Witch Born

by Nicholas Bowling

  ‘What if it’s them?’ Solomon was throwing the remaining contents of the trunk on to the floor. ‘What if it’s Doctor Dee?’

  ‘It isn’t,’ said Alyce, rising from her stool next to the dead fireplace to investigate the source of the noise. ‘Unless he’s shrunk a lot since I last saw him.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘It’s him. I know it.’

  She slowly drew back the bolt and opened the door a fraction.

  Solomon grabbed her shoulder. ‘Alyce . . .’

  A polished black beak appeared through the crack, and two mismatched eyes. The raven bristled, and then forced its bedraggled body into the room, where it flapped in a couple of frantic circles and settled on the candelabra. Its plumage was more of a mess than ever, and Alyce couldn’t help laughing. It was a wonder the animal could even fly, given how disordered its feathers were.

  Solomon looked pained. ‘It can’t stay in here! I’ve already taken in one too many guests!’

  ‘I thought I told you to wait outside?’ said Alyce, speaking to the raven. She tentatively patted its head, and it croaked back at her.

  ‘How did it even know we were here?’

  ‘He, Solomon. It’s a he.’

  That afternoon, when they had reached the palace, Alyce had tried to tell the raven to stay around the park and the stables, so as not to get them into trouble, and had felt more than a little foolish as she did so. But the bird seemed to understand, and had perched above the palace gate and watched them go with his clever little eyes.

  But he obviously hadn’t been able to keep away. And regardless of the mischief he might cause, Alyce was glad he was here. Only now did she admit what she’d suspected all along, ever since she had seen him battling Martha in the alleyway. How many ravens could there be with one black and one white eye? And of such monstrous size?

  ‘So you know him?’ said Solomon.

  Alyce blinked, forgetful of where she was. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You were saying something, before we were interrupted. Something about seeing him before you got to London.’

  ‘Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just coincidence.’ But she knew it wasn’t.

  ‘Go on . . .’

  ‘When I lived with my mother, there was a raven that used to come to the cottage. She used to feed it scraps. Sometimes it would come with us when we went walking in the woods. It was exactly like this one.’ She pointed at the bird, who flew down to investigate the pile of Alyce’s old clothes, nipping them with his beak. ‘Pecke. That was what my mother used to call him. Master Pecke.’

  The raven suddenly cocked his head and croaked. He grew perfectly still and stared at her with his one white eye.

  ‘Well, that settles it then,’ said Solomon. ‘It is him.’

  Alyce continued to look back at the bird. His gaze pinned her to the spot.

  ‘Maybe he’s my mother’s familiar, then, not mine.’

  ‘Perhaps she told him to protect you if she was killed. Perhaps that makes him yours now.’

  The ghost of Ellen Greenliefe flitted briefly before her. She remembered her sitting outside their cottage at dusk, waiting for the raven to appear, a spirit from the woods come to receive her offerings. Alyce had actually been frightened by the sight of him gliding out of the darkness – she used to go and hide inside the cottage while her mother chatted with him. She never considered that they were actually having a conversation, though.

  In the familiar’s tiny marble eyes, she felt as though it were really her mother looking at her. Judging her, even. Her mother had died for her, been burnt alive, and never called out for mercy or offered the witchfinders anything about her daughter. She had allowed her to escape. And what was Alyce doing in return? There was a reason she was in London. Was she really going to give up, go into hiding? Pretend the whole thing wasn’t happening?

  ‘I don’t know what I’m doing here, Solly,’ she said morosely. ‘What’s our plan?’

  ‘Well, I was thinking, maybe you could try and join the Sussex’s Men. I can talk with Master Adams. Then you can come touring with us. It’ll at least ensure that you’re clothed and fed.’

  ‘Um. Solomon. You know I’m not actually an actor? Or a man, for that matter? Have you been fooled by your own disguise?’

  ‘I know, but there are other things you could do besides acting. Making costumes, scenery, that sort of thing.’

  She smiled at him sadly. Going on the road with a company of players was the last thing she wanted to do, and it was hardly a solution. Yes, it would get her away from the witchfinders – possibly – but it wouldn’t answer any of her questions. That damned letter. Why couldn’t her mother have just written it in plain English? Why couldn’t she have just told her everything when she had the chance?

  ‘Alyce?’

  She hadn’t even realized she was crying.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘I just wish she were here.’

  She glanced at the chest. It was only the briefest of glances, but she knew Solomon had seen it.

  ‘I know,’ he said.

  ‘Very well then,’ said Alyce, trying to change the subject. ‘You may as well ask if I can join the company. At least then I won’t have to stay locked up in here all the time. And I can watch you working your magic on the stage.’

  She curled up on the bed, and Pecke flapped across the room and settled on one of the bedposts

  ‘I’ll see what I can do in the morning,’ said Solomon. ‘But now you should rest.’

  As Alyce closed her eyes, she saw him open the chest, take out the Necronomicon, and hide it under a pile of his clothes.

  The following morning, Solomon left the bedchamber while Alyce was still fuzzy with sleep.

  When she at last hauled herself out of bed, still stiff from the previous day’s exertions, she went straight back to the books. Pecke watched the pages as she idly thumbed through them, hopping from the table to her shoulder and back again. At times he seemed to get bored, and would patter over to the door on his claws, staring at it as though expecting visitors.

  Alyce spent a frustrating hour skimming the books that she didn’t have the any inclination of reading. It was only the Necronomicon she wanted. Even though she couldn’t understand a word of it, it called to her, demanded her attention. Alyce was just on the verge of reaching for the pile of clothes where it was hidden when Solomon burst through the door.

  ‘He wants to see you,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ she said, sitting back in the chair and brushing a stray curl away from her eyes. She looked guilty as sin. ‘Who?’

  ‘Master Adams. This afternoon, during rehearsals. I told him I had to go and fetch you from town, because you were doing some work with Worcester’s Men. You’d better get your story straight.’

  ‘My story?’

  ‘Well, not your story. Alex’s story. If that’s who you’re going to be.’

  ‘Ah. Yes.’ She got up to get a drink. Her mouth was unusually dry. Solomon had brought back some water in a pewter jug the previous night, but had forgotten cups, so she had to slurp straight from the spout. ‘Sorry,’ she said, wiping her lips. ‘It’s just those books are making me feel . . . strange.’

  Solomon gave her the same penetrating look as the bird sitting on the candelabra.

  ‘Any book in particular?’

  ‘No,’ she said, feeling her cheeks burn.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, picking up the Arcana from the table. ‘If you’re going to meet the company, you need to put this stuff from your mind. Actors are a superstitious bunch. Master Adams won’t let us play Murderous Michael any more because he thought he saw the Devil standing next to him in the final act. Master Gavell has a pair of lucky breeches that he hasn’t washed in a year. He stinks.’

  ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘My point is that the slightest hint of anything that isn’t natural is not going to go down well. So keep the sorcery under wraps, yes?’

&
nbsp; Pecke squawked.

  ‘Well, I can try,’ said Alyce. ‘But it’s not all that simple.’

  ‘Yes it is. Just don’t go casting any spells or whatnot.’

  ‘But I don’t always have a choice. When I had my . . . moment . . . back at The Swan, I wasn’t doing that on purpose. The same thing happened yesterday, on Vitali’s stage. And when those mudlarks tried to rob me on the riverbank. When I get scared, something happens. I don’t speak to the dead. The dead speak to me. It’s like . . .’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘It’s like they seek me out. Like they’re using me for something.’

  The chamber fell very quiet. Solomon looked more worried than ever.

  ‘In that case,’ he said at last, ‘you’ll just have to make sure you don’t get scared.’

  The Great Hall was dark and cavernous, and it took Alyce’s eyes a moment to adjust after the dazzling sunshine of the courtyard. A fire had been lit in the enormous hearth. The last of the diners had left, the long tables had been cleared of the midday meal, and now the only sound was the echo of three men shifting boxes and props at the end furthest from the door. Two of them were trying to move an angular wooden replica of a tree – painted leaves nailed to its straight branches – while the third was pulling costumes out of a chest and inspecting their condition. They stamped around heavily on a small stage, raised about four feet from the hall’s flagstones.

  ‘That’s Master Adams in the middle, grey-haired fellow. I’ll introduce you. Just be warned, though – he isn’t always very friendly.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect anything less,’ said Alyce dryly.

  ‘Remember what we said. Compliments will go down well.’

  When they approached, John Adams was inspecting a red velvet cloak. It was badly stained, and it had a large hole near the hem. He stuck a finger through it and cursed under his breath.

  ‘Master Adams,’ said Solomon. ‘This is the man I was telling you about. The craftsman. Master –’ he missed a beat – ‘Greenliefe. Alexander Greenliefe.’

  Adams spun around and stared at Alyce, his mouth a slack grimace. His face had the loose, leathery look of an empty wineskin.

  ‘Craftsman?’ he said, stressing the second half of the word.

  He knows, thought Alyce, heart sinking. He knows I’m a girl. He’s seen through me already.

  ‘He doesn’t look like he’s seen ten summers,’ he continued. Alyce relaxed, trying not to sigh too audibly.

  Adams took a step forward. ‘Harper here tells me you worked with Worcester’s Men.’

  ‘I did, sir. And before that I was apprentice to the great Lorenzo Vitali of Milan.’

  He scrunched up his face. ‘Vitali? Where have I heard that name?’

  ‘If you’ll forgive me, sir, all the world has heard his name. He is the greatest engineer the stage has ever seen.’

  ‘And why are you leaving Worcester’s company?’

  She spoke just as they’d rehearsed it. ‘Because they are unenlightened peasants who don’t know genius when they see it. You, I am told by Master Harper, are rather more of a visionary. More open-minded. I feel that under your direction, my art will be more able to fulfil its potential. If, that is, you’ll have me.’ She bowed slowly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Solomon smiling.

  At the mention of the word ‘visionary’, Adams’ face seemed to have plumped out a little, and his lips were straining upwards into something approaching a smile.

  ‘So you are an engineer. Not an actor.’

  ‘The most talented in London.’

  ‘You have a lot of confidence for a boy so young.’

  ‘I am older than perhaps I look,’ she said. ‘There is more to me than meets the eye.’

  ‘Usually men with such a high opinion of themselves think they should be rewarded more than their due. The Earl of Sussex is not a man who recklessly throws away money.’

  ‘I do not ask for a wage. Just food and lodgings.’

  ‘You don’t want to be paid?’ Adams scoffed.

  ‘The opportunity to practise my craft is payment enough, sir.’

  He looked her over with sharp, grey eyes that matched the hair on his temples. He had probably been handsome as a young man, before time had undone the firmness of his skin. There was silence. Nobody moved. The other two players were looking at her too.

  ‘I will make you a deal, boy,’ he said at last. ‘Let me see what you can do. Not tonight, of course – I won’t risk our reputation at Court, in front of Her Majesty – but when we play the Theatre, on Bishopsgate, you can show me your craft. You shall eat with us, and you shall stay here in the palace, but only in Master Harper’s lodgings. And you shall receive no pay until I deem you deserving of it.’

  ‘You are most gracious, sir,’ said Alyce, giving him another measured, stately bow, despite wanting to collapse from relief.

  ‘Harper can show you the plays in our repertoire – rather more sophisticated than that dross Worcester’s Men put on – and you should watch tonight’s performance.’

  ‘I would be honoured.’

  ‘Right. Very well. Good.’ His gaze lingered on her a little longer, and then he briskly turned back to the box of costumes.

  Alyce was about to speak to Solomon, when suddenly Master Adams called to her again over his shoulder.

  ‘You’re a craftsman, Master Greenliefe. Can you sew?’

  Alyce shrugged. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then you can start by mending these clothes. Women’s work, I know, but I’m sure you’ll manage.’

  Alyce and Solomon looked at each other, and saw that they were both straining to keep a straight face.

  HOPKINS

  ‘So you lost her again then,’ said Doctor Dee, picking through the debris covering his laboratory. He picked up his astrolabe, its interlocking brass discs now warped and misshapen, and threw it to the floor.

  Hopkins stared at him for a moment, laughed, then coughed violently, the soot from the fire at Newgate still clinging to his lungs.

  ‘I lost her? You had her imprisoned, Doctor. In a cage. In your own house. And she still managed to destroy the place and escape. You’re in no position to be casting blame around.’

  The Doctor huffed. He tried to shift one of the fallen beams, but cursed and recoiled, sucking at a splinter in his finger.

  ‘It wasn’t the girl who did this. It was that.’ He pointed at the body of the Bedlam woman, propped up like a withered doll against the bars of the cage. ‘She summoned . . . something.’

  ‘By God! A piece of sorcery that the Great Doctor Dee doesn’t understand. We are in new territory here.’

  Dee stormed over to him, and thrust a bony finger into his face. ‘Need I remind you that I have the ear of Queen Mary? You would do well to keep your mockery to yourself, you knave. A word from me and she will introduce you to agonies you have never dreamt of. Who knows? Perhaps she will return you to the crones.’

  Hopkins felt his dead heart thump. I won’t go back, he thought. Can’t go back. And then, in panic, he realized that the decision wasn’t his to make.

  ‘Where’s that swagger now? You don’t mean to say that the fearless, fearsome John Hopkins is afraid of a handful of old women?’ Doctor Dee laughed. ‘You should be thankful we intervened. We saved you. Mary could have left you to endure their hospitality, but she saw a better use for you. She bartered for ownership of your life, in a most undignified fashion. But now it is hers. You’re a dog on a leash, nothing more. Both of you are.’

  Hopkins drew his sword. He heard Caxton flex his fingers behind him. This two-penny apothecary wouldn’t make it out of his house alive. Hopkins felt like his brain was boiling inside his skull.

  ‘Careful now,’ said the Doctor, taking a couple of paces backwards. ‘The Queen arrives in London imminently. If you ever want to be free of your cursed, wretched life, killing me would be the wrong way to go about it.’

  They faced each other across the ruined laboratory
in silence. Hopkins took several breaths, nose and throat still burning from yesterday’s fire. A dove flapped lazily in and out of the broken rafters.

  Later, he told himself. You can deal with him later. He let his anger simmer down before he spoke. Was it anger?

  No – it was grief. Grief for himself. Grief for his own death that had happened months ago.

  ‘You need us as much as we need you, Doctor,’ he said, straightening himself. ‘You may have Mary’s ear, but she’ll have your head if she comes to London and you still haven’t recaptured the girl.’ He waved the sword point around Dee’s neck. ‘And your seer is proving less than useful these days. So you need us more than ever.’

  ‘I have other arts—’

  ‘Save your bluster, old man. We know where she’s been taken. Let us forgive each other any offence given –’ for now, he added in his head – ‘and complete the business we have been assigned.’

  Doctor Dee’s eyes narrowed, in a way that suggested he was as happy about cooperating as Hopkins was. ‘Very well. Enlighten me.’

  Hopkins sheathed the sword. ‘We had a little talk with the Italian gentleman she worked for. It seems she is still with that creature’s son, and has joined Sussex’s Men disguised as a boy.’

  Hopkins saw Doctor Dee’s face suddenly tense. ‘She has joined the company?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then the need to act is even more urgent.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Sussex’s Men are currently at Court. Performing at Whitehall. In front of Elizabeth.’

  ‘And when exactly does Queen Mary arrive?’

  ‘Her Majesty will be with us in person at midnight tonight,’ said Doctor Dee. ‘All being well.’

  ‘Then get us in there as soon as possible. She can have the girl as a welcoming gift.’

  It took the best part of an hour to stitch up the hole in the cloak, and all the while Sussex’s Men bellowed their way through various scenes of what seemed to be a rather bombastic revenge play. Two more of the troupe arrived halfway through, although, from what Master Adams was saying, there were still others missing.