A Pinch of Magic

by Michelle Harrison

  THE GIRLS WERE LED THROUGH a stone courtyard which stank of gutters and sewage. They hurried after the warder, dodging rat droppings and traps. Fliss pulled her shawl over her nose and mouth, squeaking as a furry shape scuttled past their feet.

  ‘Did you see the size of that? It looks like it eats prisoners for breakfast!’

  Betty found her own lips were clamped into a revolted line. At the centre of the courtyard was a large wooden frame with steps leading up to a trapdoor set into a platform. Above it swayed a long rope noose.

  Betty gulped, her fingers flying to her throat. She had seen the gallows on previous visits but it was never any less disturbing. Thankfully, the one that used to be at Crowstone’s crossroads had been torn down years ago, and executions were no longer public. Instead, they took place here, within the prison walls. It was a stark reminder of exactly how grim the jail was, and Betty suddenly, desperately, wanted this not to have been a wasted journey.

  Please let us get some answers, she thought. I don’t know where else to start.

  Crossing the courtyard they were shown into a wide, high-ceilinged room. Its only windows were high up, and barred. A long bench ran the length of it, set before a wooden counter. The bench was occupied by visitors, and the counter was divided by iron bars down the length of it. On the other side sat the prisoners, in identical clothes: distinctive loose tunics and trousers that bore the same marks all over them. At first glance the markings looked like tiny arrows, but as Betty continued to stare, they came to look more like birds’ footprints. The image of crows clawing the dirt went through her mind.

  Betty scanned the prisoners’ faces. All were men or boys; the prison had stopped housing women some years ago. She felt Fliss’s cold fingers wrap tightly around hers and knew what was going through her sister’s head: some of these inmates were little more than children, perhaps only a year or two older than herself. Yet the haunted look in their eyes made them appear far older.

  It was now that Betty felt the first stirrings of unease. Who was this prisoner Granny had been visiting, and what had he done to end up here? Would he even talk to them, or were they clutching at straws?

  She felt Fliss’s grip tighten. Her sister was attracting interest. Though the prisoners appeared too cowed to do or say anything in the warders’ presence, the way some of them were eyeing Fliss – like dogs around meat – made Betty glad of the bars between them. From the way Fliss kept her eyes lowered, Betty knew she was glad, too. One prisoner in particular caught Betty’s attention, for he was different to the rest. He was dark-skinned, something which was out of the ordinary in Crowstone. Everyone the girls had ever known was a different shade of pale, all of whom greyed as the years passed. He looked around Fliss’s age, and his black, wiry hair had been cropped close to his scalp. Yet it was more than his appearance which made him stand out.

  His black eyes did not share the same resigned look as the other prisoners. There was a spark of something behind them. They were lively, questioning, and they were regarding Betty and Fliss not with the same wolfish look as the others, but with a fierce, open curiosity. Somehow, before she had even read the numbers sewn on to his tunic, Betty knew – and suddenly felt that this was all a big mistake. He was barely more than a boy! Surely he couldn’t know much about an ancient curse? Perhaps Granny had another reason for visiting him, but Betty couldn’t imagine what. Now she was here she might as well try to find out.

  ‘That’s him,’ she whispered, nudging Fliss. ‘Five-one-three.’ Gently, she pulled her hand free of Fliss’s, and moved towards the bench in front of him. Fliss followed closely, ducking her head. It was so unlike her not to want to be looked at that it was almost amusing, and ordinarily Betty would have poked fun at her. But today wasn’t ordinary.

  The young man shifted and sat up straighter as they squeezed on to the hard bench side by side. He had been interested before, but now he was alert and watchful, too.

  Betty cleared her throat. Not because she especially needed to, but because she couldn’t think of anything to say, and it didn’t appear that Fliss would take the lead. She waited, hoping that the surprise of them sitting might make him speak first, but he continued to stare in silence. Betty leaned closer to the bars, suddenly aware that the elbow of the visitor next to her was touching her arm. There was so little space, so little privacy in here.

  ‘You must be wondering who we are,’ she began awkwardly.

  Still he said nothing, so she continued.

  ‘I’m Betty, and this is my sister, Fliss. We understand our granny, Bunny Widdershins, has been visiting you?’

  The prisoner’s expression remained unchanged, but he leaned forward. For a horrible moment Betty thought he wouldn’t speak.

  ‘Where is she?’

  His voice was disappointingly ordinary. Because of his looks, Betty had expected him to sound exotic, melodious even; perhaps from one of the faraway lands she had read about . . . but his accent was every bit as common as her own.

  ‘She’s . . . not well.’

  The prisoner looked from Betty to Fliss, then back again. She caught a glimpse of amusement in his dark eyes, and felt a flare of annoyance. He found the idea of Granny being unwell funny?

  ‘She doesn’t know you’re here.’

  It was a statement, not a question. From his tone, Betty understood that it was this he found amusing, not Granny being unwell. Already she could tell he was sharp. Like he had them all figured out. It made her feel wrong-footed, like she had already lost control of where the conversation was going.

  ‘Who are you? And why has our Granny been coming to see you?’

  ‘I’m prisoner five-one-three. Names don’t mean much in here.’

  ‘Well, we’d like to know it anyway,’ Betty replied evenly, trying to sound bolder than she felt. ‘So please don’t waste our time.’

  He shrugged. ‘Colton. My name is Colton.’ He said it slowly, as if he were savouring it. Betty wondered when it was that he had last been asked, instead of being referred to as a number.

  ‘And why has Granny been visiting you?’ she repeated.

  Colton lifted his hands on to the counter, drumming his long, brown fingers on the wood. His wrists were shackled, and his hands looked like they belonged to someone much older. They were dry and calloused, the hands of someone who knew hard work. She wondered what hard work in a prison might involve. Then she wondered again about the crime he had committed – what those hands had done – for him to end up in this place. There were all sorts in Crowstone Prison: thieves, smugglers, and murderers. According to Granny, it had once held suspected sorcerers and witches, an idea Betty had always dismissed along with Bunny’s other superstitions. Given everything she had learned in the past day, the thought didn’t seem quite so silly now.

  ‘Why don’t you ask her yourself?’ he said.

  Betty stared at him. Was he being obnoxious, or genuinely curious? It was difficult to say. ‘We could,’ she said stiffly. ‘But seeing as she hasn’t been honest about her recent visits here, and, well . . . about a lot of things, actually, we wanted to see what we could find out for ourselves.’

  Colton nodded slowly. ‘So you’re smart. Just like the old lady.’

  ‘Are you going to tell us, or not?’

  ‘Impatient, too.’ Colton grinned infuriatingly. ‘That’s another thing you share.’ He glanced Fliss’s way. ‘How about you, princess? You always let your clever sister do the talking?’ He peered at her. ‘Can you talk? Or are you just for show?’

  Fliss glared, her cheeks flushing pink. ‘I can talk.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Colton. ‘Maybe just too law-abiding to talk to the likes of me, then.’

  ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ Fliss’s voice was prickly. ‘Which would suggest not.’

  Colton’s gaze lingered on Fliss a moment longer before returning to Betty.

  ‘All right, smart girl,’ he said softly. ‘Let’s see how smart you are. Let’s see if you can work it out.’<
br />
  Betty wondered whether Granny’s visits to Colton had been as frustrating as this. Had she also struggled to steer the conversation, and felt as helpless as Betty did now? The more Colton held back, the more she wanted answers.

  ‘Why don’t you stop playing games and tell us?’

  ‘Because, in here, there aren’t many games to play. Not for someone like me.’ Colton’s dark eyes were wide, and serious, and Betty understood then. She nodded. She would play his game.

  ‘Well, Granny’s never mentioned you, so I’m guessing you only met after my father was moved out of here.’ She paused. ‘Did you have something to do with him being moved?’

  ‘No.’ Colton clasped his hands together on the counter. ‘I saw him often, for a while. Our cells were directly opposite, but I barely spoke to him. Your father . . . well. He’s not someone I wanted knowing too much about me, if you understand my meaning.’

  Betty did understand. She avoided looking at Fliss, but her sister was fidgeting, a sure sign she was uncomfortable. They all knew Barney Widdershins had a big mouth, but hearing it from outside the family stung.

  ‘Do you know why he was moved?’ Betty persisted.

  Colton shrugged again. ‘To make space. This place is overcrowded. But it’s high security. The location makes it harder to escape from than other prisons, and old Barney isn’t much of a threat compared to others here.’

  ‘What did you do to end up here?’ Fliss blurted out. Betty looked at her in surprise. It was unlike Fliss to be so direct, but Colton seemed neither surprised nor offended.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I’m innocent. But in here, that’s what everybody says. So I don’t expect you to believe me.’

  Betty stayed silent, studying him. Colton wasn’t making this easy, and she couldn’t imagine Granny giving up her time to be here unless it was important. Really important. If Colton barely knew their father, then the visits must be about something else. Perhaps she had been wrong to assume Colton was too young to know anything about the curse. He certainly had something Granny was after.

  ‘What is it my grandmother wants from you, exactly?’

  ‘Not my place to say. Ask her.’

  ‘I’ve already explained about Granny hiding things,’ Betty said, impatient now. ‘And why would you care whether it’s your place to tell us or not? What are we to you anyway? Nothing, that’s what!’

  ‘True,’ Colton said without a hint of emotion. ‘But it’s not you I’m looking out for. It’s me. And let me tell you something, nothing is given away in here. Everything is traded, and knowledge is valuable,’ he said. ‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get here, haven’t you? You want information badly. I can give it, but only in exchange for what you have.’

  Betty’s mind whirred with excitement. So there was information! But what did Colton think they had to trade?

  She knew what she had to ask – at the risk of sounding foolish or mad. What did it matter? They never had to see Colton again after today. And if he knew something of value, it could be the start Betty needed to change her family’s terrible legacy.

  ‘Is this about the curse?’

  Betty heard Fliss’s breath catch, and knew she had seen the trace of recognition in Colton’s eyes.

  ‘So what do you know about it?’ Betty asked. Her insides were fluttering like a candle flame.

  ‘How to break it.’

  Four tiny words, with such enormous power. Betty tensed, like a bow string that had been pulled back, ready to fire. She had hoped Colton might know something, but she hadn’t considered that he could have the solution. After the shock of having her dreams shattered only hours ago, the possibility of her freedom now felt tantalisingly close. But doubts still lurked. How could this . . . this stranger know of their sinister family secret? And how could he know how to undo it when generations of Widdershins girls had failed? She only realised she was holding her breath when Fliss squeezed her hand. She leaned forward, her nose almost touching the bars. ‘What?’

  ‘You heard.’ Colton’s voice was low. ‘I know how it can be broken.’

  ‘How . . . how could you possibly know that?’ Fliss whispered.

  This he didn’t answer.

  ‘If you know, then why haven’t you told Granny?’ Fliss asked. ‘I mean, you can’t have, not if she keeps coming back . . .’

  Still he said nothing.

  ‘He’s bluffing,’ Betty muttered. She felt suddenly sick, and dismayed at how easily her hopes had been raised. ‘He must be. If there was a chance the curse could be undone, Granny would’ve taken it!’

  ‘I haven’t told her,’ Colton cut in, ‘because she hasn’t given me what I want in return.’

  Bitterness spread through Betty, like water turning to ice. It would be so easy to reach through those bars and seize him by the collar, and she badly wanted to; to shake him until his teeth rattled . . . but of course, she wouldn’t dare. For one thing, she hadn’t forgotten that Colton was a potentially dangerous prisoner. For another, there were too many warders – they’d be straight on her like a ferret on a rabbit. ‘We don’t have anything,’ she said, through clenched teeth. ‘Everyone knows the Widdershins are poor. Our father left debts.’

  ‘I haven’t asked for money,’ Colton replied. ‘What good would that do me, in here? No, what I want is something far bigger.’ He lowered his voice further, so that Betty and Fliss had to lean even closer to hear him. ‘I want to get out.’ The emotionless look in his eyes wavered. Betty glimpsed something else behind them: desperation – and fear. ‘I want her to help me escape.’

  ‘But . . . that’s impossible!’ Betty said, her voice rising. She lowered it, afraid of drawing attention. ‘How on earth do you think Granny could help you? She’s an old woman!’

  ‘And a law unto herself, from what I’ve heard,’ Colton said. ‘It wouldn’t be impossible, not for her.’ He blinked, his eyes becoming calm and hard to read once more, but Betty couldn’t forget how haunted they’d been just moments ago. Why did he believe Granny could help him? Surely he couldn’t know what else the Widdershins possessed?

  ‘Look,’ said Betty, troubled now. ‘Even if it . . . what you’re asking . . . were possible, Granny couldn’t risk it. She’d go to prison herself!’

  ‘I know about that bag of hers,’ Colton whispered, never taking his eyes from Betty’s. ‘And what it does. She could get me out, and no one would know until I was long gone!’

  The words sent an unpleasant tremor through Betty, rather like a marsh eel had slithered down her back. This changed everything. If Colton knew about the bag, who else did? The thought of their secret being exposed made her fearful. Granny had stressed how much danger they’d be in if the knowledge of it was leaked. ‘How . . . how could you possibly know about that?’ she asked at last.

  ‘I know all about you Widdershins,’ he hissed, his eyes taking on a wild look. ‘The same way I know about the curse. How it began here, within these walls. In that tower. So if you want to escape Crowstone, you’d better listen to me!’

  Betty froze, aware that Fliss’s breathing was coming in short, quick gasps. Her sister was every bit as stunned as she was.

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ she said, forcing the words out with difficulty. ‘If you know about the curse, then you know we can’t leave. We’re trapped! Even if we got you out, we couldn’t take you beyond Crowstone’s borders.’

  Colton leaned forward hungrily. ‘I’m not asking you to. I just want you to get me outside these walls – the rest I can handle myself.’ He dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. ‘All I need is to get to Lament. From there I can escape Crowstone once and for all.’

  Betty shuddered. The thought of the graveyard isle filled her with a creeping dread. It was a mournful, desolate place, perfect for someone trying to escape. There was little likelihood of being seen.

  ‘Does anyone else know about the bag?’ she asked.

  Colton shook his head. ‘If they do, they di
dn’t hear it from me.’

  ‘How do we know that’s true?’ said Fliss, her voice quavering.

  Betty met Colton’s eyes. They were even darker than Fliss’s, and she couldn’t imagine what was hidden in the depths of them. But she could imagine the bag from his point of view. It was his ticket to escape.

  ‘Because he doesn’t want anyone else getting their hands on it any more than we do,’ she said.

  Outside in the yard a bell began to chime, signalling that visiting time was over. The prisoners rose to their feet obediently. Though Colton stood too, his gaze never left Betty’s face. The prisoners ahead of Colton began shuffling to the door like meek dogs. He turned to go, but Betty sprang up. ‘Wait!’ she begged, desperate to know more before he was whisked away.

  ‘Time’s up!’ a warder barked, rapping his baton harshly on the counter.

  Colton lowered his head, but turned his face to Betty, delaying his exit by a mere moment. ‘Help me,’ he said, through gritted teeth. Again, the self-assured mask slipped, and his frustration and hopelessness was plain to see. ‘And I’ll help you.’

  The delay earned him a hefty thwack on the arm from the warder’s baton. Colton winced, hushing immediately before following the rest of the prisoners to the door like a line of ants. He gave the girls one last, pleading glance.

  Then he was gone.

  Chapter Nine

  Ghosts

  OUTSIDE THE PRISON ONCE MORE, betty and Fliss waited at the marsh’s edge for the ferry. Betty stared up at the foreboding tower. Lost Widdershins lives, she thought, searching its walls for missing stones. It was too far away to see any, but the vision of falling, and the flashes of terror and grief she’d experienced were fresh in her mind. Was Colton right – had the curse all started there? And how could they persuade him to tell them what else he knew? Because if it meant changing their destiny, they had to.

  It was a relief to be in the open air, despite the chill. Even the saltiness of the marshes smelled better than the stench of the prison.

  ‘So, now what?’ Fliss asked.