by Dax Varley
I was shut off from all heat, and even in summer the crusty barred window would allow no sunshine. The coming night would be brutal. I balance myself on the wobbly chair and pulled up the window pane. The narrow alley was barely wide enough for a cart and was canopied by overhanging walnut trees. The view stopped some twelve feet away, blocked by the crumbling wall of the butcher’s shop, who’d pitched his carrion there for scavengers to feed. Though most of the meat was picked clean, much of the rot remained, leaving an odor that twisted the gut. I had no doubt it bred rats, which I hoped would not make their way through the cracks in these walls.
I quickly closed the window and sat down on the craggy chair, rubbing my face with my hands.
Ichabod, where are you?
Even if he were here, would he be permitted to enter? Had the Council locked him away as well? My heart bled with fear.
Tears parched my mouth and throat, but the only water was the shallow copper pool at the bottom of the chamber pot. My bleak night would stretch into an eternity.
After a while, the cold seeped into my bones. I had no choice but to wrap myself in the filthy blanket. It reeked of sweat and urine. But after a while, in spite of my chill, my body gave in. I stretched out on the mattress, my head resting against the wall. I fixed my gaze on an ivory chip in the pitcher’s handle, and lost myself to the nothingness around me. I don’t know how long I was in that daze, but I snapped to when I heard voices just outside the jail room. A moment later a key turned and someone slipped in.
“Father!” I hurried to the bars.
His face opened with shock when he saw my living conditions. “Dear God, this is an outrage.”
I reached for him. “Father, help me, please.”
“I intend to,” he said, “But keep your voice low. The Council doesn’t know I’m here and I had to pay that mongrel Fallon a nice sum to let me in.”
“Are you sure he’ll stay quiet?”
“If he wants the rest of the money I’ve promised, he will. Now listen to me.” He held up a satchel as he spoke. “I leave tonight for the city, and will not return without the best lawyer there.” From inside the satchel he removed a napkin. The glorious smell of sweet bread sifted from it.
“I’m too thirsty to eat.”
He took out a flask of cider.
I wanted to gulp it all down at once. “Can you get me some water to keep here?”
“I’ll try. If we fill Fallon’s pockets too deep, he’ll not have incentive to turn a blind eye.”
He threw a cautious look at the door, then opened a hidden compartment in the satchel. From there, he pulled out a sheaf of paper and a pencil. “Hide these under your mattress.” He nodded toward the window above me. “Leta will come every day at noon. She can take any written messages to Doctor Goodwine. He is on our side.”
“Doctor Goodwine? What can he do?”
“Whatever you correspond, he’ll keep as record. And he’ll try to supply medicine if needed.” He fastened the satchel. “Now I must go.”
Before he could leave, I quickly asked, “Father, have you seen Ichabod?”
He would not meet my eye. “I believe he’s gone back to Connecticut.”
I was helpless to hold in tears.
Father then looked up. “Do not worry, Katrina. You will be freed.” He hurried out, leaving me heartsick and alone.
* * *
Where is Ichabod?
I sat down in the chair, rubbing my arms against the cold. He’ll come. He’ll find a way to rescue me.
My hopes soared when I heard whispers. I rushed to the bars. But the door swung slowly, and Peter Bottoms peeked around.
I stumbled back into the shadows. Does he have a key?
He sauntered closer, a loathsome sneer on his lips. “My beautiful Katrina. I’m going to eat your flesh like it was Sunday dinner.” He clicked his teeth.
My heart rose to my throat.
“But not yet,” he continued. “Not till you give me what’s rightfully mine.”
“I-I don’t know what you mean,” I lied, cowering against the wall.
He stepped closer and held up the burnt rose. “Where’s the rest of ‘em?”
Those beads could be what saved me, but not by handing them over. “I’ve lost them all.”
He rolled the small rose between his thumb and forefinger. “Is that right?”
“You didn’t find the others at the schoolhouse?” My cracking voice betrayed me.
He pressed his face to the bars. “Katrina, liars go to Hell the same as thieves.” He licked his lips. “And old Lucifer keeps the pretty ones for himself.”
“I’m not lying to you, Peter. I don’t have them.” The one truthful statement.
“You’ve got ‘em all right. The bracelet and the necklace.”
Necklace? Was that the final portion of the payment Marten had set aside? “I didn’t know there was a necklace.”
He slammed the heel of his palm against the bar. “Tell me where they are!”
“Oh for God’s sake, why are you so eager to have that cheap jewelry?”
“Cheap? Oh, Katrina, you’re so naïve.” He kept his eyes on me as he placed the blacked bead between his teeth. There was a soft snap as he bit down, shattering it. He spit the crumbs into his hand. “I wouldn’t call this cheap.” He reached within the fragments and plucked up a gem. Even in the shadows it sparkled.
My mouth dropped. “A sapphire?”
“No, missy.” He held it toward the candle flame. “This here’s a blue diamond. And there’s five more of ‘em that were on that bracelet.”
Why hadn’t Marten told me? I would’ve been more careful.
“But,” Peter said, admiring the jewel, “those are nothing compared to ones in the necklace. Together, almost ten carats.”
Ten carats? My mind spun. How did Marten acquire such precious gems?
“Now, as I see it,” Peter continued, “those diamonds are rightfully mine. Payment for the money I loaned Marten for his ship. Especially now that the mangled thing’s kissing the bottom of the sea.”
That explained how Marten got the money for the boat…but the jewels? I turned it over and over in my head. “I don’t understand. How did Marten acquire those diamonds?”
Peter considered it for a moment, then threw out a cackle that echoed off the walls. “Oh…poor Katrina. Poor stupid Katrina. You still thought Marten was a fisherman.”
“He was a fisherman.”
Peter’s face went dead cold. “He was a bloody smuggler, you ignorant dolt. Half the village already knew it. Guess you were too busy counting your money to notice.”
I dropped onto the creaky chair and dug my nails into the raw wood. “You’re lying.”
“I don’t care if you believe me,” he said. “The truth’s the truth. And the truth is, I’m owed about ten carats of blue diamonds. Now tell me where they are.”
“Why?” I asked, raising my eyes to his. “Even if I had them, why would I turn them over to you?” He certainly had no means to free me.
He gritted his teeth. “To keep me from ripping your hair out one fist-wad at a time.”
I was confident that he didn’t have the key, or he would’ve already been in. “If that would give you satisfaction, then go ahead. But I can’t give up something I don’t have.”
He kicked the bars. “I will find them!” He nodded toward the bloody stain on his shoulder. “And then you’ll pay for what you done to me.”
He sprang away and slammed out the door.
I settled back, my breath filling my lungs once again. My hands still trembled, but my mind was on preservation. I didn’t know how Marten had stolen ten carats of blue diamonds, but if Peter thought I had them, there may be nothing to stop him from making his way into this cell. And how would I defend myself?
I cast my gaze back to the chip on the empty pitcher. One breakable piece could be a sharp enough weapon. I took the pitcher over to the mattress and laid it sideways underneath. With m
y palms pressed to the wall, I stamped down hard, feeling it give way with a muffled pop. When I raised the mattress, many of the broken pieces came up with it. But they were small and probably wouldn’t work their way to the top. I swept the crumbs and shards with the toe of my shoe. Most of the pieces would cut me if I gripped them. But the handle had broken at the chip, causing the end to jut upward into a sloping point. I picked it up, gripping it like a knife. I could easily drive it into his rum-swollen belly.
Brushing the rest of the shards into the corner, I covered them with the edge of the mattress. Then I sat and imagined all the ways my new weapon could protect me.
* * *
I don’t know which hour sleep took me. Other than the rasps of my breathing, the room was void of sound. I tried not to think on what this night should’ve been – me lying awake, heart pulsing, filled with both joy and apprehension. It would’ve stretched long from my yearning for the hour Ichabod and I would slip away. Not this aching weariness. Not this burdensome dread.
My black mood eventually drew me into slumber. I briefly awoke before daylight and instinctively knew. This is the hour Ichabod and I should be stealing away. Is he awake too?
Where are you?
Eventually I dozed again, only to be awakened by Fallon. “Brought your rations.”
He held out a wedge of bread and a half-filled cup of water. The bread had several bites taken from it, and the water most likely contained a dollop of his spit.
“Don’t you ever go home?” I asked, contemptuous.
“Of course. I slept like a newborn babe.” He placed the cup on the floor, then dropped the bread next to it. “And so you’ll know, they have two guards on you at night, while I’m gone.”
I turned away from him, refusing to pick up the food while he was there.
“Enjoy your meal,” he spat. “You only have a few left before you hang.”
I ate what I could swallow, avoiding the bits that had been near his diseased mouth. It would be hours yet before Leta would come.
Though my small window was tightly closed, I could hear the noises of the Hollow outside – carts, crows, villagers passing. Sounds I’d heard all my life, but never as sharply as this.
Just at noon, a walnut sailed up and tapped the window. I climbed onto the chair and opened the pane. Leta stood, head tilted, staring up. She pinched her nose to block out the alley’s ghastly smell. “Miss Katrina,” she called in a hushed nasally tone.
I gripped the icy cold bars and peered down. “Do you have news from my father?”
She kept her voice low, shifting her eyes in worry. “Not yet.” She tossed up a small pouch. Inside was a hunk of cheese and some cranberries. “I’m sorry it ain’t a meat pie.”
“No, this is good,” I said. “I need to keep up my strength.”
“Do you have any messages for me to take?”
Should I have written to the doctor about my visit from Peter? “Not today, Leta.”
She bobbed her head up and down. “Then I better go back before they catch me.” She was ready to dart away.
“Leta,” I called before she disappeared.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you know if there’s any word from Mr. Crane?”
She shrugged, her shoulders rising nearly to her ears. “I don’t know nothing about him.”
Did I honestly expect her to? “Then hurry, before you’re discovered.”
She cupped her hands to her mouth and whispered up, “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Thank you so very much.”
Once again, I was all alone. I stood a bit longer, staring at the remote alley. But the frigid air and stench of spoiled meat quickly forced me to shut the window tight.
I set about pacing, pondering my fate. When Fallon comes in, I’d find a clever way to interrogate him, to learn what the Council was up to. An empty head is easily manipulated.
I also held hope that Father would return soon to procure my release. Though all his wealth may not be enough for the bail that was likely set for me. I’d assuredly be locked in here throughout my trial. Had the Magistrate even set a date?
More and more questions plagued me. At times the anxiety was so overpowering, I thought I’d crawl out of my skin. But mid-afternoon, I heard muffled noises outside the jail room. One of those questions was finally answered.
A key clicked and the door slowly opened. I heard the Magistrate moan, “One minute. That’s all.” Then my eyes fell on the one person who could most uplift me during this perilous time.
“Ichabod!”
Tears sprang as I raced to the edge of the cell, extending my arms through the bars. “Ichabod, I’ve been so worried.”
But he didn’t rush to hold me. He stayed in the corner, limp and leaning, his gaze cast to the floor. His hands restlessly clenched and unclenched, in a gesture of utter despair.
“Ichabod!” I reached as far as I could, but he shied back. “Ichabod, what’s wrong?”
Several aching heartbeats later, he brought his face up. There was no mistaking his condition – disheveled hair, crumpled clothes, his mood rueful and despondent.
“Ichabod, what have they done to you?”
His green eyes, now mossy and red, looked upon me with sorrow and gloom. Amid a hopeless sigh he asked, “Is it true?”
“Is what true?”
He took a long, labored breath. “Their accusations?”
Panic washed over me and I gripped the bars tight. “How can you even ask me that?”
His eyes welled with tears. “How can I not?”
“Ichabod, believe me, our love is genuine.” I reached out for him again, but he made no move toward me.
“Katrina…” – he lingered on my name – “I’ve loved you from the second I saw you. I’ve thought of little else.”
Desperation seized me. “My darling, you must believe me. I’m not a witch.”
He slumped against the wall. “The torment of being apart from you…”
“No!” I could not stretch myself any farther. “It’s not the same as Hartford. I promise you. You must believe me. I am not a witch.” Hot tears rolled to my neck.
“What proof do I have?”
“What proof? You. You are the proof!” I clutched the bars in desperation. “Look at yourself. Had I truly bewitched you, you would be the feral beast you’d become before. You would already have stolen the key and opened this cell.”
He threw his head back against the wall. There was no mistaking his agony and struggle. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.
I had to somehow convince him. “Is it really so hard to believe that I’m innocent? That our love is natural?”
“I want to believe it,” he murmured.
“Then do. Please, let me touch you.”
He took several deep breaths, then stood erect, never once meeting my eye. “I have to go.”
“Ichabod! No! You must help me.”
He coursed his trembling fingers through his hair. “I need to think.”
“There is no time to think. They will hang me.”
He turned away, reaching for the door.
“Please, please,” I begged. “you must believe me. I am not her.” I sank to the floor, sobbing. And though he’d already slipped out, I whispered, “I am not Victoria.”
* * *
The glow of the candle cast devils around me. They climbed the walls and crept along the floor. Their glares reflected in the window, and they fed on my despair. I stared at the stygian shadows, not blinking…waiting for these demons to devour me.
I did not stir when the door opened. Fallon skulked in with bread and water. The creases in his scowl ran deep. “Where’s your Father?”
Even if I’d known, I didn’t have the will to answer.
He kicked the bars, sloshing water from the cup. “He said he’d be back tonight.”
I remained still.
“Answer me, witch!”
I finally drew a breath. “Wh
y do you care?”
“I like the toll he pays.”
I shifted my eyes to him. “This is why you’re such an imbecile. If you had half a brain, you would’ve already struck a bargain with him for my release. He would’ve made you a rich man.”
His mouth unhinged, but he quickly clapped it shut, grinding his teeth. “I already asked him. He said you wasn’t worth it.”
“Fallon, you lie about as well as you bathe.”
His crusty eyes pierced me. “You ain’t smelling so pretty neither. Is that why your schoolmaster chased out of here with his eyes watering?”
Though his words cut me, I refused to show my pain, “It was most likely the misery of seeing how I’m treated here.”
“Now who’s lying?”
He ripped off a hunk of the bread with his teeth, then tossed the rest onto the cell floor. He stirred the water with his finger and placed the mug barely within reach. “Hungry?” he asked, gnawing the bite of bread.
I let out an annoyed sigh.
He placed his face between the bars, his eyes glassy. “Or maybe I should come in there and comfort you.”
What appetite I had sank like a stone. “Come on in, Fallon. But remember, when the Magistrate returns and sees that you’ve defiled me, he will throw you to the dogs. After all, you do have a sworn duty to uphold the law.”
“Eh. Don’t matter anyway. You’ve been fornicating with the Devil. No other man could match up.”
Especially you. The thought of that rawboned creature crawling on me feathered the hairs on the back of my neck. “Just go away.”
He continued to glower. Then he lifted the key, eying it like it was honey. “You better be nice to old Fallon. Cause if I were to swallow this” – he hovered it over his mouth– “it might be a few days before anyone can retrieve it. And they’d probably make you be the one to dig it out.”
“Or,” I said, lifting my chin. “Should they decide to release me, they’d simply use the Magistrate’s spare key.” Is there is a spare key? “But go ahead and swallow that one. It’s rather large. If you don’t choke on it, it’ll probably rip open your bowels. I shudder just thinking of the pain.”
He dropped his arms to his sides. “You Van Tassels think you’re so high and mighty. When Baltus returns, I’ll be paying him a visit. His money will be lining my pockets and you’ll still hang.” He kicked the water cup, sloshing most of it onto the floor. “You got five minutes before I come back and collect what’s left.”
