Oliver Crum and the Briarwood Witch

by Chris Cooper

  The door didn’t have a seam, but as the gears came to life, they started to shift away from the center. The small copper pieces resembled scales undulating in three-dimensional space as they overlapped and moved outward, leaving a small person-sized portal where copper had once been.

  Simon ushered the group through the doorway, and just as he started to insert the tip of his cane in a groove on the other side, a voice echoed through the atrium room.

  “Sir! Wait! It’s me!”

  This startled the Witch, who spun round, momentarily releasing her invisible grip on Oliver and Anna.

  As Elias emerged from the darkness, grasping at his throat, Oliver inched his hand toward the weapon in his belt. A swift crack of Simon’s cane to Oliver’s side sent him to the floor, reeling in pain.

  “Let’s not make this any harder than it has to be,” Simon said. “Let him go. It’s Elias, you twit!” he said to the Witch.

  She released her grip on Elias, who stumbled forward, gasping for air.

  Anna gave a death glare to Simon and knelt next to Oliver. She pulled his coat open and examined the gash in his blood-soaked shirt.

  “Take his weapon off, and leave it on the ground,” Simon said.

  While Anna loosened Oliver’s holster, Elias approached the door. “So happy to see you, sir. We were beginning to worry.”

  Anna helped Oliver to his feet, and Elias bent down to pick up the weapon.

  “And who are our guests?”

  “Visitors from beyond the patch,” Simon said.

  “I’m Oliver,” he said through gritted teeth.

  He watched Elias’s reaction carefully as a glint of recognition in the man’s eyes was quickly snuffed by a nervous gulp. Although Elias had only met Oliver in the darkness of the dungeon, he would surely recognize the name.

  Something isn’t right. Why would they release him?

  Once inside the elaborate doorway, Simon inserted the tip of his cane into a groove on the other side and entered another secret combination. The shimmering scales slid back into place, closing the room off from the outside world. Two guards stood on either side of the door in front of them, long metal swords sheathed on one side of their belt and elaborate percussion pistols on the other. Compared to the weapon the Clockmaker had crafted in his workshop, these were children’s toys.

  A short man stumbled forward, surprised by Simon’s return. “Oh, thank heavens,” he said, rushing forward to take Simon’s blue coat. “The staff was beginning to worry. We’ll need to resupply soon.”

  “Resupply?” Anna asked.

  “We keep enough up here to last us for weeks, if not months,” Elias replied. “This place is completely self-sufficient, and no one gets in or out without Master’s key.”

  Elias must have been locked out since Simon’s departure and spent most of that time in the dungeon. Oliver still wasn’t sure why he was walking free now, but he dared not say anything.

  The man took Simon’s coat and disappeared behind the door to the left of the entryway. Simon walked forward, and one of the guards opened the center door for him. The room was filled with the late-afternoon sun sneaking through the cracks of receding storm clouds. Oliver had seen the lantern room from the outside, but the inside was much larger than he’d imagined. The front walls were lined with bookshelves stacked upon a sleek wooden floor that had been waxed to a fine sheen. The back held a grand desk, which extended into the lantern portion of the room that jutted out over the town below. Copper spiraled down the rain-speckled panes of glass, holding them securely in place. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, but the typical glass panels were replaced by polished metal, and the light from a large central flame bounced off them, casting a flickering glow over the entire space.

  Oliver was struck by the room’s beauty. In the brief moment he had to examine the books on the shelves, he noticed that most seemed out of place. While the town had shown few signs of modernity, a few of these books were new. The shelves contained books on English, history, business, and other random topics, and it seemed the glorious leader must have brought some back from his adventures across the patch. No wonder he was able to blend in with the people of Christchurch, garish suit aside.

  Elias nervously checked his pocket watch. “I’ll take her to her room and ensure she receives dinner,” he said, snapping his fingers at the Witch.

  “Tend to her wounds.” Simon opened his desk drawer and pulled out two small glass vials. He threw one to Elias then twisted the body of his cane and poured the contents of the other into a small spout that appeared in the center. The red paint on the doors.

  “Oh, take them too. Let them spend a little time together before we hang them in the square,” he added without emotion.

  Oliver’s stomach dropped. “But we helped you—gave you the key that brought you back here.”

  “Oh, thank you for reminding me—the coin please.” Simon held out his palm.

  Oliver pulled the coin from his pocket and handed it to Simon.

  ”You’ve made my life quite difficult—I think you know that. I can’t let you go. No, I have bigger plans for you. Hanging a few murderous outsiders should help to restore some order around here. We’ll make up a nice story to go along with it too.”

  “Let her go,” Oliver said. “I’ll do whatever you want if you let her go back home. You can keep me.”

  “The time for bargaining is over,” Simon replied. “You have no more cards to play. Now, take them away.”

  Elias led them to a cell-like room just off the entryway to the lantern room. Anna was holding back tears as the Witch crawled into the chamber like a puppy returning to her training crate.

  The light from Simon’s office illuminated the interior of the cell. The bottom half of the cell walls were covered with crude chalk drawings. At first, they appeared childlike and innocent, but the more he looked, the more the smiley faces reminded him of the Witch’s victims, mouths stretched inhumanly wide. She was trying to make them smile.

  Elias pointed toward the far corner of the room, where Anna and Oliver sat on the floor. He held one of the manacles up and shook it, rattling the chains and capturing the Witch’s attention. She crawled to him, and he secured her to the floor. No wonder she’s barely able to walk.

  “Let’s see what they’ve done to you,” Elias said, twisting the dropper out of the small vial of iridescent liquid. He pulled back the shoulder of the Witch’s nightdress, revealing the crusted bullet wound underneath.

  “It’s good for everything,” he said while filling the dropper with liquid. “You may have noticed the streetlights? The lights in the town hall? The door? They’re all powered by it.”

  He gripped the Witch’s shoulder and pressed his thumb firmly into her wound, causing her to squeal and pull away.

  “Now, now,” he said. “We need to make sure it mixes with fresh blood.”

  A trickle of the Witch’s blood ran down her shoulder, and Elias’s hand shook as he extended the dropper to her wound.

  “Why so nervous?” Oliver asked.

  Elias shot a glance in his direction but ignored the question. He pulled the Witch’s hair back and added another few drops to the gash on the side of her head. The scene brought flashbacks of Oliver’s childhood, his mother dabbing alcohol onto a scraped knee. Elias must have been the closest person the Witch had to a caretaker.

  The bullet wound on the Witch’s shoulder was probably a half inch in diameter, and the blood around the gash began to bubble. The wound itself started to fill as the serum expanded like some sort of grotesque foam.

  “There we are,” Elias said. His face had grown pale, and Oliver noticed a bead of sweat running down his forehead.

  “Mind throwing some of that my way?” Oliver asked.

  Elias let out a nervous chuckle and tossed the vial in Oliver’s direction. “Have at it. I have nothing left to lose.”

  Anna looked at Oliver with raised eyebrows.

  Elias closed the door and place
d a wooden plank across the doorframe, causing a loud clunk as the bar shifted into place. If not for the light sneaking through the edges of the door, they would have been in complete darkness.

  Oliver lifted his shirt, which had been soaked in crimson. The gash had glazed over with a thin layer of coagulated blood. It would certainly need stitches. He pressed into it and winced as a bright red seeped through the scab. The remaining liquid trickled from the dropper into Oliver’s open wound and was followed by an intense burning sensation.

  “What are you doing?” Anna whispered. “You don’t know what that stuff is.”

  “If he’s going to hang us in the square, it won’t matter much, will it? Besides, we’ll have a much better chance of figuring a way out if we're both in good shape. The townspeople have got to be up to something—I know it. They wouldn’t just let him take the town over again without a fight.” The more time passed, the less Oliver was certain anyone would be coming for them, but he was trying to keep Anna optimistic.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have let you come with me.”

  “Don’t you get it?” she snapped. “Not everything is up to you, Oliver. I chose to come. We’re like family, and we’re going to figure a way out of this together.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing, and help me think through this,” she replied.

  A small panel slid open at the bottom of the door, and a plate of food slid through. The Witch scurried to the dish and scooped food into her mouth.

  “How long do you think it’s been since she’s eaten?” Anna asked.

  “No telling,” he replied.

  Once the Witch had finished, she pushed the plate toward the door and retreated to the corner. An eerie tune filled the cell, a high-pitched hum accompanied by the sound of chalk scraping against the cell wall.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Shouting pulled Oliver from a paranoid dream. He and Anna had been leaning on each other when the sound jolted him awake. A crash followed, sounding as if someone had ripped Simon’s office door off its hinges.

  Oliver’s heart raced, but the initial feelings of fear were replaced by relief. “They’re coming for Simon,” he whispered.

  Anna gripped Oliver hard. “Are we safe?”

  “They’re going to save us,” he replied. “They must have seen us when we walked through town. That’s why they let Elias loose. It was a trap.”

  The viewing window slid open, causing Oliver to squint from the sudden burst of light. He heard the heavy wooden bar sliding loose, but before he had time to warn the person on the other side about the Witch, the door creaked open.

  Gideon’s silhouette appeared in the doorway, and a group of men stood behind him.

  As his eyes adjusted and light filled the room, Oliver saw the Witch curled up on the floor, chest slowly rising and falling. How can she sleep through this?

  Gideon leaned over and helped Anna and Oliver to their feet.

  The men moved to one side, clearing the path to Simon’s office. Mercy stood next to Simon’s desk, and Elias sat on the floor, hands bound behind his back.

  “How did you get in?” Oliver asked.

  Mercy gestured toward Elias.

  Elias scowled. “You promised me,” he said. “Now, where is it?” His voice was low and agitated.

  Mercy pulled a glass vial from her pocket and popped the stopper. She held it to Elias’s lips and tipped it back until the algae-colored liquid dripped, syrup-like, into his mouth.

  “What is that?” Oliver asked.

  “An antidote. Had to keep him honest. Promised the vial if he helped open the door,” Mercy replied.

  “But how’d you get in without the cane?”

  “I happen to know the man who designed the key. We just needed someone who knows the combination, and fortunately Elias here has seen Hale open the door a few thousand times. He was also kind enough to slip something special into the Witch’s supper, just in case. Couldn't have her running about while we tried to break in. She’ll rest for a while longer, but we need to be quick. We have to find Simon before he slips away. Grab your weapon, and let’s be on our way!” Mercy stepped aside, revealing the gun belt Simon had taken from him earlier. “Take it.”

  “But it’s yours. Don’t you want it back?”

  “I’ll be fine with the daggers. We’ve cleared the guards. Now, take it, and let’s go.”

  Oliver strapped on the belt as the group entered the hallway. Across from him stood the portal, still wide open, and two guards lay hunched in the corner next to it.

  “You”—Mercy pointed at Anna—“stay here and watch the portal with Aymes.”

  “The name’s Anna,” Anna added.

  “All right then—Anna, stay here and watch the portal with Aymes.”

  Mercy opened the door to the left of the portal, and Oliver and Gideon followed closely behind. They were greeted by a white-wainscoted dining room with tall ceilings and an elegantly carved mahogany table sitting atop a red Persian rug.

  “This must be Simon’s private residence,” Mercy said.

  The wall sconces housed the same irregular flame as the massive lantern in Simon’s office, and the flickering light bounced off the silverware that had been laid out in carefully constructed patterns on the table. They walked through the dining room and into another large foyer.

  “How big is this place?” Oliver looked up at the flying staircase, which led up to yet another floor.

  “Spread out.” Mercy pulled the two daggers from her belt. “We’ll check the other rooms down here, and you head upstairs,” she told Oliver.

  Oliver ascended the suspended staircase to the upper floor while the others explored the rooms on the first. Like the town itself, the building’s existence seemed impossible based on the view from the outside. The tall foyer and winding hallways extended far past the boundaries of the hall visible to the naked eye. Some sort of magic must have surrounded the place, making it appear smaller than it actually was.

  A cracked door caught his attention. While all the others had been closed, this one had been left ajar. As he approached, he clenched his fist around the grip of the gun sword and pulled it from the belt. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d be able to do with it if confronted, but he felt a sense of security with it in his hand.

  Reassurance came in the form of Gideon’s heavy step on the landing behind him. He held a broadsword, the same he’d pulled from the rice barrel, in attack position. Although Oliver was panicked, sweaty, and pale, Gideon showed no signs of worry. He exuded gallant confidence, so much that Oliver could almost feel it in the air surrounding him.

  Mercy approached from behind. “The first floor is empty,” she said.

  The door led to a long hallway, lit—once again—by the odd-colored flames. If this isn’t gas, what is it? Elias said it powered the whole town. The glow from the flames flickered against the maroon-and-burgundy-striped wallpaper, lighting the faces in the portraits lining the walls. Large wooden double doors sat at the end of the hallway. Oliver turned the elaborate gold handles, but they were locked tight. A small hexagonal indentation sat where a keyhole would normally go. Just like the large clockwork door that protected Simon’s residence from the outside world, this one was meant to be opened only by the tip of Simon’s cane.

  Oliver felt a hand on his shoulder, and when he turned, Gideon gestured for him to move aside. With two sweeping motions, Gideon lifted his foot into the air and drove it into the middle of the doors. The wood cracked and splintered around the latch at the center, sending both doors flying open and clearing the way to enter the room.

  Oliver looked over at Gideon, who cocked his head to one side as if to say “go ahead.” He entered the room slowly, checking the corners in case Simon was hiding in wait, but a part of him didn’t expect the man to attack. If his experience with Simon had taught him anything, it was that Simon was a coward.

  The room appeared to be a master bedroom and
was built with the same extravagant touches as Simon’s office. The edges of the tall paneled ceiling were gilded, and a fire roared in the large fireplace. The silk sheets of the four-poster bed had been turned down in anticipation of their owner’s return, and a blanket of animal fur lined the foot of the bed.

  Oliver passed a writing desk, on which sat an antique globe. The continents were familiar but were slightly skewed and inaccurate. It reminded Oliver of Simon’s view of the world. Although the man might have crossed over the briar patch many times and had been exposed to life outside of the town, his mind was still a product of Briarwood and the tangential history the town had created for itself.

  As Oliver’s eyes rose from the globe, they landed on a small slit in the wallpaper on the opposing wall. The split was subtle, just visible along the edge of the bookcase standing beside it. He traced the line with his eyes, and it extended three-quarters of the way up then turned at a right angle and disappeared behind the bookcase.

  “Look at this,” he called to the other two, who had been searching the other side of the room. Oliver ran a finger along the edge of the bookcase as Gideon watched. Gideon gripped the edge of the bookshelf and pulled. The shelf appeared to be fixed to the wall and was slightly suspended, gliding above the hardwood floor underneath as Gideon opened the secret door.

  The room on the other side was tiny, just the size of a closet, but it held the entrance of a cast-iron spiral staircase that extended into the floor below.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The platform at the bottom of the stairs led to another cell, separated by a thick wooden door with a small cross-hatched window. Mercy pushed the door open and entered the dungeonlike room on the other side.

  Oliver stepped through the open door and into the chamber. The small barred window let in just enough moonlight to illuminate the objects next to it. Bookcases lined the stone walls, filled to the brim with books of various shapes and sizes. Oliver’s eyes scanned the room until they settled on the outline of a body slumped in a wooden chair. Blood formed intricate patterns down both the man’s arms, much like the tangled mess of briars that surrounded the town. This blood was different, though, somehow phosphorescent in the dark room. The man looked to be no more than Oliver’s age.