by Matt Ralphs
There was a stunned silence, and then the Scottish witch grinned. ‘Well, I can’t speak for my fellow prisoners, but I approve mightily.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Titus said, returning her smile. ‘Because it’s the only plan we have.’
‘My name’s Vida, Mr White,’ the Scottish witch said. ‘What can we do to help?’
‘Are any of you chained up, or locked in cells?’
‘No, but most of us haven’t eaten much for days, and some are very sick.’ Vida frowned. ‘I can organize the strongest of us into groups to help those who need it. We’ll all stick together, Mr White. It’s the only way.’
‘Good idea.’ Titus decided he liked Vida and knew that with her help their chances of success had increased.
The prisoners with a view of the hatch gasped as Lilith, her face smooth and white as driven snow and her hair frosted with magic, appeared at Titus’s side. ‘It’s nearly time,’ she said, handing Titus one of the hatchets. ‘The arrows will be falling soon. We must be quick.’
Titus nodded, then leaned down towards Vida. ‘Listen, is there a boy down there with you? Tall, dark hair, goes by the name of David?’
‘The one-eyed lad?’ Vida said. ‘Why, yes. The Witch Hunters threw him down here the other day. Is he known to you?’
Titus closed his eyes as a flood of relief engulfed him. ‘Yes, yes he is. He was my apprentice. Is he hurt?’
‘No, but he’s hardly said a word since he arrived. We’ve done our best to comfort him, although until you turned up we’ve had precious little hope to quell his fears.’ She frowned. ‘Does that mean the dog is yours too?’
Titus looked at her blankly. ‘Dog?’
‘The boy came with a dog, a great slobbery hound. Won’t leave his side.’
Despite the peril, Titus smiled. ‘That sounds like my Samson. You are truly the bearer of good news, Vida.’
‘Titus,’ Lilith said. ‘Enough talk. Time to go.’ She pointed to the top of Cromwell Island as the first fire arrows traced orange arcs on to the sky and began to plummet towards them.
45
INTO THE ARENA
In the night sky I saw them, cutting across the moon on their
besoms. Witches – a devil’s dozen. ‘Flee!’ I cried. And we did.
Memoirs of an Innkeeper by Timothy Taylor
The column marched up the hill between two lines of yelling spectators, men, women and even children all hurling abuse at the caged Murrell. Hazel had expected it, but the naked aggression on their faces shocked her. How could anyone feel such hatred for another person? Especially one who was being taken to his death?
Bramley stirred nervously behind her ear, and Hazel had to resist the urge to reach up and touch him.
‘These people hardly think of Murrell as human any more, not after all the terrible things the Order has said about him,’ he said.
The wagon creaked round a bend, affording a view of Hopkins at the head of the column. A few people cheered and waved to him but most focused on the wagon.
‘I never thought I’d say this, Hazel,’ Bramley said, ‘but you need to be just like Murrell. Look how composed he is! You’d think he was out for a Sunday stroll.’
The red walls of the execution arena got closer, the crossed-hammer banners hanging limp in the humid air. There were even more soldiers here, lining the last few yards and struggling to hold the crowd back. Hazel glanced behind, hoping to get a glimpse of the prison hulk, but there was a pint-of-ale pavilion in the way.
What time was it? When were the fire arrows due to fall? Was Titus on board? Was Lilith doing as she’d promised? David and the prisoners – would they live this night, or die in the most horrible way imaginable?
Through the gates she marched, glad to leave the crowds behind. I must be calm. Think about what you can control, and forget everything else. Wait for Murrell . . . Gate opens . . . Walk in. That’s it.
Despite being open to the sky, the arena felt hotter and the air harder to breathe. A packed audience sat in a steeply tiered circle of seats, segregated by class and social status.
Periwigged lords and silk-clad ladies fanned themselves with pamphlets; Guild Masters (including the Master of the Plague Doctors wearing a big hat that he hoped would hide him from ‘Hopkins’ brother’) with crests proudly adorned on their chests; infantry officers and their more flamboyant cavalry counterparts, and grim-faced, black-clad Witch Hunters.
Hazel thought there must be at least two hundred people packed inside – the great and good of London and beyond, descended here to witness what they hoped would be the violent end of Nicolas Murrell, feared demonologist and arch-enemy of England.
Or so they think, she thought. Whatever happens, none of them will forget what they’re about to witness.
A heavy timber platform nearly as tall as Hazel dominated the centre of the arena; it was usually used for hangings, but the gallows had been removed and a roofless iron cage with a gate had been constructed around it. Inside was a thick layer of pitch-covered straw and kindling, supporting wooden planks sturdy enough to stand on. There was no stake for Murrell to be tied to.
It’s like he’s going to die on stage, Hazel realized with horror. Perhaps they want to see him run around, try to climb out, cling to the bars and beg for release. The cruelty of it took her breath away.
A flurry of gasps and excited whispers echoed around the arena as the wagon drew to a halt and the audience caught their first glimpse of the prisoner.
The Grandees dismounted, handed the reins to waiting grooms and found their places in a block of reserved seats behind a raised lectern. The rest of the column dispersed into the tiers, and the soldiers spaced themselves around the outside the platform. After the grooms had taken the horses from the arena the guards closed and barred the gates, blocking the sound of the baying crowd.
Hazel looked round for Hopkins and saw him dismount and stride up to the lectern.
‘You’d better go and join him,’ Bramley whispered. ‘It’s time to find out if this insane plan of yours is going to work.’
46
COLD DECEPTION
I drank the witch’s brew, and lo! My ailment
was cured and I felt my youth return to me!
In Excelsis by William Kerr
Lilith stepped behind the mast as the first arrows struck. Many fell short and disappeared into the Thames, but some reached the hulk, bouncing off the yardarms and thwacking into the deck. The archers were finding their range and Titus knew that the next volley would be more accurate.
He scrambled behind an empty cannon carriage, wincing as one of the spluttering missiles embedded itself in the timber with a thump. Keeping his head down, he called down the hatch to the prisoners.
‘They’ve started,’ he said over their cries. ‘I’m going to close the hatch to keep you safe, and then cut the mooring lines. Do you understand?’
‘Aye, Mr White, off you go – I’ll sort out this rabble,’ Vida called. ‘Now come on, sisters, we must stay calm . . .’
There were two ropes securing the hulk to the pontoon, one at the stern, one at the bow. Titus hefted his hatchet and examined the blade, deciding a few heavy, well-aimed strikes should do the trick.
Assuming I don’t get skewered first, he thought, hearing a cheer rise from the riverbanks as another dozen arrows skittered across the deck. And it won’t be long before people wonder why the hulk isn’t catching fire.
He peered out from behind the gun carriage to judge the distance to the stern rope and what cover he could use to shelter from the arrows. His eyes widened as pale yellow flames spread across the deck, licking up the rigging and rope-lines. Smoke eddies drifted over him, catching in his throat.
‘What the hell?’ He rounded on Lilith and found her smiling at him. ‘The fire – it’s taking hold. Why isn’t your magic working?’
‘My magic is working in precisely the way I intend.’
‘Then why does the ship burn?’ Titus r
aged. ‘Have you betrayed us, witch?’
Lilith shook her head. ‘The fire you see is real and will spread and dance as fire should. But my frost-magic is stronger and steals all its heat and destructiveness. Do not fear – no harm will come to us, even if we walk right through it.’
Titus stared at her in growing wonder. ‘So from the banks it will look as if all is going as expected . . . There’ll be no pursuit?’
‘Correct. And when the hulk starts to move downriver they’ll assume the fire has burned through the ropes and watch us drift away.’ Lilith smiled as she lifted her hatchet. ‘So, to work, Witch Finder – it’s time to make our escape.’
Keeping out of sight below the gunwale, Titus made his way towards the rear of the hulk and the steps leading up to the quarterdeck. He ducked as another volley of arrows hissed and clattered overhead, falling like comets through the spars and yardarms.
The fire spread with terrifying speed, spilling like liquid across the decks in all directions, and then whirling up the masts and along the ratlines. Flickering orange light bathed everything, and over Titus’s head rose a roiling column of smoke. Fed by the breeze, the fire was turning into an inferno.
Titus held up his hands to protect himself from the glare, yet he felt no heat and it was to his amazement that in the heart of the fire’s rage, under the crackle and roar, the surfaces it touched – wood, rope or canvas – remained undamaged.
I’ve seen some sights in my time, but nothing matches this.
Lilith was already hacking away at the bow so he clambered up the stairs on to the quarterdeck. The mooring line, thick as a man’s wrist and encrusted with black ice, had been looped through a heavy iron ring mounted on the deck.
Titus took aim and swung the hatchet. The blow shivered up his arm, but his blood was up and with a few more powerful strokes he split the line in a blizzard of ice and rope fibres. The frayed end slipped through the ring and over the side.
Done. They were free on the pontoon. Now it was all up to the river.
He peered over the gunwale at the swollen hull of the ship. At first nothing happened and Titus wondered if there was another rope to cut, then the gap between boat and pontoon began to widen. One foot . . . two . . . until a black gulf opened with a glimpse of gold-flecked water far below. With an inevitability that still seemed miraculous, the creaking old hulk started to slide away from the pontoon.
Titus felt the light sway of the hulk’s deck and a groan from the rotten timbers deep in her hull: after so many years shackled to a jetty, the Anesidora was making her final voyage, wreathed in flames and carrying a cargo of rescued witches.
‘I hate to tempt the fates but I think we’ve got away with it,’ he said as Lilith glided up the steps and crouched next to him. ‘The dolts onshore have no idea what’s really happening!’
The Wielder nodded as a wave of fire swept over the quarterdeck and engulfed them in a kaleidoscope of shimmering light. ‘Yes, we’ve done well, you and I, but I fear this is just the beginning.’
‘There’s always another battle to be fought, but it’s important to appreciate the victories before buckling on the sword belt again.’
They were already drifting past Cromwell Island and beyond the city walls. The Anesidora was unsteered and listing, but for the time being she kept to the middle of the river. With a tail-wind of luck they’d make it a few miles out of London before she beached.
Lilith watched Titus carefully, then she slipped her hand in his pocket and pulled out his watch. ‘It’s an hour before Nicolas is due to be executed. You still have time – she need not go to the Underworld alone.’
‘How did you know I was thinking about Hazel?’
‘What an absurd question,’ Lilith said, helping Titus to his feet. ‘You and that girl may as well be family. Now go.’
‘But what about . . . ?’
‘I’ll take care of the prisoners. Now, take the rowboat and get to Tower Hill – you can make it, but only if you leave now.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure. It’s my job to get my sisters to safety. It’s yours to be with your witch.’
They walked together to the rope ladder.
‘I don’t know if anything you do will make up for the deaths of those girls, Lilith,’ Titus said. ‘But I believe you’re going to try.’
‘I am,’ she said quietly. ‘With all my heart.’
Titus put his foot on the first rung. ‘I’m trusting you to put aside our differences and look after David for me. And my dog. Will you do that?’
‘If they’ll let me.’
‘And tell David . . . Tell him he’s got nothing to feel guilty about.’ Titus chewed his lip. ‘Tell him if we meet again it’ll be me asking for his forgiveness.’
‘He’ll know what that means?’
Titus nodded ‘What will you do when this heap beaches?’
‘We won’t be safe from the Order in the South, so I’ll take as many of my sisters as I can to the North and meet up with the rebels.’
‘A sound plan. Tread softly, and stay off the main highways. It’s a long and dangerous journey.’
Lilith arched an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t come down in the last rainstorm, Witch Finder.’
‘Snowstorm, surely?’
Her face melted into a smile. ‘Assuming you survive whatever lies ahead, how do you expect to find us again?’
‘A Frost Witch, a one-eyed boy and a giant hound all fighting for the rebellion?’ Titus grinned and began to climb down to the rowboat. ‘I’m sure you won’t be too hard to track down.’
‘Goodbye, Titus,’ Lilith called. ‘Until we meet again.’
47
THE PYRE
The descent to hell is easy.
Roman proverb
Hazel walked around the edge of the seats, feeling horribly conspicuous, despite the fact that everyone’s attention was on Murrell as two soldiers opened the wagon and dragged him out.
Hopkins gave her an encouraging smile as she took up position next to him. ‘When I give you the signal, use one of those torches to set light to the straw at the base of the pyre, then step well back. Ready?’
Feeling very unready, Hazel nodded.
‘Good lad.’
Hopkins mounted the steps and grasped the lectern with both hands. An expectant hush fell as he cast his gaze around the auditorium.
‘Friends, comrades, I bid you welcome,’ he said, his strident voice carrying to every corner.’ You are about to witness a truly historic event. For tonight we serve justice. Tonight our greatest enemy passes from this world . . . into oblivion.’
There was a scattering of applause from some of the lords and ladies in the top tiers, but most of the audience seemed to consider such outbursts unseemly. Instead they leaned forward, eyes fixed on an unresisting Murrell as he was marched up some steps to the gate in the cage.
‘Behold the murderer walking to his own termination,’ Hopkins continued. ‘Behold the necromancer facing death. Behold Nicolas Murrell as I burn him for his sins.’
More applause this time and a few cries of ‘Roast him!’ The Grandees remained impassive, all except Stearne, who was glaring intently at the back of Hopkins’ head.
The soldiers thrust Murrell into the cage, slammed the door and locked it. Standing straight, Murrell faced Hopkins with the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile.
Hazel sensed the audience’s unease; this was not what they had expected. Where was the man broken by the administrations of the Order? Where was the man facing death with a scream? They felt cheated, robbed of the spectacle that had been promised – and Hopkins knew it.
‘Do not be fooled by this show of indifference,’ he said. ‘It’s just another lie – inside, this man’s soul quakes with fear!’
It occurred to Hazel that there was nothing to stop Murrell from reciting the spell right now. She knew the moment would soon come when she’d be ordered to set the fire, so why was the demonologist hesitating?<
br />
Do it! she willed him. Do it now before it’s too late!
‘I decree, in my capacity as the Witch Hunter General, that Nicolas Murrell be put to death by fire.’ Sweat flicked from Hopkins’ shiny brow. ‘I decree the sentence just, right, and proper. Does the prisoner have anything to say?’
There was absolute silence as Murrell kept his eyes on Hopkins and slowly shook his head.
‘No last words? No final insults to throw at we who bested you?’ Hopkins said. ‘Very well. Then I will waste no more time on you, Nicolas Murrell. It’s time for you to meet your end.’
That was Hazel’s cue. Feeling the weight of every gaze upon her, she walked stiffly to the nearest torch and picked it up from its sconce. It was heavy, and the crackling flame warmed her face.
The platform was no more than ten paces away, and it would take only moments for the pitch and kindling to catch light and spread. I can’t hesitate much longer, she thought, feeling panic rise into her throat. What if he doesn’t recite the spell in time?
Murrell stood in the middle of the cage with his head lowered as if in prayer. Was he speaking the demonic words? She couldn’t see his face, and the crowd was getting restive.
‘Hazel,’ Bramley hissed. ‘You can’t stand here forever – people are wondering what’s wrong with you.’
The sight of earnest, truth-speaking Thorn landing on top of the cage, his red breast shining in the lantern light, made up Hazel’s mind: at this moment she had no choice but to trust Murrell to hold true to his word; her fate and that of her mother’s was in his hands now.
Holding the torch in both hands, she walked steadily towards the pyre. Each footstep took an age. The air felt thick, something she had to cleave through. Smoke from the torch made her eyes water.
A pitch-soaked taper of straw hung down through the bars of the cage. That’s it. That’s where I start the fire. There was no sign of any magic, no sign of a demon gate appearing. The torch wobbled as Hazel inched it towards the taper. As one, the crowd leaned forward.
