused and has heard me; to hear him respond and know he understood. It is disobedient and brave, that part of me. But it is also the smaller part of me.
The greater part of me has dared as much as it might for one night.
Gathering up my robes, I steal back to my chamber where I lie sleepless and await the dawn.
ELEVEN
CALIBAN
What is a lie?
I think, I think … to lie is to say a thing that is not. Or to say a thing is when it is not.
To say, I do not know, when I do know.
That is a lie.
A lie is bad.