The First House

by Robert Allwood

  ‘Two riders.’

  Cyrus and Ghost drew their weapons and kept watch over the camp. Alex stalked through the darkness, careful not to reveal himself. He overheard the horsemen chatter; one was younger than the other, a girl. The other was a woman with hood pulled tight over her face. He recognised her clothes, leather breeches for hunting. Her boots tied loose like Cyrus did. The two figures paused. The older one shone her torch across the field. Alex stood, with his arms held upright.

  ‘Gold?’

  Gold tilted her head as she recognised Alex’s voice. She came off her horse, which spluttered and shook. They embraced at the roadside and shared accounts of how they fared against the witches, how Gold’s nose was bruised purple, but not how Red had lost his life, Gold and Hazel taking turns to glare at Ghost. They rested their mounts, and forced their way inside. Rotten flour and dust had thickened the air in neglect. There was room for all, and they all crowded over the millstone. A board acted as a table top and Gold unfurled a map, lighting candles after. Between the group of five, the silence was broken as Alex spoke.

  ‘I made my mind up while speaking with Isolde,’ he looked at Cyrus, who nodded.

  ‘And who is that?’ said Gold.

  Alex scratched at his stubble. ‘She is, or was, in league with a fellow called Turner. Who was the master of the Redbridge Tower; where myself and Cyrus are from.’

  ‘And me,’ Ghost interrupted.

  ‘And Charlotte. I need everyone’s help to bring Elena back, safe and sound.’

  Silence grew in the mill. The creak of the sails turning counted the seconds for them.

  ‘And why is she here?’ sneered Hazel.

  ‘Charlotte is here because she wants to be with Cyrus. She has decided, in her own way, to leave the service of Isolde.’

  Ghost smiled. She brushed her brown fringe to one side. ‘Well spoken. It’s true, although, you two especially,’ she pointed at Gold and Hazel, ‘might find this hard to believe, but I’m finished with working for either Turner or Isolde. Plain to see that their empires are crumbling around them, and I’m not one for staying on a sinking ship. After all of this is over, I’m leaving London behind me.’

  ‘Well, what do we call you now?’ asked Gold.

  ‘Just call me Charlotte, do away with that nickname. It’s stupid.’

  They all nodded at her and agreed on such, except Hazel, who kept a healthy distance.

  ‘To business then. We can gain passage from Sea Breach,’ said Gold. ‘Difficulty lies in finding Elena and Sarah Saville. But we have a solution.’

  ‘I can divine their whereabouts, or at least catch their trail.’

  ‘I knew it,’ said Alex.

  ‘Mr Alex. Pleased to meet you sir. I’m Hazel.’

  ‘Hazel. We’ve met, a long time ago.’

  ‘What's the first step?’ asked Cyrus.

  ‘I’ll take a guess that you need something to catch the trail of a witch in the first place. Like an object or memory of such?’ said Charlotte.

  Hazel looked impressed. ‘I do yes. I’d need it to be fresh, or still have a pattern about it. Everything is connected. When the strings of life become tangled,’ she motioned to Alex’s scar, ‘or abused, they twist back to their origin, which I can follow. Like a bundle of wool, unravelling.’

  ‘Why did you point at his scar?’

  Hazel looked him over. ‘There’s a knot still left there. It keeps the wound from healing. If you’d permit me.’

  ‘If you must,’ said Alex.

  Hazel rolled back her eyes, her breathing short and sharp. She reached out with her hands as if knitting. Alex felt his scar tingle, scratch, bite. He winced at the pain, but it was over before he could ask her to stop. He felt where his scar should have been; he could feel was only smooth skin, no marks or scabs. He caught Charlotte’s expression out of the corner of his eye. A loose pride formed in her eyes as she folded her arms in thought.

  ‘She is a witch then. The stories were true,' marvelled Charlotte.

  ‘There’s nothing evil about her. Just gifted, that’s all,’ Gold warned.

  ‘What did you see Hazel?’ said Cyrus.

  Hazel was stood, still in a trance, her eyes sullen and puffy. She slumped forward onto her knees coughing in short breaths. Gold took hold of her, easing her up.

  ‘Anything?

  ‘Nothing, there is nothing. The pattern ends up into the sky, it goes south, then nothing.’

  ‘A dead end.’

  Hazel shook her head. ‘No, it ends abrupt, like a patch of night in the middle of a perfect day. It’s here.’ She pointed at the map, her finger tracing down from London, to the Cape of Strangers.

  ‘The Storm Coast. Can we get passage Gold?’

  ‘Easy. I’ve a captain in mind who can take us,’ she pointed at a coastal town on the map.

  ‘Any other thoughts?’

  ‘I’ve a ship ready for myself and Charlotte,’ smiled Cyrus. ‘She doesn’t fully trust me yet. Do you?’

  ‘I don’t trust any of you,’ Charlotte said, laughing.

  ‘Likewise, young miss. Gold, Hazel, I’ll be with you. Cyrus and Charlotte, on the second ship. We’ll meet here, right in the middle of it. Hazel, you are now our guide through this,’ Alex gave her a smile, which made the young witch red as a strawberry.

  By first light they had left the mill and saw Sea Breach peaking above fog that had pooled with the first rays of sun. The town gave golden promise on the white-bricked road that fed into it. Spires crowned with silver-slate tiles ran with a spectrum of flags. In the busyness outside, soldiers patrolled the area while harlots harangued passers–by. In time the town opened gates for the day’s trade. Taverns inside Sea Breach were few. Shops dominated most of the business along a single stretch of the quayside. At midday Gold had secured a ship to the Cape, leaving in two days. A merchantman by the name of the Crescent Harp, which would take them as passengers; Cyrus and Charlotte would leave on the Rancor, a sloop.

  ‘Nothing about both journeys is without risk,’ said Cyrus, ‘but we’re committed. Might as well enjoy the respite while we can.’

  ‘We’ll have to give up the horses, we can’t rent stables for them,’ Alex spoke, setting down a drink. ‘They should fetch a fair price.’

  ‘Our horses will stay here. I couldn’t face selling them Alex, we’ve been through too much,’ said Gold. Cyrus nodded.

  ‘I understand. Anyone else have any attachments?’

  There was a shake of heads. Charlotte laughed.

  ‘Half of you must be wondering why I am here.’

  ‘Aside from the coin,’ teased Alex.

  ‘Just know I’m not like Red. I’m not a fool. Just here to help, and get my cut.’

  ‘We know. Can we look over the map once more?’ I want to be sure of where we land,’ said Cyrus.

  ‘Here.’ Gold unrolled the map again, spreading it over the table. They estimated how long the journey would take. With the drinks dry, the hearth low and the Innkeeper glaring at them, they retreated to their beds. After another night, the group split into two. Alex clambered aboard the Harp’s gangway and onto the deck. It was a thin vessel, with greasy sails and nonchalant captain, who Gold knew from her days of sailing. Their fee was exorbitant, but the Stranger crew welcomed them with an open cask of black ale and supper.

  ‘Friendly. I thought they were all set against us,’ said Hazel, once the meal was finished, and they had all settled on respective bunks.

  ‘The majority are set against the Crown yes, but these are Stormfolk. They have very different opinions on English rule. They were once a free people, with their own lands.’

  ‘Like the Westlanders, or the Darklands north of here.’

  ‘Exactly so,’ relied Gold.

  The ship proudly flew its black and white stripes as they cut through the Channel. It mocked Alex’s opinions of how seaworthy the craft was, and not before long he started to fall into a deep sleep, a part of him strangely glad to be back at
sea. It was at midnight he woke without reason. The ship gently lolled from side to side as he looked across his cabin, and to the door. Hazel was standing there, dressed, her head tilted.

  ‘Hazel. What’s wrong?’ Alex whispered, his eyes trying to adjust.

  She traced one hand in the air, as if feeling for invisible grooves in the dark.

  ‘You don’t see them sir?’

  ‘See what?’ Alex covered himself with his sheets as best he could.

  ‘Look, they’re everywhere. There’s one, there’s another,’ she giggled. ‘It flew past your head.’

  ‘Shh. What are you seeing? I don’t understand.’

  Hazel paused. In the dark Alex could only guess at her expression. His eyes adjusted, and she loomed closer to him. She removed her boots, her shift, and wriggled out of her undergarments. She slid under his covers, forcing her legs between his. He leaned towards her, one hand pulling on her neck. It started with a peck rather than a kiss, and became more as they explored each other. They tested boundaries. Alex breathed her perfume in deep: it was honey and wine, soft and sickly. He held her tight around the waist and they gave into lust together. The night fell away from them before they had finished, and the new day welcomed their guilt.

  First light saw the ship anchored just before the Storm Coast. Alex looked through the captain’s glass. He saw enamelled cliffs rise up ahead, topped with wild greenery. On starboard sat a warship, its cannons prominent. Two tars lay across the gunwale, flagging the Crescent Harp down. His heart jumped when he saw Royal Navy colours, it was in position to come alongside.

  ‘They never do this,’ said the Captain, still in his cups., sweat dripping from his brow.

  ‘They may have been tipped off.’ Alex noted. ‘If they find us, they’ll be questions.’

  Gold turned to Alex. ‘We could hide, now.’

  ‘There’s an old hatch right on the bilge,’ said the Captain. ‘Bit ‘o a squeeze for three, but I’d imagine you wouldn’t argue, eh lad?’

  Alex grunted. ‘I’ll only be grateful once we’re out of sight.’

  They followed the doddering captain down into the hold. At the rear, where the ribs of the ship held the hull, was a slim hatch not noticeable until the captain lifted it.

  ‘Had it fitted to smuggle valuables out of France once. Got a home there too. But my wife doesn’t know that.’ He roared with laughter. Underneath the Harp, Alex could only smell rotten timber and salt. In the heat, sweat soon dripped from his brow. Their collective breath soon stifled the tiny space. Enough room for three children meant that old drunk, thought Alex.

  He waited until the clumps from the captain’s boots were well away. ‘Keep still and don’t sneeze,’ he said.

  ✽✽✽

  Hazel was stuck between Gold and Alex, as all three of them gasped for air in the smuggler’s hole. It reeked; the smell of mould would send her lungs into fits if she tried to hold in a breath. She couldn’t even consider opening the hatch a little to freshen the air. Her arms crossed over her chest, as if placed in a coffin. They heard bell tolls along with distant whistles and yelps. All was silent, until slow, cautious footsteps came from above. She squirmed. Her heart pumped quicker. The boots stopped above her head, casting dust into her eyes. Through the gaps in the planks, Hazel spied a mariner, with red and gold uniform, brandishing a rifle. He turned a lantern over one corner and then another watching for anything amiss. How long was he going to be standing there? She started to count in her head. Two minutes passed, when another soldier joined the first. They began to stomp on the planks with their heels, testing for any hollow spots. Gold nudged her and motioned to hold the planks with their hands. There was a sharp crack as one of the soldiers stomped too hard. He paused frowning, mentioning it to his companion. A third came below barking orders. Hazel’s anxiety lifted as quickly as they left. She sneezed, a short escape of air that set Alex and Gold in panic. They waited until lighter feet came and opened the hatch.

  ‘Like fish in a barrel you lot. Cramped and stewed,’ the Boson rumbled, helping them out.

  ‘The Captain?’

  ‘Arrested. Crimes against the Crown. Shoul’n’t be a problem now, we’ll make sure you three are to your destination. You kept us in enough coin to keep these boys soaked for ages come.’

  ‘And you’re not worried? With no captain?’ said Hazel.

  ‘Nah lass. They’re easy enough to replace,’ replied the man with a shrug.

  In a jollyboat bound for the mouth of the Plum, two of the Harp’s sailors rowed them the short distance to shore. They gave Hazel forlorn glances, until she pointed to her sister’s dagger. She gazed coy at Alex, who ignored her in return. Is he warning me off? Is it my sister? She thought back to last night. She had not gone mad; it was the strings that were dancing around them both. Dancing around Alex and her. Pulling her towards him. There’s a strange destiny with this man. She fumbled inside one of her sleeves and wrapped her cloak around her, fighting off the sea–breeze and spray. In her hands she manipulated her tarot, and made a simple cross with four cards. Her past, present, future and mind; in her imagination she could see a black cloud, an ivory tree and a grey tower. The cards were vague until the last, The Serpent. She had pulled it just before the storm in Houndbarrow.

  ‘Weather’s changing,’ Hazel said. One of the men tasted the air, and nodded. ‘Good nose on her,’ he said. He pulled out some skins for each of them, Alex wrapping his hood tight over his head. Rain thundered down on them; warm in taste and laced with salt. They hit the shore with a long scrape until the boat shuddered to a stop.

  Hazel leaped off first, followed by Gold who gave her a small hug. Alex came off last, after giving thanks to the men who rowed them there. Sunbeams calmed most of the rain. They dispelled clouds in the sky and tickled Hazel’s face with a tepid warmth. It was cold here, colder than London. She found herself wanting to see more nonetheless.

  ‘Hazel we’re in your hands,’ said Alex, above the crash of the waves.

  Hazel nodded. Gold drew the map out of her satchel and placed it across a stone that was drying in the sun. ‘We’re here Hazel,’ said Gold, pointing.

  Hazel traced her fingers across the map. It tingled under her touch; giving her a taste of déjà vu. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she tried to focus her mind on where they needed to be for the others.

  ‘No. We’re here,’ she pointed. ‘The sailors on the Harp got it wrong.’

  ‘Or were too scared to get closer up shore,’ Gold muttered.

  ‘It doesn’t matter as long as we’re on terra firma and close to Elena. It looks like a day’s walk,’ said Alex.

  Hazel’s boots skidded on the stones, but she persevered. She kept spying on Alex, her heart singing whenever he would look at her with those dark–ringed eyes. He looked exhausted, as did her sister, who fared better on the rocks and was scouting for a way up the cliffs. Hidden behind a jumble of rock, soiled rope and driftwood, they found a tight path to the top. It twisted around long thin grasses, and the remains of dead trees. At the top Gold found farmland and livestock. Wind snapped around them, orange zephyrs addled the sky as they all looked up at a fading sun.

  ‘Storm,’ Hazel whispered. A heavy atmosphere fell on them. It hushed life and stilled breath. Among bruised clouds on the horizon there was a black smoke, it danced and flitted like a flock of starlings.

  ‘I’ve seen this before. Take cover before they’re upon us!’ Gold shouted above the wind.

  Hazel scrambled for somewhere to hide. She dove under a fallen log white as bone, its petrified roots clawing the air. Hazel looked around, unable to see Gold or Alex. Her hood caught on a brittle branch as she peered up over the log. The others had hidden themselves under a shelf of mottled rock. Their cloaks tugging about them. She could see her sister hold up a finger to her lips, motioning Hazel to be quiet. The dark chattering morass held aloft by rods and sticks passed overhead. Hazel uttered a spell of disguise, the patterns on her shawl shifting in
to white bark. As careful as she dared, she looked at them. They were odd things, with pallid skin and screeching vile litanies. They were wizened also: with hag’s teeth and malevolent eyes set in crow’s feet. As Hazel focussed on them, they seemed to change before her. Age fell off them, and underneath they were young. Evil eyes turned to bright ones, their cackling voices became soft and melodic. Some swung low, low enough for her to take a better view. Some of the witches had coloured pennants tied tight to their arms. When they waved all the other witches behind them followed in formation. She followed a set who bore flags of red fish, its bones exposed. Another of a tower painted on grey, crumbling to ruin. The pennants flew and twisted about the witches. A display Hazel wished would linger further. She peeked under her hood at Alex and Gold, who watched the skies with pale complexions. She waved at them to come over as the witches passed, their glamour returning to them.

  ‘They’re moving away. God, Hazel, are you alright?’ Gold embraced her.

  ‘I’m at a loss. You’ve seen that before?’ said Alex.

  ‘Survived them too. Those hags attacked London.’ She cradled Hazel’s head in her arms, the wind stinging her eyes. ‘You are alright, aren’t you?’

  Hazel turned to her sister. ‘There’s something sinister happening. I recognised one of them.’

  ‘From where?’

  ‘From Houndbarrow, from home.’

  ✽✽✽

  Charlotte’s eyes swam with tears from the wind as she braved the topsail. ‘Nearly there, don’t forget your balance,’ shouted Cyrus. Foolish bet, he thought, as he watched her, drunk, waddle her way to the tip of the mast. A crowd of sailors gathered at the mast threw jeers and heckles at her. Cyrus remembered the drink from last night, wine from the Lowlands, red and cheerful. In the ship’s mess, it had taken him most of the morning to clean up the vomit. The rags, and his hands, were pink with the effort. He shoved a drunk out of the way, his gaze on Charlotte’s balance as she lifted herself up and onto the crown of the mast. She stopped unsure, one hand warding off the sun, before raising herself onto both legs. There was a pause, then shouting and cheer burst from the sailors. Cyrus let go of the breath he was holding.