CHAPTER 23
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A YOUNG MESSENGER on horseback brought the news to Ivershall. Cups and plates broke into a hundred small pieces on the dining room floor as Christian swiped his hand across the table and roared in agony. Why Clara? He and his men should have seized the witch-finder in the early morning hours. Christian had spent the morning making sure Clara and Mother were safe first.
He’d left Clara’s cottage barely an hour earlier and had sat down to speak with Mother before returning to the village. How could Angus Hill even now be arresting more people? Five women had died and would never breathe again. Five. Others were arrested or missing. Was the witch-finder already planning to rekindle the dead embers from the fire last night and murder even more? Christian had to save Clara before that madman Hill and his helper caused another disaster in Berg.
The noise attracted the housekeeper and several of the maids who came into the room and started picking up the broken pieces on the floor.
Christian took Marna aside, away from the younger maids. “Clara is in trouble,” he whispered. “Run out and tell David to get my horse ready.”
He grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and hastened into the hallway.
Dorthea followed, her eyes wide with fear. “Find her, Christian, locate her, and bring her here.”
He nodded, gave his mother a quick kiss on the cheek, and charged out the door. David was already on his way from the stables with the horse in tow.
“Do you want me to come with you?” David asked.
Christian shook his head. “Not yet. Tell two of the men to saddle up and follow me into town. For now, I need you here. Mother is taking this pretty hard, and Marna is busy with the maids. Can you have someone find Else and ask her to stay with Mother today?”
“Of course.”
“I want you and the rest of the men to keep watch all day. If you see anyone suspicious, you must protect the women here at all cost.”
“I will organize the men right away.”
Christian mounted his stallion, clicked his tongue, and rode the beast at a gallop to Berg, urging the horse to go faster. A flock of birds in the middle of the path flapped their wings to hurry out of the way. The thunder of the horse’s hooves startled a grazing deer and sent it fleeing across the field.
What if they had tortured Clara? Suppose they had taken her somewhere. His thoughts raced faster than his stallion.
Christian did not slow until he was on Market Street, and even then, only enough to keep from running someone down. He tied the horse outside the village hall and ran up two stairs at a time.
Carrying a traveling bag and walking stick, Winther walked down the corridor of the village hall. Christian barged in and placed himself in the middle of the room.
“Do you know about Clara Dahl being brought in?” Christian demanded.
The bailiff strode toward him and shook his head. “No, I do not. I returned from Fredrikstad only minutes ago.” He squinted. “Compose yourself, Ivershall. You are a man of strong but sound opinions, almost inhumanly unruffled.” He offered a bemused smile. “I have never seen you like this before, irritated, apparently furious. It’s refreshing.”
Christian grabbed the bailiff by the collar. “Tell me if you know anything about her disappearance.” He let go and patted the bailiff on the shoulder. “I beg your pardon. I have received word that Miss Dahl is being held prisoner.” He turned his head and looked about the room. “Is the witch-finder here?”
“No, he is not. I was just told he and John Pywell had an errand and won’t return to Berg until later today. Go ask the guards in the back about Miss Dahl.”
“I will speak with you later about those guards. First, I will find Clara and then go after Angus Hill. A lot has happened while you were away.”
Winther dropped his bag on the floor. “Ivershall, what is going on?”
Christian did not answer but ran into the back to check the holding cells, but the iron gateway was locked. A guard sauntered by, and Christian stopped him.
“Open this gate immediately,” he demanded.
“Mr. Ivershall.” He bowed deeply. “Sir, I don’t have the keys.”
“Who does then?”
“John Pywell, I believe. He seized them yesterday, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“Who is in there?” Christian shook the door vigorously.
“It varies all the time, sir. I haven’t been able to check today.”
“Do you know if Miss Dahl is one of the prisoners?”
The guard shrugged.
“Let me know if you hear anything. Tell everyone that Mr. Ivershall will pay well for knowledge of her whereabouts.”
A sentence of imprisonment could rapidly turn into an execution. Already, several lives had been taken in his small village. Every hour was crucial.
Christian walked out in front of the hall and found his faithful men waiting next to his stallion. He stepped close. “The witch-finder and his interpreter are out on some errand. I don’t know where, but I’d like you to scour the area to see if you can find them. I’ll stay here in case they return.”
The men nodded, mounted their horses, and rode off. Christian led his stallion across the square. Angus Hill had a document that he claimed gave him the authority to act as witch-finder in Berg. The man was a liar, and Christian had no doubt the paper was false. His effort to prove it had not fallen through. The first dispatch rider Christian had sent to Christiania had ridden through the night, changing horses several times, and had just returned with an encouraging message. The courier had been by the county bailiff’s office. No one there had issued a legal document allowing Angus Hill to set up a weigh house or act as witch-finder in Berg. They told the courier about a fraudster who fabricated false documents, but the man had disappeared, his office was locked up, and nobody knew of his whereabouts. None of that mattered now. If the county bailiff in Christiana didn’t draw up the text, Angus had nothing. Once the witch-finder and his interpreter returned from their errand, Christian would find them and retrieve the prison keys.
As for the dispatch riders he’d sent out after the burning, compliant weather would have made for swift travel on the roads. After the northbound rider had made it to the Norwegian capital and spoken with the authorities there, he’d been ordered to board the first ship bound for Copenhagen. If necessary, Christian would have him go all the way to King Fredrik III. The message was to free the prisoners in Berg. Sadly, Clara was one of the captives now. But these were safety measures. He expected to banish the witch-finder from the area long before the dispatch riders returned.
From the very beginning, Clara had been clear about the danger of having Angus Hill in town. Why had Christian not acted before? Protecting the women from the attic and Ellen and the children had perhaps saved some lives, but that was not enough. The deep-rooted superstitions of the villagers and the witch-finder’s horrid opinions about women had turned out to be a life-threatening combination.
The wars Christian had fought in uniform were different. Protecting your land, your family, and your country meant being willing to take lives, fight the enemy, and do your utmost to gain victory and peace. As Clara had said many times, innocent people should not be executed.
Clara had opened his eyes to the way underhandedness and cruel dishonesty of a few men could bring anguish to many. What a woman she was. She filled his heart.
What else could he do? Clara had mentioned a recipe book that belonged to her friend Bess. Christian headed down to the best tavern in the village.
The innkeeper was a bald, short man with a protruding belly. He was carrying a barrel of ale into the back room as Christian entered the inn. The man’s wife was wiping off tables, waiting for the next flow of hungry customers.
“I want the key to Angus Hill’s room,” Christian said. “And be quick about it.”
“Mr. Ivershall, sir. Our guests expect privacy. I cannot hand out the keys to their rooms.”
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br /> “May I remind you I own this building. Your employment here is not due to fortunate circumstances but based upon my good will.”
The innkeeper bowed and with shaking hands handed over the key. “Second door on the right, Mr. Ivershall.”
Christian gave him a coin. “There will be another when I finish. Make sure I am not disturbed. If the witch-finder returns, stall him.”
He ran, taking the steps two at a time, and turned the key in the lock. The sound of whimpering came from the corner of the room when Christian opened the door. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. A young woman crouched in the corner of the room. Did Angus have a prisoner? Who was she? And for how long had she been there? Anxiety rushed through Christian’s body, and he hurried over to check on the girl. A piece of dry bread lay next to her, and a cup had toppled over. Had she been able to drink anything, or had the liquid spilled between the cracks of the wooden floor?
The girl looked up at him, a cloth tied in her mouth, eyes bulging.
“Ellen? Why does he keep you in chains?” Christian kneeled and pulled on the chain around her ankle. He removed the gag and untied her hands.
She grabbed his arm. “He could be back at any moment. Take me away from here,” she whispered.
“I will. Do you know where he keeps the key?”
“In the drawer.” She pointed to a small writing desk.
Christian located the small key and unlocked the chain.
Ellen rubbed her ankle and stood up. “Thank you. I did not know if I would ever get out of here.”
“Why did he bring you here? What has he done to you? He hasn’t…he hasn’t touched you, has he?”
“Never. He seems afraid of me. Always throws the bread across the floor and pushes the cup over with his walking stick. And he puts his gloves on to carry that waste bucket outside the door. The maid must think it’s his, but he never goes in here.”
Christian squeezed the bread in his fist. Dry crumbles fell onto the floor like snow.
She shrugged. “He asks me questions about what my thoughts are when I cast curses on folks in the village. He wants to know if I have voices in my head telling me what to do and what to say. One time, he put a cat in front of me and ordered me to turn him into a rabbit. He nagged, fussed for hours, and poked me in the side with his walking stick. I have blue and green markings on my skin from his stick. Do you want to see?”
Christian shook his head. “No need. I believe you.”
She started sobbing. “I know nothing about these things, nor do I know how to shapeshift or cast magic spells.” She paused and stared into Christian’s eyes. “Why is he doing this to me?”
“It seems he wants to learn about witches.”
“But I’m not an evil witch.”
“I know, but the witch-finder thinks you are. If he was not so ignorant, he would not be chasing witches.”
Christian looked around the room. “Ellen, we must hurry, but there’s one thing I need to know first. Have you seen a small book? It would be special to Angus Hill, something he keeps hidden.”
“He has my grandmother’s black book, the one I traded with Siren. He reads it all the time. See if you can find it. I believe it is in the traveling bag under the desk. Every morning and every night, he pulls out a pouch and places all the items in it on the desk. It’s eerie, like a ritual or something. He lights a candle and says the words, ‘I will get you. I will get you all. Glory be where glory is deserved’.”
Christian opened the pouch and poured the contents onto the desk. He held the black book out to Ellen. “This one?”
She nodded, took the book, and stuffed it under her gown.
“I am looking for another book,” Christian said.
“It should be in the bag. Look again.”
Christian lifted the traveling bag and turned it upside down. Bess’s recipe book fell out. He grabbed the book, took Ellen by the hand, and fled the room. He could not wait to breathe the fresh air away from the witch-finder’s surroundings.
✽✽✽
John Pywell walked with firm steps along the road leading out of the village. The prison keys he’d given back to the captain of the guard. No more bribing guards and dealing with idiots in Berg. Today, John would take charge of his own destiny.
“Where is this place you want to show me?” Angus coughed and struggled to keep up.
“I have found a better place for water-testing the witches. It is not far, just around the bend up there.”
“Slow down a little, John. Can you not see I am almost out of breath?”
Pywell stopped but kept looking forward. He mouthed, “Fool,” then he turned around. The almighty witch-finder was leaning on his walking stick and pressing one hand against his chest.
They followed a path through a pine forest until they reached a small lake. The sky was dull, threatening a forthcoming thunderstorm.
Pywell took Angus all the way to the water’s edge, and there, he presented a bottle to the witch-finder.
“Let’s make a toast,” he said.
“A toast?” Angus looked at the label and thrust out his chest. “Yes, how appropriate. I have done very well so far here in Berg and deserve a proper tribute to my progress.”
Pywell turned around to fetch two cups from his bag. With his back turned he quickly slipped the contents of a small flask into one of the cups then filled both vessels with wine.
“Here you are.” Pywell handed one of the cups to Angus.
“Indeed. This is a nice surprise but absolutely something I have earned.”
Angus took a couple of small sips. “Hmm, a full, distinct flavor. Not cheap, I would guess.”
“Drink up. As you said, you deserve this.” Pywell poured another cup.
The witch-finder stumbled a little and plopped down onto the stony beach.
“I feel dazed,” he sputtered, drool dripping from his mouth. “My eyes are blurry.”
“That is the poison working.”
“Poison? John, you madman. Do something.” Angus coughed violently, as if he could eject the toxicant out from his stomach.
Pywell stood in front of the witch-finder, hands on his hips, staring. “No need to fight it.”
“What is this all about, John? Don’t I pay you well? You are after a raise? Maybe one day you can earn good money yourself. Witch-finding can be a profitable occupation if you’re good at it.”
“Yes, I’ll be a witch-finder without an interpreter. One who can figure things out for himself.” He jerked his head and scowled. “Don’t you think I’m sick of translating when you ramble on, when you lick your way up people’s backs? I am sick of listening to you boasting about yourself when I should be the one getting all the attention. You are finished, Witch-finder Angus Hill. People will forget all about you as soon as your spirit leaves this world.”
Angus fell over onto the ground, staring up at John through half-closed eyes.
“People will see I can be fiercer,” Pywell continued. “They will learn what a real opponent of witches can accomplish. And how will I undertake this? I will spend some time abroad in the presence of real witch-finders and learn from the greatest.”
The witch-finder closed his eyes. Pywell checked to see if he was still breathing. He wanted his employer to hear every word he had meticulously rehearsed.
“I will work for men of influence and will be accepted and respected in the royal courts.”
Pywell kicked Angus’s legs. “Look at this.”
The witch-finder opened his eyes slightly as Pywell waved a copy of Angus’s manuscript in front of him.
“This will come in handy,” Pywell said. “I will of course obtain a volume of the Malleus Maleficarum one day; every good witch-finder needs the ultimate guide, the standard regarding how to handle the invasion of witches. Now, that’s a book written by professionals, a real account of witches’ criminal acts. Philosophers, theologians, even men of the law have read it. Had you been learned in the Latin
language, you could have read it. But that is yet another ability you do not have.”
He put the copy of Angus’s writings back inside the bag. “Until then, this will do. It is simple, which is obvious, since you are not an educated man, but the basic steps are always the most important.”
Angus closed his eyes, never to open them again on this earth. Pywell tied his former employer’s hands and feet together and dragged him into the water. He made sure the witch-finder was completely wet, as if he had drowned, then left him on the shore.
This would be John Pywell’s last day as an interpreter.
He walked away without turning back.
CHAPTER 24
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CHRISTIAN BROUGHT ELLEN to safety at Ivershall and asked David to take her to her family. Then he straightway turned the horse around and galloped back to the village. He slowed as he rode across the square. There was a tension and a commotion among the people there. As he tied up the stallion outside the village hall, he grabbed a passing guard by the arm.
“What is going on? What is all that ruckus?”
“Everyone in the village of Berg is talking about the latest death, sir. The witch-finder was found by a fisherman on the lakeshore up along the path west of the pine forest. His hands and feet were bound, as if someone had tested him for witchcraft—thumbs to big toes.”
The news was shocking, but Clara was in serious trouble. Finding her could not wait, and Christian stormed into the bailiff’s office without knocking.
“Ivershall?” The bailiff arose from his chair.
“I demand you release Clara Dahl immediately. She has been locked up without cause. The Lagting in Christiania says that—”
Bailiff Winther raised his hand. “Calm down, Ivershall. I know. Miss Dahl should never have been confined to a prison cell. I am not sure how it happened.”
Christian stood dumbfounded. What was he to think? He still did not know what they had done to Clara. He was about to open his mouth again when there was a knock on the door, and John Pywell entered. Christian folded his arms and scowled at the interpreter.
Trailing the Hunter: A Novel of Misconception, Truth, and Love Page 29
