by Matt Ralphs
A scream rose in Hazel’s throat as it pressed a gloved hand against the window. The glass creaked in its frame and then the latch snapped. Hissing with triumph, the creature forced the window inwards and stepped into the room, the top of its hat scraping the ceiling as it advanced.
Hazel stumbled away and tripped on the edge of the carpet. Her world exploded with pain as she cracked her head on the iron bedstead.
Through a swirling fog of disorientation she saw the creature peel off a glove and flex its naked fingers: long, thin, clicking like a faulty clock. No skin, no flesh, just bone. The air curdled with a smell of rancid milk.
This isn’t a man, this is a demon . . .
Hazel searched her heart for magic, for a spark of fire to use as a weapon, but it was as if the invader gave off an invisible vapour which doused her will to fight. She let out a whimper and shrank back against the bed.
The creature bent over her, its beaked mask inches from her face – what horrors were concealed inside? Hazel caught a whiff of bitter herbs as it entwined a skeletal finger through a lock of her hair . . .
‘Red Witch,’ it hissed through the mask. ‘Mine now!’
A tiny fireball trailing smoke leaped off the bed and landed on the demon’s beak. ‘Get off her!’ It was Bramley, consumed in a cocoon of his own burning magic.
Startled, the demon flinched and withdrew, eyes reflecting fire like two gold sovereigns. Its hold over Hazel broke and she rolled out from under its shadow, looking this way and that for a weapon. Bramley dug his claws in tighter, lit nose to tail with flickering tongues of flame.
I can’t use magic here, Hazel thought. I’ll set the whole place alight.
Close to panic, she grabbed a chamber pot from under the bed. She edged closer, waiting for the moment to strike . . .
The demon’s floor-length cape flailed as it thrashed its head from side to side in an effort to dislodge the tenacious dormouse. At last Bramley lost his grip and spun through the air like a miniature comet, landing with a squeak in the fireplace’s ash pile.
Fury grabbed Hazel. Mustering all of her strength, she let fly with the chamber pot. It struck the demon on the side of the face and shattered, sending broken shards of china in every direction. The demon gave a muffled cry and dropped to one knee.
I could run, Hazel thought, but what about everyone else in the tavern? Perhaps this thing has come back for the beggar girl! I can’t leave them behind in danger . . .
The sight of Bramley jumping out of the fireplace, covered in ash and baring his teeth, made up her mind: she had to fight, use her magic if she had to, and hope not to set the building on fire.
The creature hissed like a serpent and twisted its body towards her, head low and thrust forward, close enough to see shards of china embedded in the leather. Hazel dredged deep and found a spark. She drove it down her arms until pale flames flickered from her skin. It was weak, barely enough to warm the air, but it was the best she could do as she turned side on and prepared to wield.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the corridor, getting rapidly closer. Someone must have heard the commotion and was coming to investigate. Instinctively Hazel turned to the door and cried, ‘Don’t come in here!’
The handle rattled. ‘Hazel, are you all right? Open the door, will you?’
Titus!
Relief flooded through her as she scrambled to unlock the door, expecting any second to feel the demon’s bony fingers encircle her neck. She hauled the door open, but by the time Titus burst inside the demon had gone, leaving the window swinging from its hinges and a whisper, just for her, drifting in the air: ‘Red Witch . . . I will find you . . .’
Titus took in the ash-covered Bramley and Hazel’s ravaged expression of fear and said, ‘So, care to explain what’s been going on?’
Hazel rushed to Bramley and picked him up. ‘Are you hurt?’ she cried. ‘Speak to me, mouse!’
‘Urgh! I’m filthy,’ he choked, shaking his fur. ‘You’ll have to give me a bath.’
‘Hazel, what’s happened?’ Titus sniffed the air. ‘And why can I smell magic?’
‘Wait a second . . .’ Hazel poked her head out of the window. The balcony and the alley below were empty; the demon had gone. She let out a shuddering breath, went to Titus and wrapped her arms around his waist. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so pleased to see you.’
‘Be off with you, girl,’ Titus said gruffly. ‘And tell me everything.’
20
A BRIEF CONFERENCE
‘I hear the Black Widow has returned from exile
to fight the Order. God speed to her.’
A. A. Hancock, Laird of Glen Sporran
‘“Red Witch . . . I will find you,”’ Titus repeated after Hazel had told him everything that had happened since they’d parted. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’
‘It was like it knew me,’ Hazel said, shuddering at the memory.
‘It must remember you from the alley,’ Bramley said from his perch on the bedstead. ‘And it came back to get revenge on you for rescuing the girl.’
‘Maybe,’ Hazel said. ‘But it felt like more than that.’
‘You’ve seen it twice, and close up this time,’ Titus said, gazing at the London lights across the river. ‘What do you think it is?’
‘It’s wearing a mask so I couldn’t see its face,’ Hazel replied, running her fingers over Bramley’s ash-covered fur. ‘But I’m certain it’s a demon.’
Old Seb said as much, Titus thought. If I didn’t know better I’d say we were cursed with bad luck.
‘I agree with Hazel,’ Bramley added. ‘It’s much too tall to be a man – we told you that after we saw it the first time.’
‘But demons this size do not just appear in our world, they have to be summoned by someone who knows what they’re doing,’ Titus said. ‘And why is it hunting children?’
‘Not just any children,’ Bramley said. ‘It’s after Hazel now.’
‘I never thought I’d say this,’ Titus said, ‘but the sooner you get back to the Tower the better. It’s the safest place from this creature that I can think of.’
‘I’m due back first thing tomorrow, and somehow I’ve got to find a way to speak to Murrell.’
‘You’ve proved yourself to be resourceful so I’m sure you’ll find a way. But have a care, especially around this Thorn creature – any animal associated with Murrell is not to be trusted.’
‘We’ll be careful,’ Bramley said. ‘What are you going to do in the meantime?’
‘I’m a Witch Finder – what do you think I’m going to do?’ Titus replied, checking the firing mechanism of his pistol. ‘I’m going to go and look for this murderous demon.’
‘What, now?’
‘Absolutely.’
Hazel leaped up. ‘Then I’m coming too.’
‘No, no, no.’ Titus pushed her back on to the chair. ‘You’re to stay here and rest. You’ll need all your wits about you tomorrow in that den of wolves.’ He paused by the door. ‘I’m glad to see you safe and well, Hazel. Make sure you stay that way.’
Hazel lay on the bed, deep in thought with Bramley napping on the pillow next to her. She was worried about Titus. He looked tired, and thinner than when they had first met.
All the worry and guilt is taking its toll. Is he still strong enough to hunt a demon? I’m not sure that he is.
She looked at Bramley – sensible, sane Bramley – and gently shook him awake. ‘Hey, little mouse. I want to ask you a favour, which I’m afraid you’re not going to like very much . . .’
21
BRING OUT THE DEAD
Tempus edax rerum (‘Time, that devours all things’)
Ovid, Metamorphoses
The sky was clear and the stars cold as Titus took the steps down from the balcony. No sound except the lapping of the low-tide river and the bump and clump of moored boats broke the silence. The demon could be miles away by now, or lying in wait around the next corner.
Years of experience had taught Titus to focus his mind beyond fear, but these days the nagging voice inside that said he was too tired, too old, too weak to be any use was getting harder to ignore.
‘Shut your yap,’ he muttered. ‘I’m stronger than most men half my age, and smarter too.’
An empty sherry keg lay in the middle of an alley leading away from the river. Had it simply unbalanced from the stack against the tavern wall? Or had it been knocked?
Titus crept past it and squinted into the deserted darkness. Even at this hour they’d usually be some people about: the last drunkard standing being thrown out of a tavern lock-in; the poorest citizens picking through piles of refuse; the local militia on patrol. But there was no one. Not a single soul except him.
Everyone knows about the dead girls, and they’re too frightened to come out at night.
The fact that the demon – or whatever it was – had returned to the tavern concerned Titus greatly. Had it come back to kill the beggar girl? Or had it come back for Hazel? It called her the ‘Red Witch’, so it knew about her magic. Was that why it hunted her?
Keeping to the deepest shadows, Titus made his way up the alley, alert, quiet, and with his pistol at the ready. Gutter muck softened his footsteps. His breath misted in the cold night air.
All the victims had been about the same age as Hazel, and the beggar girl’s hair was a similar shade of red. Coincidence? Titus thought not. He saw a pattern. And if it was a demon he sought, then someone had summoned it and set it loose on its murderous mission.
And when I get my hands on them they’ll be sorry they were ever born.
Titus sidestepped into a doorway when he heard a rumbling, creaking sound coming from a sidestreet ahead. It was getting louder. Yellow lantern light painted the walls, then spilt on to the cobbles, startling a rat which squeaked and ran over Titus’s boot.
His hands were steady as he raised his pistol, cocking it slowly to ensure the click wasn’t audible. There was a swish of leather and then a shadow appeared on the opposite wall: human-shaped but elongated, with a wide-brimmed conical hat and a long, beak-like nose.
Titus held his breath, raised the pistol and curled his finger around the trigger. Was this Hazel’s demon?
A figure wearing a hat and a floor-length robe stopped at the junction six paces from where Titus hid, and turned back the way it had come. Its face was hidden behind a grotesque leather mask, shaped like the head of a bird, nightmare born; there was not an inch of skin visible under the get-up. The lantern it held flashed in flat, circular eyes.
‘Come on, Patrick, hurry up,’ it said, voice muffled through the mask. ‘I want to get back before the next century if you don’t mind.’
A shorter figure in identical garb appeared, struggling to push a handcart up the slope. Three plague-riddled corpses lay in the cart, bouncing up and down with every jolt. ‘Instead of moaning why don’t you give me a hand?’
‘Because I’m carrying the lantern . . .’
Titus watched as the uncanny figures and their gruesome cart rattled away, crying in unison, ‘Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!’
He lowered his pistol, letting out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
Those men were plague doctors, employed by the city to pick up victims of the disease and take them to the burial pits. And now Titus knew that the killer was wearing one of their uniforms – the leather robe, beaked mask and hat that Hazel had described.
It made perfect sense: what better disguise was there to allow a killer to move unmolested through a city at night? And what better way to keep a demonic face hidden?
Titus smiled. Now the hunt was really on.
22
SPLICING
‘The Anesidora, if she could speak,
would have a strange tale to tell.’
Edward Lloyd, coffee-house owner
Hecate Hooper’s voice echoed through the trees, far away and full of fear.
Hazel, my darling daughter – where are you?
Hazel followed it, beating a path through tangled roots and low branches, her breath rasping from her throat. On she went, until she stumbled on to a vast plain bathed in blood-red light. A jagged canyon spouting sulphurous smoke stretched before her, and it was from its bottomless depths that her mother’s voice cried.
When Hazel awoke, her pillow was wet with tears. I’m coming, Ma, she thought. Just hold on a little longer.
It was early, but the sun was already bright in a cobalt sky. Leaving Bramley asleep in a fold of the bedspread, Hazel got dressed. Black breeches, black shirt, crimson jacket, boots tightly laced: her courage grew with every garment she put on. She had fooled the Witch Hunters with layer upon layer of lies, and this uniform was her armour of deceit.
She blew gently on Bramley to wake him up (causing a sleepy protest) and carried him into Titus’s room. Relieved to find the old Witch Finder safe and well and snoring in his chair, she gave him a shake.
‘Wha . . . What’s happening . . . ?’ Titus surfaced by increments and when he eventually managed to focus on Hazel he gave a start and bellowed, ‘Good God, what hellish imp is this I see before me?’
Hazel remembered it was the first time he had seen her in the Order uniform. ‘It’s all right, it’s just me – Hazel.’
‘In her William-the-Witch-Hunter disguise,’ Bramley added.
‘I thought the Order had sent their tiniest member to arrest me,’ Titus growled, rubbing his eyes. ‘Hateful get-up.’
Hazel straightened the sleeves of her jacket. ‘I think it’s rather smart, and it’s got inside pockets which are very useful.’
‘But what it represents is—’
‘I know, I know,’ Hazel said, raising her hands. ‘I’m only teasing.’
‘Very funny.’ Titus submerged his head in the washbasin.
‘So what happened last night?’ Hazel asked when he re-emerged. ‘I take it you didn’t find the demon?’
‘No,’ he replied, ‘but I did find out something interesting about your night prowler, demon or otherwise . . .’ He told Hazel and Bramley about the plague doctors he had encountered, but left out his worry that even if the killer was not targeting Hazel personally, it was targeting girls just like her.
‘So the leather mask and the robe work as a disguise,’ Hazel said.
‘Aye, a good one too.’ Titus grinned. ‘And what’s more, it’s a lead! I’m going to talk to the Plague Doctor Guild Master and see what I can dig up.’
‘What makes you think he’ll talk to you?’ Bramley asked.
‘Oh, he’ll talk all right, when I tell him the killer stalking these streets is wearing one of his men’s uniforms.’ Titus scraped the hair away from his face. ‘You know, it feels good to be investigating again.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Hazel cleared her throat. ‘And perhaps it would be even better if you had some help.’
‘Help?’ Titus looked blank. ‘What sort of help?’
‘Oh, you know, like a companion.’ Hazel held Bramley out on the palm of her hand.
‘What’s she talking about?’ Titus growled to Bramley.
‘Hazel thinks it would be good for us to work together for a while.’
Titus folded his arms. ‘But I don’t like company. It gets in the way.’
‘Please, Titus,’ Hazel said. ‘Bramley’s keen – aren’t you?’
‘Oh, yes,’ the dormouse replied flatly. ‘Very keen.’
‘I’m worried that the Witch Hunters will notice him,’ Hazel said. ‘And I just think that while I’m in the Tower it’ll be safer for both of us if I’m on my own.’
Titus ruminated for a while, then held out his hand. ‘Very well. Come along, Master Mouse.’
‘But where am I to sleep?’ Bramley wailed. ‘Your hair is so dirty!’
‘Oh for God’s sake . . .’ Titus rummaged in his shirt top pocket and removed several musket balls, some loose tobacco leaves and his spare pipe. ‘There, you can move in h
ere.’
Hazel dropped her dejected little familiar inside and stepped away, feeling a tug on her heart. It’s the right thing to do, she reassured herself. I’ll feel better knowing they’re looking out for each other.
‘Well,’ she said, suddenly awkward. ‘I’d better get going, I suppose.’
Bramley popped his head out of Titus’s pocket. ‘You need to eat some breakfast.’
‘I’ll get something on the way.’
‘And remember to go out the back door,’ Titus said. ‘If Treacher sees you in your uniform . . .’
‘I know, I know,’ Hazel replied. ‘Good luck, and be careful.’
Titus brushed his hand against her shoulder. ‘That goes tenfold for you.’
‘Come back soon,’ Bramley added.
He looked so forlorn with his whiskers all droopy that Hazel had to force herself not to take him back. ‘Just look after each other, will you?’ she pleaded, and then left, closing the door behind her.
23
HAZEL PLAYS HER HAND
‘They call me the Wandering Scholar.
In truth I flee the demonic servants of Baal.’
Lars Göran Petrov
Hazel was acutely aware of Bramley’s absence as she crossed London Bridge; she felt incomplete, impaired, like a puppet with one string cut. Yet she felt freer knowing he was safe from discovery, and she was comforted that he and Titus were together. They would bicker and argue, of course, but they’d look out for each other too.
I just hope they track down the demon before it strikes again, she thought as she sped along the embankment, past the row of ships and round the bend in the river. The White Tower and Cromwell Island loomed into view: two hateful, terrifying twins of stone.
If Murrell would only tell Thorn what I need to know I wouldn’t have to go back in and risk my neck again, Hazel thought angrily. Why is he being so difficult? She picked up the pace, striding past the guards at the gate and into the Tower precinct. Because he can, that’s why. He’s got nothing to lose, and he wants to bargain with me, face to face.
