The Puppeteer: Book II of The Guild of Gatekeepers

by Frances Jones

  ‘Tom was awoken by the cat,’ said Claribel. ‘I invited him to join us for some warm milk to help him sleep.’

  ‘Why, yes, of course. ‘Tis the best thing for those chasing sleep,’ said Professor Goldwick, setting aside his book. ‘Do you often have trouble sleeping, Tom?’

  ‘Only lately,’ I replied as Claribel poured the milk into a mug and set it before me. I took a sip then put it down to cool. ‘Professor, may I ask you something?’

  ‘Of course,’ he replied.

  ‘Mrs. Thorne’s letter said that you are an expert in curses and hexes. Can a person ever escape having been branded?’

  Professor Goldwick looked at me with pity, and his eyes settled upon the shadow across the left side of my face. ‘Do you ask for yourself?’ he said.

  I nodded. He paused for a few moments in which I felt my heart thudding inside my chest.

  ‘A branding is like a parasite; it feeds upon its victim. Whatever darkness is already within you it will magnify to break you down and eventually enslave you. Nightmares are a common symptom; they wear you down to render you vulnerable and easy to overcome. You must rid yourself of fear and anger, or else it will be used against you. Tell me, who did this to you, Tom?’

  I hesitated for a moment, unwilling to speak his name. ‘It was William Devere, the former Keeper of the Guild of Gatekeepers,’ I replied. It was the first time I had said his name aloud since the branding, and my voice trembled as I spoke. ‘He is dead now.’

  Professor Goldwick looked troubled, but he spoke lightly and with great effort to conceal his true thoughts, I suspected. ‘Do not heed the nightmares. Remember they are not real. Have courage and rid yourself of fear and anger- that is the greatest service you can do for yourself.’

  ‘It is not just the nightmares,’ I said. ‘There are other things too. A sharpening of the senses as it were. Time seems to slow to a crawl, and then I notice things that are there but which others don’t see.’

  Professor Goldwick frowned and leaned forward in his chair. ‘And this has happened only since the branding?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I replied.

  ‘Have you ever been exposed to any other kind of magic, Tom?’

  I hesitated. ‘Yes…a long time ago. Before I was even born. George saved my mother with the magic of a dragonskin. He said a trace of it passed to me in the womb.’

  Professor Goldwick’s eyes widened with amazement, and Claribel gave me a curious look.

  ‘Well, well, I had no idea such a thing was still in this world. You are a most interesting subject, Tom. Prior exposure to such powerful magic- the most powerful that exists -will undoubtedly have altered the branding’s effects, though whether for good or ill, I cannot say. It goes without saying that I have never encountered a branded person who has previously been exposed to a dragonskin’s power, therefore I cannot offer any insight into how it might affect the curse. The magic within you might have neutralised the branding, and that is to be hoped, but equally I must warn you that the branding could be utilising that magic to create a stronger, more deadly curse. Whichever the case may be, my advice to you remains unchanged; do away with fear and anger and any darkness within you. Do not leave the curse anything to feed upon.’

  ‘Perhaps such things are best not discussed in the dark of night,’ said Claribel quietly. ‘We don’t want to frighten Tom, do we, Father?’

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ I replied. ‘I only wanted to know the worst I might yet face. That way I can prepare myself. Please don’t speak of this to Eliza; she is my friend, and I don’t wish to alarm her.’

  Professor Goldwick smiled. ‘Of course. You have my word.’

  ‘And mine also,’ said Claribel. ‘Will you please excuse me? I think the warm milk has taken effect.’

  ‘Yes, I ought to get back to bed too,’ I said, standing up. ‘Eliza and I have a long journey tomorrow.’

  Professor Goldwick rose from his seat and shook my hand. ‘Goodnight, Tom, and pray do not be afraid. Sometimes my professional curiosity overcomes my human compassion. I did not mean to frighten you.’

  ‘I know, sir. Goodnight.’

  Claribel led the way back down the stairs, holding the candle aloft to guide us.

  ‘Goodnight, Tom,’ she whispered when we reached the door of my room. ‘Rest now, and do not be troubled.’

  ‘Goodnight, Claribel.’

  I listened as her footsteps retreated down the passageway then groped my way to the bed. Marmalade was curled up fast asleep where I had left him. I climbed in beside him and pressed my hand against his back, feeling it rise and fall as he breathed. The warmth and softness of his fur was a comfort as I replayed the Professor’s words in my head. Yes, I could beat Devere’s curse. I had to, or else allow it to consume me. I would rid myself of fear and anger as Professor Goldwick said.

  As I turned these thoughts over in my head the sound of whispered voices in the garden outside reached through the window, though they were too quiet to identify the speakers or catch the words that were said. Weariness was catching up with me now, and I thought no more of it. I shut my eyes and allowed sleep to wash over me.

  Chapter 9

  The sun hadn’t long risen over the meadows when I woke the next morning. I dressed and met Eliza on the landing. The smell of breakfast wafted up the stairs from the kitchen below.

  Downstairs, we found the dining table already laid, but neither Professor Goldwick or Claribel were there.

  ‘They have already eaten,’ said the cook, setting a plate of bacon and eggs before us. We ate heartily in anticipation of the long ride ahead of us.

  As we finished our meal, the dining room door opened and Claribel entered.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘My father sends his apologies for not joining you for breakfast, but he has work that he must see to urgently. He will be here to see you off when you leave. I am quite grateful for this opportunity to speak with you both alone.’ She took up a chair beside us and proceeded in a low voice. ‘Beware who you trust in this matter. As I said last night, there are many seeking to wipe out magic entirely, and their words may not always match what is in their hearts. ‘Tis a dangerous time to be a magician.’

  ‘Then you do believe the monster has been deliberately conjured?’ I said.

  ‘I do,’ Claribel replied.

  ‘Is there anyone you suspect could be responsible?’ Eliza asked. ‘We met Professor Noakes at Merton College yesterday when we were looking for your father…’ Her voice trailed off as she struggled to find a way to politely rephrase Professor Noakes’ words.

  ‘Oh yes, Professor Noakes is perhaps the most vocal of all those at the college whose contempt for magic is no secret,’ said Claribel.

  ‘But if he hates magic so much, would he really resort to using it himself in order to wipe it out?’ I asked.

  Claribel looked thoughtful. ‘Possibly not, though it would not be beyond his abilities to summon forth a monster. ‘Tis not generally known, but he himself was an accomplished alchemist at one time, though I believe his motivations were love of gold rather than a desire for knowledge. Certainly the pursuit of the sciences has proven more beneficial to his pockets and his status than magic ever did. He has just recently been appointed to the city court’s inquisitorial council adjudicating on cases of suspected witchcraft.’

  ‘In that case, if he was the killer, couldn’t he have just had the victims tried and hung for witchcraft rather than murdering them himself?’ I said.

  Claribel shook her head. ‘His sphere of influence doesn’t extend beyond the city. The victims were all in London. Of course, there’s no proof at all that he is the killer or even knew the victims. Sadly, Professor Noakes is just one of many of those hostile to magic in this city, and undoubtedly elsewhere. His guilt is no more obvious than anyone else’s. Until we know more, ‘tis impossible to speculate with any certainty.’

  ‘Well, we will of course send word of anything we discover back in London,’ said Eliza.
/>
  ‘Thank you. I simply hope between the four of us we may stop this wickedness,’ Claribel replied. ‘But for now, I will see that you have food and drink for your journey home. Mabson has your horses ready.’

  We finished our breakfast and made ready to leave. Professor Goldwick and Claribel stood at the garden gate to see us on our way.

  ‘Goodbye, and thank you for your advice and hospitality,’ I said.

  ‘You are most welcome,’ said Professor Goldwick. ‘Good luck, and send word as soon as you are able.’

  ‘And be vigilant,’ said Claribel. ‘Don’t ride beyond nightfall.’

  ‘We won’t. Goodbye, and thank you!’

  Mabson brought the horses to us saddled up and ready to go. They had eaten and rested well and were impatient to leave.

  As we started down the lane, I turned back to wave, but my eyes were drawn instead to the window of the very top room of the house above Professor Goldwick’s study. There, four pure white moths flitted, confined by the glass of the window pane. I blinked and squinted to get a better look, thinking it curious, but the morning sun peeping through the trees glanced off the glass, dazzling me. I turned back to the lane. We had reached its end and now rejoined the main road through the city.

  ‘George, Father and the rest of the Guild should dock in St. Malo today,’ said Eliza. ‘I do hope their journey hasn’t been too troublesome. I can’t keep myself from thinking about Bridget’s omen, even more so after what we have learned from Professor Goldwick- and Claribel for that matter. I’d like to know a good deal more about Professor Noakes.’

  ‘Yes, he is quite a strange character. I wonder what made him turn against magic. I wish we could get a message to George.’

  ‘And I,’ said Eliza. ‘I’d feel happier knowing he and the rest of the Guild were alert to the danger. I shall certainly feel glad when they are back home safe. We ought to start finding out all we can for Professor Goldwick as soon as we are back in London. The Bookish Magician’s library will be a good place to start. I believe it is in Finchley.’

  ‘It would be a great help to speak with Mrs. Thorne also,’ I replied. ‘Her letter revealed a great deal. She knew about the apothecary’s and the cunning man of Blackfriars’ deaths. I wonder how she learned of them. Let’s hope she has returned from her stay in Canterbury when we get back.’

  The people of Oxford were already about their business, and carts and carriages trundled along the road, stopping now and then to set down their cargo or passengers. As we reached the crossroads we halted and craned our necks to see over the crowd of people gathered around the gallows.

  ‘It must be a hanging day,’ said Eliza.

  Sure enough, a bedraggled-looking woman stood on the gallows, flanked by two guards from the gaol. Her hands were bound in front of her, and she faced a table behind which four men sat. I clutched Eliza’s arm and nodded towards the man at the end.

  ‘Look who it is,’

  ‘Professor Noakes,’ Eliza muttered.

  Sure enough, the chair at the end of the table was occupied by a large, balding man dressed in a billowing crimson gown and soft cap and eyeing the woman standing before him with undisguised contempt. The crowd fell silent as the man beside him, a judge I guessed from his attire, began to speak. His voice was one of quiet authority, and there was a tone of finality to it.

  ‘Elizabeth Goode, you have been found guilty of bewitching the son of Alice Daniels and sentenced to hang for your crime. This is your last chance to confess your guilt and save yourself from the rope. Do you admit that you offered to Alice Daniels the blood of a mole mixed in vinegar and bade her feed the concoction to her son?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I did, but it was a cure for the falling sickness. Mrs Daniels asked me for a remedy since the child suffers with the most terrible convulsions, and I- pray do not think me a braggart -I am regarded among my neighbours as somewhat skilled in healing,’ the woman replied. The terror in her voice was clear.

  ‘We have already heard this tale in the court house,’ said Professor Noakes, his voice carrying over the heads of the crowd and echoing off the buildings. ‘Yet since consuming the concoction the boy will not wake. I have examined him myself; his condition has no other explanation but witchcraft.’ Professor Noakes paused and jabbed a fat finger at the woman standing before him. ‘What you gave to Mrs Daniels was no remedy, as you well know. It was a witch’s brew to ensnare an innocent boy’s soul! Admit your guilt, woman. Cease your attack upon the boy and restore him to health!’ His voice had reached a crescendo. Elizabeth Goode trembled.

  ‘Sir, I never bewitched anyone in my life! I am no witch!’ she cried.

  ‘Then how do you explain the boy’s affliction?’ Professor Noakes blazed.

  ‘I can’t, sir, but with the Lord as my witness I have not bewitched the Daniels boy! I would never harm a poor child!’ Her voice quaked as she spoke.

  ‘You have bewitched him! Admit it!’ bellowed Professor Noakes.

  ‘No, sir. I wouldn’t know how to! I am no witch!’ said Elizabeth Goode, a note of hysteria in her voice.

  ‘Confess your guilt! Return the boy to health!’

  ‘I am not afflicting him, sir. Please, you must believe me!’

  Professor Noakes’ beady eyes narrowed, but the judge spoke again before Noakes had chance to open his mouth. ‘Elizabeth Goode, I will give you one last chance to confess your guilt and restore the boy to health. Do this, and you will not hang.’

  The woman cast her eyes about as though looking for help from the watching crowd, but none came. With a pitiful wail, she collapsed onto the floor of the gallows.

  ‘Please, have mercy! I haven’t bewitched the boy! I am no witch!’ she sobbed.

  ‘Elizabeth Goode, you have been given ample opportunity to confess your guilt and cease your affliction of the boy. The sentence of death by hanging passed down by the court is upheld,’ said the judge as Elizabeth Goode was dragged to her feet by the guards, her screams ringing out over the shouts of the spectators.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I said to Eliza. I had no wish to stay and watch what was to happen next. We turned the horses about and carried on our way as a collective gasp went up among the crowd, and Elizabeth Goode fell silent.

  Chapter 10

  We passed out of the South Gate alongside a few stragglers late to their work in the fields, but before long they turned off for their destination and we rode on alone.

  ‘That poor woman!’ said Eliza, her voice quivering with anger. ‘Hung for trying to help a sick child. Not one scrap of evidence against her! Professor Noakes has shown his true nature quite clearly! No real magician is safe with him around.’

  ‘I agree,’ I replied. ‘But I don’t think he killed the Watchmaker and the others.’

  Eliza looked at me, dumbfounded. ‘Why on earth not? Has he not just demonstrated his hatred of magic quite obviously? And Claribel said he’s capable of summoning a monster.’

  ‘But if he is killing magicians out of hatred for magic, what would be the purpose of removing their bodies from the grave?’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Eliza conceded after a long pause, ‘but all the same, I don’t think we should discount him as a suspect just yet.’

  We said no more about it and rode for a long while in silence. The weather had turned dull, in spite of the early promise of sunshine, and the sky threatened rain the further east we travelled. We had ridden for a few hours when the first drops began to fall- intermittently at first but growing heavier. We dismounted and took our cloaks from our saddle bags. Soon they were soaked through. The road, cracked and parched from lack of rain, was transformed into a swift-flowing stream. Peggy plodded along with her head bowed, her coat dripping wet and splattered with mud.

  ‘There’s a ruined barn just ahead,’ said Eliza, raising her head against the onslaught. ‘Can’t we stop to eat something and wait for this rain to ease? I’m soaked to the bone!’

  ‘It looks to be set for the day, but it mu
st be near enough lunchtime now,’ I replied.

  The barn was barely a skeleton of the original building, having been ravaged by fire, but the roof clung on in a few places providing a little shelter from the rain. We set the horses before us to keep the wind away and unpacked the food Professor Goldwick’s cook had prepared for us. Lunch at least offered some comfort even if our surroundings did not. There was bread, cheese and cold meat, and plenty of each. We ate and watched the rain fall, looking for any sign that it might lessen long after we had finished eating.

  ‘We ought to start moving again,’ I said at last when it was clear that there was to be no let up.

  Eliza groaned and pulled the hood of her cloak low over her head. The horses seemed equally as unenthusiastic about moving on as we packed up and mounted again. We rode fast, neither of us eager to linger. Peggy snuggled under my cloak and peeped out at the land flashing by, rising steadily as the Chiltern Hills drew closer.

  We passed the night at the inn at Marlow again and left before dawn. An inexplicable anxiety had been building inside me, though I couldn’t say why, and I was impatient to get back to the Gatehouse. Eliza too was more subdued than usual.

  ‘I wish George was here,’ she said. ‘The more I think about Professor Noakes and what Professor Goldwick said about monsters, the more uneasy I feel.’

  I nodded. ‘Perhaps when we can learn more of what has befallen, things will become clearer. One thing is certain: someone is responsible for the killings, and I intend to find out who.’

  The rain had returned and continued through the day until we stopped noticing it falling around us and concerned ourselves only with keeping it from dripping into our eyes from our saturated hoods. As we reached the outskirts of London, it ceased suddenly, and the clouds broke. The sun gleamed in the rain-soaked sky and cast a refreshing glow upon the fields and woodlands we had left behind. Ahead of us, the city sprawled out, steam rising through the reek of the sewage-clogged streams flooded by the downpour.