The Witch Watch

by Shamus Young

  “You know there ain’t no proper officer here, now or ever. I just want to get to my bunk.”

  “Then use the door, like a human being,” Gilbert said. Gilbert was repairing a hole in the side of the stables. It had been large enough to squeeze through when he arrived at Ravenstead, and had gradually gotten bigger as men used it as a door. Gilbert was now breaking them of that habit through fisticuffs, which was the only thing any of them understood. He was making repairs using supplies and tools he’d purchased with his own money, and hoping that the viscount would notice and approve.

  The man - who had been named “Soot” by the Headmaster - spat again. He stood glaring as Gilbert worked on the wall, and Gilbert wondered if he wasn’t going to have to halt his project for a proper fight. He didn’t want that. He was trying to show himself more disciplined and organized than the other men, and brawling went against that goal. After a few more moments Soot gave up and shuffled inside through the proper door.

  The men played cards in their free time. Gilbert adored cards, but the games were ruined by constant cheating, brawling, arguments, and other interruptions. Instead, he saved his coin and spent it on improvements to their quarters. He had been assigned the evening watch, and so spent his free time during the day mending and cleaning.

  “Very nice,” said a man named Plump when Gilbert had finished. “You sealed up that annoying hole that was letting in all the fresh air.”

  “You will be glad that the wall is mended in a few months when the winds turn cold,” Gilbert said. He gathered up his tools and went inside to check his handiwork.

  “But we have to put up with the stench now,” Plump replied. Other men in the room muttered their agreement.

  “The stench would be less intense if you men kept yourselves cleaner. If the viscount gave us a pig it would refuse to lodge with you. I keep my own bunk and uniform according to military standards. It only takes a few minutes.”

  “Actually, your bunk is the one making the foul smell,” One-eye said with a wheezing laugh.

  Gilbert looked, and saw that someone had relieved themselves on his bed. He roared in outrage, and the men erupted into laughter.

  “No!” screamed Gilbert.

  They had ridden all night, and reached the house in Rothersby sometime before dawn. He had pushed the group relentlessly, only allowing for two brief stops. With each passing hour he hoped for some sign of their prey on the road ahead. He became more anxious as the hours wore on and their own horses began to reach the end of their strength. Both Alice and Simon had begun to falter on the way, their heads nodding in the saddle as he drove them onward.

  They arrived to find what he’d feared the most: The house standing open to the night air, and no sign of the men they were chasing. They had already gone. Gilbert drew his sword and stormed up the path, leaving Alice and Simon to wobble after him as they were able.

  He rushed through the front door. “Mother!” he cried, “Mother, are you alright?” He heard a stirring in the kitchen, and ran to investigate. The room was dark, but Gilbert caught sight of a large shape moving about in the moonlight. Gilbert lunged and grabbed the figure, throwing him against the wall.

  “No! No! You promised to leave me alone! I don’t know anything else!” the man cried.

  Light filled the room. Alice had arrived, carrying a lantern. Gilbert found himself looking into a familiar face.

  “Leland?” he said with surprise. He looked different than Gilbert remembered. He’d put on quite a bit of weight in such a short time, and his face had been recently beaten. One of his eyes had swollen shut, and the other was filled with tears. “What are you doing here?” Gilbert asked at last.

  “What?” Leland asked in dismay. “I live here. Who are you? Are you with those other men?”

  “You live here?” Gilbert said in confusion. “This house belongs to Victoria Hiltman.”

  “It did. I bought it from her three years ago. I already explained this to those other men. She moved to America. Jump on a boat to New York if you want to see her so badly. I’m nothing to do with her.”

  “Three years?” Gilbert said in dismay. He released Leland and turned to face Alice. “What year is it?”

  “1885”, said Leland and Alice in unison.

  Sometime later, Gilbert found himself sitting on the steps in front of the house, staring off into the darkness. A warm light came from inside the house now. Simon and Alice had remained with Leland, and were tending to his wounds. Gilbert felt very alone, and lost.

  Alice emerged sat down next to him. They waited together for a while in silence, save for the occasional yawn from Alice.

  “Are you all right?” she said at last.

  “You mean aside from being dead?”

  “You seemed stricken when you learned you’d been dead for three years. The swords you’ve had in your chest have done you less harm than learning the proper date.”

  “I don’t know how I went for so long without realizing it. Why did I never ask the date?”

  “We don’t usually ask what year it is when we wake up. If you awakened with the feeling that you had not been asleep long, you probably trusted that notion, however wrong it may have been. You said yourself that your memories were scattered. I assume you have not recovered them?”

  “Some. But I still don’t recall how I died. A bit more takes shape each day.”

  “Forgive me if this seems callous, but I don’t understand why learning the year has been so upsetting. Certainly you missed the last three years, but that seems a small loss in comparison to the loss of your natural life.”

  Gilbert drew in a long breath, which produced an unsettling sound. He didn’t need breath and he was pretty sure he didn’t even have lungs, but his body seemed to magically move air around as if he did. He was in the habit of taking a slow breath when gathering his thoughts, and apparently that habit had followed him beyond the grave. “My father died when I was about seventeen. I expected the funeral would be painful, after which the pain would fade. It would get easier as I got used to his absence. But when you lose someone, you don’t just lose them once. You lose them a thousand times. The funeral was the easy part. The hard part was the first meal without him. My first birthday without his blessing. Our first Christmas without him. The day I left for the military and he wasn’t there to see me off.”

  “My father died three years ago,” she said quietly. “I’m still discovering moments like those.”

  “Well, I seem to be going through this again, but for myself. For my lost life. I keep thinking about all the things I’ll never do. I’ll never get married. Never give Mother the grandchildren she always wanted. Never get to have the career I wanted. Never own my own house. Three years have vanished. Mother moved back to America and I never got to see her off. I wonder if she even knows that I’m dead.”

  The wind stirred. The trees swayed, dark clouds of shadow against the starry sky. Unlike the trees in Ravenstead, the trees here had not yet decided to give up their leaves, and were noisy in their movement. Alice shivered and rubbed her arms to keep warm.

  “Gilbert,” she said, looking down at the dark stone at her feet, “I am sorry I was so uncaring towards your mother. Back at Ravenstead, I mean.”

  Gilbert nodded.

  “The danger is not yet passed, I fear. I spoke with Leland about his attackers. Is he a relation of yours?”

  “No. He was just a neighbor. I guess he bought our house when Mother returned to America? I wouldn’t have expected that.”

  “Well, Mordaunt’s men took him for a member of your family. They treated him badly, as you saw, but they threatened him with far worse. These are horrible men we’re chasing. In the end, Leland bought his own life by telling them where to find Mrs. Hiltman.”

  “I wonder if they’re really willing to go all the way across the ocean to inflict their harm on me,” Gilbert said, looking down the road as it ran west.

  “Leland seemed to think so. They were very int
erested in how to find her, and the distance didn’t seem to concern them.”

  “Did you say anything to Leland about us, or explain why we had invaded his home?”

  “I baked him a story. It was not wholly true, but truth was among the ingredients. I told him we were chasing a group of ruffians, and that we only invaded his home because we expected to find them inside. I’m not sure what he’ll make of your confusion over the date, but there’s nothing to be done about it.”

  “Did he recognize me?” Gilbert asked suddenly.

  “No. Not that he let on, anyway. He didn’t seem to recognize you as someone that he once knew, and I’m sure he didn’t recognize that he was speaking with an abomination. In truth, I think his wits are in worse condition than his face.”

  “Do you think he suffered any permanent damage?” He was surprised to find out how concerned he was for Leland’s well-being. He never cared for the boy, and thought him too slow and lazy, but it enraged him to think that an innocent party had been so senselessly harmed on his account.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine in a few days. They threatened him with a knife, but struck with their fists only. The damage didn’t look nearly as dreadful once Simon had cleaned the wounds. He has some skill in treating injury. He is quite unexpectedly gentle and timid for a sorcerer and a servant of Lord Mordaunt.”

  “More slave than servant. I don’t think he ever had any choice in the matter until tonight.”

  “I think you should hurry and stop the men who are set on harming you mother,” Alice said firmly. Gilbert thought this almost sounded like an order.

  “You’re not coming with us?” he asked.

  “I have to report back. You are mourning the loss of your own life, but I have to report the loss of four men, including our captain. I suppose we will eventually be assigned new personnel, as we have in the past. We’ve lost men before, of course, although never this many at once. The Ministry is in ruins. The men are all dead, save Archer. Lieutenant Jack is now our adversary. And I am still missing my father. No, I can’t go with you. Do you have any money?”

  “A little. I found that some of his Lordship’s men had coin in their pockets after I pulled them off of the end of my sword.”

  Alice nodded.

  “So I am no longer under arrest?” he asked.

  “I would say that you are, but I no longer have the means to restrain you.”

  “What about Simon?”

  “I have not placed him under arrest, and I would not do so now.”

  “You’re letting a necromancer go free?”

  “Not if he plans to engage in further necromancy!” she said testily. “I imagine you don’t realize it yet, but you will need his help. You can’t do business without a face. If you intend to inhabit the civilized world, you will need someone to speak for you. It would not do the princess any good to have you run off alone, where your nature would eventually be discovered. You would soon find yourself fighting the church.”

  “I’m not afraid of the church,” Gilbert said defiantly.

  “You should be. What they lack in skill is more than offset by their numbers and their tenacity. They destroyed many abominations before the Ministry was created, and I’m sure you would fall to them once they brought their full strength to bear. And even if you think you have greater cunning than most abominations, just think of what such a contest would look like. You would be obliged to slay dozens of zealous young men. Even if they are poorly trained, or misguided, their aim is to defend their homes from the ravages of witchcraft. How many of those men would you cut down to save your mother?”

  “You are right,” Gilbert relented. “I will need to use my head more than my sword if I want to reach her.”

  Alice yawned again, “Are you off now? It will be dawn soon.”

  “I don’t think so. Our horses - your horses, really - are spent. I will need to see to them. Simon as well. Once we’ve taken some rest, we’ll head for Liverpool. Hopefully I can catch these men before they board the next ship to America.”

  To Gilbert, the British Isles were inhabited by three brothers: The English, the Irish, and the Scottish. Each was likable, honorable, and made for good company, save for the fact that they unaccountably hated each other for the most inscrutable reasons, and vigorously denied their brotherhood. (There were also the Welsh, who were somewhat unifying. The other three agreed that no matter how much they might dislike each other, the Welsh were worse. Gilbert hadn’t encountered many Welsh, and did not have any opinion on them either way.)

  In particular, he always felt that the English view of the Scottish was more than a little unfair. The Scots were viewed as belligerent drunkards, having poor singing voices and worse taste in music. Their speech was incomprehensible to the point of comedy. They ate more than they should, as long as it was of no nutritional value. They had no head for education. They spoke louder than was reasonable and with much profanity. Gilbert had known a few Scotsmen during his time in the military, and he found all of these views on the Scottish people to be wildly inaccurate - even slanderous - until the day Ivar arrived at Ravenstead.

  It was in the early part of September when Ivar was added to the list of guards in Lord Mordaunt’s employ. The scorching August heat had relented and blessed the men with cool air and slight breezes, but Ivar spent every day since his arrival bathing in his own sweat. He was not as tall as Gilbert, but he was broader, barrel-chested, and probably a bit heavier. He seemed to be the origin of every bad stereotype Gilbert had ever heard, and was capable of sustaining them single-handedly. He tended to stare at people without provocation. In idle moments he would set his wild eyes on whoever was closest, clenching his jaw and daring them to meet his gaze.

  Ivar had been given special treatment by the headmaster. He was the only one of the men to be called by his proper name. Instead of forcing him to improve his slovenly appearance while on duty, Headmaster Graves assigned him to guard the rear entrance. It was obvious he drank on duty, although he was never in too much of a stupor to stand and watch at his post. This was tolerated without comment, even though the other men knew better than to attempt the same themselves.

  Gilbert did not immediately confront Ivar as he’d done with the other men, and Ivar never attempted to shame Gilbert with his angry stare. The two avoided each other. Everyone could see that a conflict was inevitable, but neither man was rushing into it.

  Gilbert had beaten the men into shape. Not proper military shape, but at least they were less of an embarrassment. Their barracks were looking less like stables by the day, and Gilbert had gone for over a week without having to punch a man for throwing refuse on the floor or drunkenly pissing in the corner. Their pranks were less frequent and less destructive, and they were beginning to accept him. Perhaps not as a superior officer, but at least as a bully they could appease through proper manners.

  Ivar changed all of this. The men saw weakness when Gilbert ignored Ivar’s offenses. They began to return to their old ways. They acted like Ivar when Ivar was around, using him as their shield. Gilbert couldn’t correct them for something when Ivar was committing the same crime just a few steps away. Gilbert saw his project slowly coming undone.

  Ivar was used to being the dominant force in the room, and it obviously frustrated him to see the men so often defer to Gilbert. The two men were at a truce, but neither of them was happy with it. They never spoke to each other.

  Sooner or later, one would topple the other. When that happened, the rest of the men would make the winner their leader in all but name, and the loser would become the target of their many pranks. Neither man was in a hurry to face that trial, and so this storm was slow in building.

  Their first confrontation came late one morning while Gilbert was whitewashing the outside of the barracks. He’d stripped off his shirt and tied a cloth around his waist in order to protect his clothing.

  “Well, look at the pretty lady come to fix up our humble cottage!” boomed Ivar from behin
d. The words were horribly mangled, and it took Gilbert a moment to sort them out and realize they were directed at him. He turned, and saw Ivar was regarding him with a malicious smirk.

  Ivar was a man of diabolical ugliness. The top of his head was perfectly hairless, and on his jaw was a great beard of untamed black hair. His face was red with windburn and his skin had the texture of uncured leather. His nose had been broken at some point, and had healed at an unsightly angle.

  Gilbert hesitated. Now was not an ideal moment to settle things with Ivar. Gilbert was tired, shoeless, shirtless, and in the middle of important work. His bucket of whitewash was standing open nearby, and it would be a financial loss to him if it was spilled.

  A few men stopped bickering over their card game to come outside and see how things turned out. Gilbert cursed his luck. He didn’t dare back down with the men watching. He sighed and stepped away from his supplies.

  “A nice dress you’re wearing,” Ivar slurred, pointing at Gilbert’s makeshift apron. He was drunk. This was the first time he’d been drunk this early in the morning. He was just now coming off duty.

  Gilbert snatched the cloth away and tossed it into Ivar’s face, “You can have it, if you’re so fond of it.”

  Ivar pulled the cloth away to see Gilbert was now standing just a few inches from him. The two men locked eyes. Ivar clenched his jaw and breathed out a noxious cloud of alcoholic vapor. The other men were slowly gathering into a circle around them, elbowing and whispering to each other. Money began to change hands.

  Suddenly Ivar slapped Gilbert on the shoulder with one of his thick hands. It was like being hit with a steak. “Keep up the good work, soldier!” Ivar laughed uneasily before turning away. He wobbled inside, muttering to himself.