by Matt Ralphs
‘But I want to see what’s going on.’
‘Stop being so reckless and—’
Price, red-faced and furious, flung open the door and strode out of the gaol with the boy, sans hat, struggling under his arm. ‘The fine to release your master has just doubled,’ Price bellowed, hurling the boy down the stairs and kicking his hat after him. ‘And don’t come back until you have it.’
Hazel stared slack-jawed as the boy jumped to his feet.
‘You great, fat oaf,’ he said, hopping from foot to foot. ‘That’s my best hat, and how dare you manhandle me? Don’t you know who I am? You’ll be seeing me again and when you do, I’ll—’
Price slammed the door and the boy deflated.
‘Hello again,’ Hazel said.
The boy brushed himself down and tried to apply some shape back to his hat. ‘I apologize for the unseemly nature of our reacquaintance but, as you may have noticed, I have just had a disagreement with Captain Lard-Bottom in there.’
‘Do you always have that effect on people?’ Hazel asked, strangely alert to the boy’s cheekbones.
He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘I think I just caught him at a bad time.’
Hazel took a step towards him. ‘Are you hurt? That was quite a fall.’
‘A mere stumble. I’m made of pretty stern stuff, you know. Allow me to introduce myself.’ He bowed and threw another smile, which, for reasons Hazel couldn’t quite understand, made her heart flutter oddly in her chest.
‘Why are you blushing?’ Bramley whispered. ‘You don’t like him, do you?’
Hazel ignored him, wishing he’d shut up and let her think.
‘My name is David Drake, apprentice to Mr Titus White,’ the boy continued, straightening up and jamming his hat back on his head. ‘And before you ask, yes, the Titus White.’
Hazel looked blank.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of him?’ David asked.
‘Who’s he talking about?’ Bramley whispered.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Hazel said to David. ‘Who is he?’
David looked wounded. ‘Why, he’s only the most celebrated Witch Finder of his generation. I thought everyone had heard of him. I suppose his glory years may be behind him, but still . . .’
‘Witch Finder?’ Bramley squeaked. ‘That’s trouble we don’t need. Make your excuses and get away. He’ll have your head on a spike as soon as he finds out you’re a Wielder.’
Hazel knew Bramley was right. This boy who seemed so handsome and charming could well be a killer. She glanced at the smouldering pyres and cold fear ran through her.
‘A Witch Finder?’ she said, forcing herself to sound enthusiastic. ‘How exciting!’
‘It can be,’ he said, hooking his thumbs into his belt and smiling complacently.
‘Travelling around seeking out witches must be very rewarding,’ she continued. ‘I bet you have loads of interesting tales to tell.’
‘Er, yes . . . loads.’ His smile wavered.
‘He’s hiding something,’ Bramley whispered.
Hazel agreed. ‘Tell me what happened here,’ she said, sweeping her arm around the square. ‘Did you help to round up witches for this purge?’
‘Actually . . . er, no,’ he replied. ‘A purge like this is government business.’
‘Ah,’ Hazel replied. ‘So what do you do?’
David puffed out his chest. ‘We are freelance Witch Finders, independent traders, the best in the business. Knights of the road helping those in need.’
‘That sounds very impressive,’ she said. ‘So are you here on business?’
David deflated. ‘Well, unfortunately, unforeseen circumstances have made business difficult to pursue.’
‘Oh?’
He nodded towards the gaol. ‘The boss has got himself arrested again. He’s locked up in there.’
‘What did he do?’ asked Hazel.
‘The usual. Got drunk and into a fight.’ David sighed. ‘He’s plagued by dark moods – black dogs, he calls them. They always lead to trouble, and it’s always up to me to get him out of it. He’s squandered our savings so I can’t pay the fine to release him. My father warned me against taking up with Titus, and I’m beginning to see why.’
‘Hazel, come on,’ Bramley muttered. ‘These two sound like a right pair. Take your leave and let’s get out of here.’
But Hazel was busy weighing risk against opportunity. A professional Witch Hunter was her mortal enemy, but also someone who might know how to track a demon – which was the best possible way of finding her mother.
‘You’re about to do something reckless, aren’t you?’ Bramley hissed from behind her ear. ‘I can tell.’
Hazel thought of Hecate in the clutches of the demon. She knew that had it been the other way around, her mother would have stopped at nothing to save her. Taking David’s arm, she guided him under the eaves of a smithy.
‘Tell me, David,’ she said, leaning close and lowering her voice, ‘what do you know about . . . hunting demons?’
David’s eyes widened. ‘The thought of hunting demons was why I became Titus’s apprentice in the first place. The fame, the glory . . .’
Hazel gripped his arm tighter. ‘Then you’ve dealt with them before?’
‘Not exactly.’
She let go of his arm and frowned. ‘What do you mean, not exactly?’
‘Well, I’ve read a lot about them,’ David said.
‘You mean you’ve never even seen one?’
‘No – but that’s not my fault.’ He kicked the ground. ‘Freelancers like us haven’t been allowed to hunt witches or demons since the war ended. Only Lord Cromwell’s official Witch Hunters can do that.’
‘Come on, Hazel,’ Bramley whispered. ‘This boy’s no use to us. He wouldn’t know a demon if it stood up in his soup.’
As surreptitiously as possible, Hazel gave Bramley a poke to shut him up. ‘So if you can’t hunt demons or witches, why call yourself Witch Finders?’ she asked.
‘I told you, before the war Titus was the most famous Witch Finder in the land. But under Cromwell everything’s changed. I’ve been Titus’s apprentice for a year now, and do you know what we’ve been doing in all that time?’
Hazel shrugged.
‘Investigating ghost sightings.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘Ghost sightings. The number of nights I’ve camped out in graveyards as the boss got drunk and fell asleep. And the indignity doesn’t end there. Oh no! We’ve sometimes had to stoop to scare-crowing. And me, the son of a duke. No witches. No demons. No glory. And all because the boss won’t join the Order of Witch Hunters.’
‘Why not?’
‘Titus hates Cromwell. Fought against him in the war. The Order wouldn’t take him even if he wanted to join.’
‘Can’t you leave him and go your own way?’ Hazel said, trying to ignore Bramley as he nipped at her ear.
David shook his head. ‘Of course not. The bond between master and apprentice is sacred. If I broke it, I would prove myself to be less than a gentleman. I may be destitute, I may be penniless . . . but I still have my pride.’
‘It sounds like you can’t help me.’ Hazel sighed.
‘Now wait a minute,’ David said. ‘I don’t believe this is a chance meeting. I think providence has thrown us together for a reason.’
‘I’m not sure . . . ?’ Hazel said, wondering what ‘providence’ meant.
‘I can help you, I promise,’ the boy exclaimed. ‘Will you give me a chance?’
Hazel looked into his wide blue eyes and something inside her melted. ‘Well,’ she said at last, ‘I suppose I could give you a chance.’
‘This is a mistake,’ Bramley squeaked.
David clapped his hands. ‘Marvellous! A proper job at last.’ His face turned serious. ‘By the way, it’s probably best not to mention demons to the boss, for now anyway.’
‘Why not?’ Hazel asked.
‘He’s in a fragile state at the moment. The black dog, y
ou know. He might get . . . agitated. I’ll ease him into our agreement gently. Just leave him to me. I know how to handle him. Deal?’
This is the right thing to do, Hazel thought, shaking David’s hand and noticing how warm his fingers were. I can’t do this on my own.
‘Oh, Hazel,’ Bramley moaned. ‘What have you done?’
Hazel pretended to scratch her neck and gave him another jab with her finger.
‘So now that’s settled, you can explain what your problem is,’ David said. ‘A demon, eh?’
‘Be careful how much you tell him,’ Bramley whispered. ‘Just enough to be useful . . . but not enough to cast suspicion on you or your mother.’
‘Yes, a demon,’ Hazel said. ‘At least I think it was – I’m not an expert like you.’
‘Quite, quite . . . Did you see it?’
Hazel nodded.
‘So what did it do?’
‘It took my mother.’
David’s face creased with concern. ‘How awful. Tell me what happened.’
‘Ma and me live in Wychwood, in a cottage, just the two of us. Two days ago she was washing in the pool and this thing . . . came out of the water, grabbed her and dragged her away into the trees.’ Hazel looked down at her boots. ‘I’ve been looking for her ever since, but I don’t know how to track demons.’
David’s frown deepened. ‘You’re absolutely sure it was a demon? They’re very rare. Could it have been a man? Some bandit looking—’
‘I know what I saw,’ Hazel said.
David nodded. ‘It’s all right – I believe you.’
‘So, will you help?’
‘Of course,’ David said, laying his hand on her shoulder. ‘I am going to dedicate my skills and time to reunite you with your mother, as unharmed as circumstances allow.’
‘Thank you,’ breathed Hazel, a glow of relief spreading through her.
‘Don’t mention it. But before we start, you’ll need to prepare yourself for the worst. Do you understand what I’m talking about? Most people who are taken by demons, well . . .’
‘She’s alive, I know it, and I must find her!’
‘And so we shall.’ The boy smiled. ‘You know I’ve just realized – I don’t even know your name.’
‘I’m Hazel. Hazel Hooper.’
‘Well done,’ Bramley hissed. ‘Now he knows your real name. So much for subterfuge.’
‘What a pretty name,’ David murmured. ‘Now, as I said, our services are the best value on the market. We ask for a flat fee, plus expenses, all refundable if the venture results in failure. Failure being the, er . . . non-return of your mother.’
Hazel rooted about in her bag and produced the pouch of coins. ‘This is all I have.’
‘Splendid,’ said David, weighing the bag in his hands before handing it back to Hazel. ‘Now, first things first – we have to get the boss out of gaol, which unfortunately means dealing with the tubby captain again. But needs must, I suppose. Follow me.’ And with that he bounded up the stairs and burst back into Price’s office.
Thinking it would have been a good idea to knock, Hazel followed him inside.
10
THE BEAR AND THE SLOP-SPRITE
‘A witch shows neither loyalty nor love;
their hearts are as black as night.’
Matthew Hopkins, Witch Hunter General
‘You again,’ Captain Price said to David, standing up and planting his knuckles on the desk. ‘Do you actually like being thrown downstairs?’ Hazel sidled up to the desk and gave the captain her best smile. His frown deepened and he jabbed a greasy finger at David. ‘You’re not leading this girl astray, are you?’
‘He’s not, sir,’ Hazel said before David had a chance to retort. ‘David has agreed to escort me home to, er . . .’ Her mind went blank as she realized that she didn’t know the names of any other towns.
‘Lenham,’ David said. ‘It’s an arduous journey so I’m going to ensure Miss Hooper’s safe arrival back into the bosom of her family.’
Hazel slowly let out her breath.
‘Well, miss, I’d offer to help you myself, but my lads are busy trying to keep things in order here,’ Price said. ‘People have been jumpy since the purge. Who knew so many witches lived among us? My washerwoman was found guilty of turning the Red Lion’s ale sour. Her own husband turned her in – but then he’s a terrible drunk and she was always nagging him to leave off the drinking . . .’ He shook his head sadly. ‘I don’t know who’s going to clean my shirts now.’
‘We live in dark times,’ David said, nodding sagely.
Price glowered at him. ‘Miss, I’d warn you against taking up with this troublesome young princeling. Too many airs-and-graces wrapped up in ragged clothes, if you ask me.’
David bristled. ‘No one is asking you, you lunk-headed—’
Hazel squeezed David’s arm. ‘Captain, I’d like to pay the fine to release Mr White. Then we can be on our way.’
The chair creaked as Price sat down. ‘Titus White, eh? The famous Witch Finder? He was quite a man in his day, but he’s a walking wine sack now. I doubt he could find his way to the latrine, let alone Lenham.’
‘I shall ensure the young lady gets home,’ David said, leaning so far over the desk he was nearly nose to nose with the captain.
Price ignored him and addressed Hazel. ‘Drunk as a lord, he was, in the Red Lion. He doesn’t mind sour ale. Shouting something about a black dog. Took four of my lads to get him into his cell. My uniform got quite rumpled in the fracas.’ He smoothed invisible creases out of his frockcoat.
‘We’ll have him out of your hair in no time.’ Hazel passed her bag of coins to Price, who opened it and nodded.
‘Don’t worry, miss,’ he said, handing her an iron key. ‘I’ll make sure you get your change. White’s in the last cell on the left.’ He pointed down a dingy stone corridor. ‘Yell if he gives you any trouble. Me and the princeling here will finish off the paperwork.’
‘The boss’ll be fine . . . but he hates rude awakenings,’ David called after her. ‘Try to rouse him gently.’
The corridor was lit by a guttering torch, and smelt of things Hazel didn’t want to think about. Each cell had a heavy wooden door with a barred window. She wondered about the miserable souls who had languished there in the cold darkness over the decades.
She reached the last cell and, standing on tiptoes, peered through the bars. A candle jammed in a bottle illuminated dank walls and a filthy floor. Reeking in the corner was a cloth-covered bucket; the smell made her eyes water. At first she thought the cell was empty, then she noticed a hand poking out from a pile of rags by the wall.
The Witch Finder, she thought with a thrill of apprehension. Asleep . . . or dead? She unlocked the door. Hinges creaked in protest as she pushed it open.
‘My poor nose,’ Bramley squeaked, crawling into the neck of her cloak in an effort to hide from the smell. ‘I think I’m going to faint.’
Taking only short breaths through her mouth, Hazel sidled up to the hand, which remained limp and lifeless.
‘Titus? Mr Titus White?’
Bending down, Hazel nudged a bulge under the rags that she suspected was a shoulder; then shrieked as the owner of the hand reared up and bellowed like an angry bear. The rags fell away, and she found herself staring up at a man clad in fury and a long black coat.
Before she could speak he grabbed her by the neck and lifted her clear off the ground. Fighting for breath, Hazel kicked and punched with all her might. ‘Let . . . me . . . go!’ she gasped, torn between rage and fear. A burning flash of magic erupted in her heart, but she screwed up her eyes and held it in as best she could.
He mustn’t find out I’m a witch, she thought. She could hear Bramley’s panicked squeaks from inside the fabric of her cloak and hoped he had the sense to stay hidden. ‘I . . . can’t . . . breathe . . .’
The man thrust his face close enough for her to see every knot and piece of filth entwined in his wild hair and
beard. ‘Who in blazes are you? Speak, or I’ll shake the teeth out of your skull.’ His voice was a rumble that Hazel felt in her chest.
Too stunned to reply – she could only stare into his stone-hard eyes.
‘No name, eh?’ he barked. ‘So where did you come from? Did you spring up from the slop-bucket? Are you a slop-sprite?’ He loosened his grip just enough to allow Hazel to reply.
‘No,’ she eventually managed, choking on the smell of ale and tobacco that seeped from the man’s mud-splattered coat. ‘I’m your . . . new client.’
The man narrowed his eyes. ‘But you’re just a girl.’
‘That may be,’ Hazel said, gathering her courage. ‘But I’m also the girl who’s bought your freedom . . . and if you don’t put me down this . . . instant, I’ll gladly ask for my money back and leave you here to . . . rot.’
The man’s lips peeled back into a snarl.
‘Put her down, Boss,’ David said from the doorway. ‘She’s paid the fine and we’re free to leave this forsaken town.’
Titus grunted, dropped Hazel and stalked out of the cell.
With as much dignity as she could muster, Hazel brushed herself down and yelled, ‘You’re welcome,’ after him.
‘Don’t worry,’ David said. ‘He’s always like that when he wakes up.’
11
THE WAGON
‘Witches consort with demons, and cast spells,
and other accursed charms and crafts.
It is my duty to fight these evil-doers.’
Pope Innocent VIII
‘I’m sorry about the boss. You’ll get used to him,’ David said. ‘Our wagon is just down here.’ He led Hazel down an alley and into a dingy courtyard. ‘Here we are. Welcome to our perambulating home.’
On the other side of the courtyard was a four-wheeled, enclosed wagon, bathed in the light of two lanterns hooked on to its overhanging eaves. Yoked to the front, drinking from a water trough, were two enormous Clydesdale stallions.
‘You live in that?’ Hazel asked, rubbing at her sore neck. She was relieved to feel Bramley’s twitching nose nudging at her fingers from under her cloak.
