by Matt Ralphs
‘Step where she steps, step where she steps, step where she steps . . .’ David murmured.
‘Oh dear,’ said a small voice. Bramley had somehow scrabbled his way back up to his favourite perch behind her left ear. ‘I think the poison is making him go doolally.’
It was raining hard by the time they were halfway down the embankment, soaked to the skin and gasping. Streams of water foamed down the slope, loosening the soil and stones. Desperate to get as far away from the road as possible, Hazel forced herself to descend slowly, helping David with every faltering step. Only the thought of him lying at the foot of the bank with a broken neck stopped her from going faster.
After an eternity of slips and near falls, they splashed into a puddle at the foot of the bank. The stream was swollen with floodwater, rushing in a torrent around jagged rocks.
‘At least it drowns out our noise,’ Bramley said, shivering. ‘And perhaps covers our scent too.’
Movement on the bridge caught Hazel’s eye and she pulled David behind a boulder. She put a finger to her lips. He nodded. Two silent figures crossed the bridge, one black, and one white, ghostlike in the miasmic rain. Hazel held her breath and only let it out after they had disappeared up the road.
‘It worked,’ she said. ‘They’re following the wagon.’
David staggered towards the riverbank. ‘I c-can’t leave him to face them alone,’ he muttered. ‘He’s an old man . . .’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Hazel said, grabbing his arm. ‘He told me to get you to a safe place. Besides, you’re in no state to fight. You’d just be a hindrance.’ She sighed when his face fell. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s true.’
‘All right,’ he said, his teeth chattering. ‘But first chance I get I’m going to k-kill that spider myself.’
Keeping to the shadows, Hazel and David followed the stream east, slipping on rocks and gasping as the freezing water gushed over their feet. Eventually they emerged from the cutting. The banks levelled out and the stream widened, flowing over a bed of flat, smooth stones.
Hazel looked up through a gap in the trees. The morning sky was drab: grey, dark and oppressive.
‘I need to stop,’ David croaked. ‘Can we rest for a minute?’
‘All right.’ Hazel glanced at his haggard face. ‘But not for too long.’ She led him under the fronds of a willow tree and settled him down by its trunk. He sat for a moment with his head between his legs and then threw up on his boots.
‘Oh, lovely,’ Bramley said.
Hazel dipped the edge of her cloak in the river and wiped David’s mouth and chin. He’s so pale, she thought. He looks dead already. Guilt squirmed in her stomach.
‘Step where she steps, step where she steps . . .’ David mumbled.
Hazel sat next to him and snuggled deeper into her cloak. ‘David,’ she said – realizing the boy had fallen silent. ‘David? ’
He stirred and opened his good eye. ‘Oh. So it wasn’t a bad dream.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ she said with a small smile.
‘Those people back there, they might still be after us. You . . . you should go on without me. I’m only slowing you down . . .’ His eye flickered and his head lolled on to his chest.
I could leave him, she thought. After all, he’d probably kill me if he knew I was a witch. She shook her head violently to dispel such dark thoughts – dislodging Bramley in the process. He gave an indignant squeak.
‘Don’t be such a blockhead,’ she said, giving David a shake. ‘We’re sticking together. I’m paying you to find my ma, remember, and I don’t pay the dead. Now come on, we can’t stay here all day.’
David groaned as she helped him to his feet. ‘You’re as s-stubborn as the boss.’
‘And don’t you forget it.’ She jumped as a flash lit up the clouds, followed by a sound like a splitting tree trunk.
‘That sounded like the c-cannon,’ David wheezed. ‘The b-boss is in trouble.’
I’m sure he can look after himself,’ Hazel replied, trying to sound confident.
‘I hope so.’ David took a ragged gasp. ‘For all our sakes.’
18
THE CABIN IN THE WOODS
‘I know the danger Wielders could pose if driven
underground. I deem it wise to grant them
protection – that way I can control them.’
Charles Stuart, King of England, Scotland and Ireland, 1634
Hazel couldn’t tell what time it was when they eventually emerged from the forest into a clearing. Did the sunless gloom signify noon or dusk? Bramley had fallen asleep in her cloak pocket some time ago and David could barely walk, let alone make conversation.
Hope welled up in her when she looked up the grassy slope and saw a cabin surrounded by a kitchen garden.
A cabin on a hill. This must be the place Titus talked about.
A path lined with beanpoles wound its way between vegetable patches full of spinach, cabbages and cauliflowers. The air smelt of wild garlic and the onions that grew in abundant clumps.
Hazel hefted David more securely under her arm. ‘Look, we’ve found somewhere to shelter.’
‘Thank g-goodness,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I c-can go on for m-much longer.’
They made their way up the path, Hazel willing her wobbling legs to cover the last few yards. The smell of herbs was so like that at home it made her heart ache. The cabin overlooked the garden from under the sheltering arms of an oak tree. Ivy trailed from over the front door to the roof of a little outhouse built a few feet from the sidewall.
Hazel halted on the threshold. Disappointment swallowed her relief in one gulp. The cabin door swung on its hinges, no smoke rose from the chimney and the windows were dark.
‘Hello? Is anyone home?’ she called, pushing open the door and helping David inside. There was no answer.
The kitchen had a sink, an open fireplace and shelves crammed with glass jars and bottles. A saucepan and two cups sat on the table. Feeble light struggled through the windows and down a narrow staircase leading to an attic room.
What a lonely place to live, Hazel thought. But with a fire it could be cosy.
‘Deserted,’ David croaked as he lowered himself into a chair by the table.
‘It seems so. But someone was here not long ago, so they’ll probably be back soon. At least we can rest in the dry for a while.’ Hazel found a tinderbox and lit a candle. She held it up to David’s face and gently lifted the bandage from his eye. Somehow she managed not to flinch from what she saw.
‘W-well?’ he said through chattering teeth. ‘How do I l-look?’
‘Well, the swelling’s gone down a bit.’ She didn’t mention how the puncture wounds in his neck and cheek were festering and going green. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Sick. My eye burns. Can’t seem . . . to catch my breath.’
‘Let’s get you to bed. Come on.’ Hazel hoisted him to his feet.
‘I’m so cold.’ David said, leaning heavily on Hazel. ‘Cold as death.’
It took several exhausting minutes to get up the stairs, where they found a bedroom with an unmade truckle bed, a wardrobe and a fireplace full of ash. The floor was strewn with rushes. Hazel set the candle down on the bedside table and lowered David on to the mattress. He twitched and moaned and drew in rattling breaths.
‘Here we are,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘I’ll just take off your coat and boots – then I can tuck you in.’
‘I’m n-not a child.’
‘Sorry,’ Hazel said. As she pulled off his boot, a pocket-sized pistol and a pouch of shot and gunpowder fell to the floor. She gingerly picked them up and put them on the bedside table.
In the corner of the room was a jug of water and a bowl. The water looked fairly fresh so she soaked a cloth and began to wipe David’s brow.
‘Am I going to d-die here?’ he said. ‘So far from home?’
‘No, you’re not.’ Hazel squeezed out the cloth and dipped it back into the bowl. ‘T
itus will come back for us, I know it.’
‘He’s d-dead already. The spider will g-get him.’ David lurched up, scrabbling at his throat. ‘I can feel its fangs,’ he cried. ‘Get them out!’
‘Hush,’ Hazel said, pushing him back on to the pillows. ‘It’s gone. You’re safe here. I’m going to look after you.’
David thrashed left and right, staring at something past her shoulder.
‘David, look at me,’ she said, struggling to hold him still. ‘Tell me about Titus. Where did you meet him?’
David went limp and Hazel felt some of his strength ebb away. ‘I d-didn’t meet him, I found him.’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘Drunk and p-penniless in a tavern in Cirencester. A great d-disappointment to me.’
Hazel let go of his shoulders. ‘Why’s that?’
‘I grew up hearing tales about the g-great Titus White. I wanted to be a Witch Finder more than anything – all because of him.’
‘So Titus was famous?’
He frowned at her. ‘You’ve r-really never heard of him?’ His breath gurgled in his chest. ‘As s-soon as I came of age, and against my father’s wishes, I left home to find the great Titus White and convince him to t-take me on as his apprentice. It took me nearly a year to track him down.’
The more David talked the calmer he became, so Hazel probed further. ‘Why was he so hard to find? What happened to him?’
‘I don’t know. Before the w-war he was feted, celebrated, famous. But afterwards, all I know – all anyone knows – is that he d-disappeared into a wine bottle and never came out.’
‘What happened when you found him?’ Hazel asked.
‘I managed to cajole him into swearing me in as his apprentice. I hoped going b-back on the road as a Witch Finder would give him a new lease of life. I wanted to learn from him, from the b-best. But without a Witch Hunter’s licence we couldn’t get much work, and Titus drank away what little we earned.’ He sighed. ‘Look where all my grand plans have g-got me. A poor end for the son of a d-duke, don’t you think?’
‘You’re not going to die,’ Hazel said, taking his hand and squeezing. ‘I won’t let you.’
‘Everyone dies,’ David muttered. ‘You, me . . . everyone.’ His eye fluttered closed and he fell asleep.
Hazel pulled the blanket up to his neck, staring at his white face and the rotten flesh around the bandage.
‘I need to treat his wounds,’ she muttered as she hurried downstairs.
‘What’s going on?’ yawned Bramley, crawling out from her hair.
‘Oh, you’ve decided to wake up, have you?’
‘We mice need a lot of sleep,’ he said. ‘How’s the boy?’
‘Sick. Very sick. A poultice of some kind might help to draw out the poison. I’ll need a piece of cloth, er . . . some bran and some linseed . . . ?’ She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. ‘If only I’d paid more attention when Ma was going on about medicines.’
‘There’s no point moaning,’ Bramley said. ‘You’ll have to make do with what you know.’
A frantic search of the cupboards and shelves failed to produce the ingredients Hazel needed. ‘There’s nothing here,’ she said, sitting down. ‘David’s dying and I can’t help him.’ She slammed her fist on to the table, rattling the cups.
Bramley scampered down her arm and pointed a tiny claw at her. ‘Now listen – we’re not beaten yet. That boy needs help, not tears, so buck up and think of a plan.’
Hazel took a shaky breath. ‘You’re right, Bram. I’m just so tired of being afraid all the time.’
‘We just need to hang on until the old man finds us,’ Bramley said. ‘Seems odd tobe telling a witch that everything is going to be all right when the Witch Finder turns up . . .’
Hazel groaned.
‘Now, what’s the plan?’
‘I’ll take a look in that outhouse. Who knows?’ she said, brightening a little. ‘It might be filled to bursting with medicine, pies and apples.’ She shrugged off her wet cloak and draped it over a chair. ‘You wait here. Come and fetch me if David calls out.’
‘I’ll guard the cabin until you get back,’ Bramley said, puffing out his chest. ‘But don’t be long.’
‘I won’t. And don’t fall asleep.’
‘As if I’d do such a thing!’
Hazel opened the crooked outhouse door and poked her head into a windowless room stacked with barrels and bulging sacks of vegetables. A brace of rabbits hung head down from the ceiling, black eyes staring.
I’m glad I left Bram behind, she thought, filling a basket with some vegetables and a small bag of bran for the poultice. I wouldn’t want him to see them.
She was about to leave when she saw a doll made of straw hanging from a nail in the wall. Its head was covered with a piece of cloth tied around the neck.
That’ll do as kindling, Hazel thought as she unhooked it and put it in her basket.
In the darkness of the storeroom, she didn’t notice the twisted symbols scored on the inside of the door, or the doll twitch like a living thing the moment she crossed the threshold.
19
THE POPPET
When prosecuting a witch, Witch Hunters are encouraged
to use fear and intimidation to extract information.
Amendment to the Witch Laws, 1653
By the time Hazel returned to the kitchen with her ingredients, Bramley had curled up in a teacup and fallen asleep again.
I knew it! she thought. Lazy little fur-ball.
Leaving him to his mousy dreams, she set to work making up the poultice and chopping vegetables. The smell of the onions and garlic made her realize how hungry she was.
I’ll cook the soup in the bedroom, she thought, picking up the pan and climbing the stairs. The smell of food might revive David.
When she entered the bedroom David was moaning in his sleep and gripping the blanket with white-knuckled fists. Hazel knelt by the fireplace, sick with a feeling of guilt and responsibility. She laid the doll on the ash pile, placed a few logs around it and was about to strike the tinderbox when something made her stop. She stared at the doll, with its outstretched arms and blank face.
What a strange thing you are, she thought, pulling it out and tucking it into her belt. It feels wrong to burn you. Besides, I’m a Fire Witch – I don’t need kindling.
After checking to ensure that David was still asleep, she concentrated on the magic flickering like a lantern inside her. I have to learn how to cast my magic properly, to control it.
She closed her eyes, concentrating hard to draw a tiny quantity of magic from her heart, and pushed the tickling warmth down her arms. Tongues of flame licked the skin on the back of her hands, and with a deft flick she sent a sizzling burst of magic into the grate. A delighted yelp of laughter escaped her as flames caught under the logs. They crackled and snapped, warming her face.
I did it, she thought, rubbing her tingling fingers together. I’m learning how to control it. Enjoying the heat – her heat! – she hung the pan over the fire.
‘What did you just do? How did you m-make that fire?’
Hazel’s heart crawled into her throat. It was David’s voice. She turned round, cursing herself for her recklessness. David was sitting bolt upright in bed, his uncovered eye staring at her wildly.
‘I just used wood shavings and oil,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘It went up so quickly it nearly took off my eyebrows.’
‘I saw fire coming out of your fingers . . . Hazel, what’s going on?’
‘Nothing,’ Hazel said, her heart hammering. ‘I’m just making you some food—’
‘I saw you . . .’ The confusion on his face crumpled into fear and before Hazel could move he grabbed the pistol from the bedside table and aimed it at her. ‘Stay back!’
‘David,’ she said, holding out her hands. ‘Please, put that down.’
‘You lied to me.’ His eye narrowed. ‘You’re n-not one of us at all.’
‘Don’t be silly—’
Hazel took a hesitant step forward. ‘You’re sick, delirious. David, you can barely see.’
His face flickered with uncertainty, but the pistol didn’t waver. She stared down the barrel, expecting it to explode at any moment.
‘What’s that?’ he said, pointing to the straw doll in her belt. ‘Is that yours?’
‘What, this? I found it in the outhouse. I was going to use it as kindling.’
‘Show me,’ David said.
Hazel tossed the doll on to the bed and David picked it up with shaking fingers. ‘Tell me what you need this for. Quickly!’
‘I don’t need it for anything,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen such a curious thing before. It’s not mine, I swear.’
‘Don’t play innocent with me. This is a poppet, a witch’s tool of sorcery. What were you g-going to do with it? Lay a curse on m-me? Kill me?’
Everything was spinning out of control and Hazel didn’t know what to do. ‘Think about what you’re saying. Why would I have carried you here if all I wanted to do was kill you?’
He fell back on to the bed, shaking with exhaustion. ‘You lied to me. And I fell for it.’
‘No, I promise I didn’t lie. The demon’s poison is making your mind play tricks on you.’ She crept forward and took the pistol from him. ‘David, I’m your friend. I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘Tell me again,’ the boy wheezed, refusing to look at her. ‘Where d-did you find it?’
‘In the outhouse.’
‘Didn’t you think it would be b-best to just leave it alone?’
‘I didn’t know—’
‘You should have left it there.’ His teeth chattered despite the warmth of the fire. ‘The boss once told me about a witch who murdered a merchant. She strangled h-him with a horse whip and used b-black magic to rip out his soul and trap it in a straw doll.’
