“Hold on. We’ll get you help soon, I promise. Just hold on.”
Finally, we reach the entrance to the sewer tunnel. It’s a small hole in the wall, about three feet square and covered with thin iron mesh. That’s to contain the rats.
Nicholas kicks it open and immediately they start pouring out. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them, crawling over the floor and across the walls. A writhing mass of greasy fur and tails, chittering and squeaking, claws scratching on stone, the overpowering smell of sewage… I give an enormous shudder and start retching again.
“We’ll have to go in one at a time.” His voice, deep and clear, sounds very far away. “I’ll go first, then help you after. Can you do it?”
I nod. As soon as he climbs inside, I’ll attack.
“You’re a brave girl.” He sets me down against the wall before crawling through the hole into the sewer. Seconds later his head pops out, arms outstretched. “Come on.”
All I have to do is kick him. I can crush his windpipe. I can break his nose. I can knock him down and tie him up and take him in. This is my chance. I pull my leg back and take aim.
In the distance, I hear shouts. Footsteps. I can hear them coming down the stairs. The guards, they know I’ve escaped. The unending stream of rats must have tipped them off.
“Elizabeth!” Nicholas whispers. “Now!”
I hesitate, my leg still poised to kick. There are a hundred reasons I should hurt him. A hundred ways I could do it. Instead, I do the one thing I could never have imagined.
I reach for him.
He gently pulls me through the opening and into his arms. I curl into them like a child. I’m shaking so hard now. Nicholas tightens his grip and draws me closer. I rest my head against his shoulder and close my eyes. I can’t help it. I’m so very, very tired.
He carries me through the endless maze of tunnels, through the rats and the filth and the stench. After what seems like hours, we emerge, the tunnel emptying under a bridge by the river. Near the opening is a horse, waiting to take us to freedom.
He takes off his cloak, wraps it tightly around me, and lifts me into the saddle. Then he climbs on behind me.
“You’ll be all right now.” He holds me steady and urges the horse forward.
Why didn’t I capture him? I don’t know. I only hope I can escape before he finds out what I am. Or that whatever illness I have will kill me before he can.
Will Caleb miss me when I die?
It’s the last thing I think before I close my eyes.
I HEAR VOICES AROUND ME, quiet and whispered. But everything is still dark. I will my eyes to open, but they refuse.
“Is she going to die?” A boy. He sounds familiar.
“Ugh. Smells as if she already did.” A girl this time.
“Fifer…” Another boy, sounding exasperated. “George, hand me that bottle.”
“What? It’s not my fault she looks terrible.” The girl again.
“Aye, she’s scrotty now, but she’s quite lovely when not covered in filth.” A pause. “What? She is.”
“She’s doing remarkably well, considering. Jail fever—she’s lucky she didn’t die.”
“She’s lucky she has you to help her, John. No one else could go near her! Honestly, I don’t know how you stand it.”
“Since you’re so concerned with the way she smells, you can be the one to clean her up, then.”
“Ugh.”
This time, my eyes open first. They take a minute to adjust: Everything is blurry around the edges. I stare at the ceiling, blinking hard. Slowly, it comes into focus. Whitewashed plaster, dark green vines painted across the surface, tiny leaves and curlicues trailing down onto the white walls. An iron chandelier hangs by a chain, its many candles unlit. In a daze, I follow one of the vines down the wall, as it winds around a window covered in green velvet curtains. They’re pulled tightly closed, no light at all coming in behind them. Where’s the light coming from?
I turn my head to the other side and see it: a single candle sitting on an otherwise empty table, flickering softly. I watch the tiny column of smoke drift upward from the flame. My eyes begin to close again when I realize I don’t know where I am.
I bolt upright, then give a little start when I see I’m not alone. There, sitting in a chair at the end of my bed, is George, the king’s fool. I thought his voice sounded familiar.
His feet are propped up on a stool, a blanket draped across him and tucked under his chin. He’s sound asleep. Without thinking, I scramble out of bed. To him or away from him, I don’t know. But my legs are weaker than I expected and I tumble to the floor.
“Going somewhere?” he murmurs, watching me through one half-opened eye.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I crawl to my knees, clutching the bedcovers around me. “What are you doing here?”
“Ah, yes. The age-old question.” He casts his eyes skyward. “Theologists have long believed our time here on earth is—”
“Not that,” I snap, and he laughs. “I mean, do you always sleep at the foot of people’s beds?”
“Easy.” He sits up and drops his feet to the floor. His dark hair is sticking up in all directions, making him look younger than he is. “John said you’d probably be waking up soon. Didn’t want you to come to alone, strange place and all.”
“Where am I?”
“Nicholas’s house. He brought you here after… you know.” He shakes his head. “You don’t make things very easy, do you?”
Nicholas! I’m at Nicholas Perevil’s house. Everything comes back to me in a rush then. The arrest. Being thrown into Fleet. Caleb coming, then failing to return. Then Nicholas showing up, looking for me. Bringing me here.
Wait a minute.
“You’re a fool,” I say. “Malcolm’s fool. What are you doing at Nicholas Perevil’s house?”
George stands up and stretches.
“Where are you going?”
“To get Nicholas.”
“What? No. Why?”
George gives me a look I can’t quite read. “He just wants to talk to you. Asked me to get him as soon as you woke.” He crosses the room and reaches his hand down for me. I stare at it a moment, then let him pull me to my feet. “He’ll explain everything. I’ll be right back.” The door closes behind him with a quiet thump.
I pace the room, trying to control my nerves. I’m in the home of the most dangerous criminal in Anglia, and all he wants to do is talk? Right.
If George had said Nicholas wants to tie me to a chair and beat me until my eyeballs roll, that I could believe. Drench me in water and put me outside until I freeze to death? Sure. Pour molten lead on my skin. Split my knees, crush my fingers in a thumbscrew, saw off my limbs. Really, the possibilities are endless. Talking is the least likely one of all.
Worse still: What if he performs some kind of spell on me? I think about his coming to me here, the way he came to me in my cell. Multiplying, surrounding, overpowering. I’ve never seen magic like that before. Never known it was possible. I give a little shiver. Because as much as I hate to admit it, it frightens me.
He frightens me.
I sit back down on the bed then. Look around. There’s a fireplace behind the chair where George was sleeping, the fire low but warm. A soft carpet covers the wood floor. The bed is big and soft, the bedcovers lavender-scented and clean. Then I realize, so am I. My filthy dress is gone, replaced by a simple linen shift. It dawns on me that however long I’ve been here, whatever Nicholas Perevil wants from me, I haven’t been ill-treated.
Yet.
I don’t know what to do. I can’t run, can’t hide. My first instinct is to fight, but I can’t do that, either. Not without giving myself away. I don’t know what they know about me; I don’t even know what they want with me. But if I want to get out of here, I’d better find out both.
There’s a soft rapping on the door, and before I can respond, Nicholas walks into the room, George close behind.
He’s rumpled from sleep
and looks even older than I remember. He’s got a dark blue dressing gown on, pulled tightly at the waist. He looks me over, then gives me a quick nod. He’s so thin I can see the cords in his neck, the sharp angles of his cheekbones.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I say. It’s true. Maybe a little weak, and my chest hurts when I breathe. I’m pretty thirsty. Okay, I could eat. But other than that, I really am fine.
Nicholas smiles, as if he’s reading my thoughts.
“We have John to thank for that,” he says. “He has a gift.” With a little groan, he sits in the chair where George had been sleeping. George hovers behind him, looking protective. “And so, Elizabeth, you want to know why you’re here.”
It’s a statement, not a question. I nod.
Nicholas starts to speak when there’s a soft tapping on the door. George goes to open it. In walks a young man carrying two pewter goblets. They’re steaming slightly, sending tiny puffs of white smoke into the air. He hands one to Nicholas, who grasps it gratefully. Then he walks over to me with the other.
“Elizabeth, this is John Raleigh, our healer,” Nicholas says.
Healer? I frown. I can’t help it. For the most part, healer is just another word for wizard. He holds out the goblet to me. I don’t take it.
“It’s angelica and burdock,” he tells me.
I shrug. If it’s not an herb that can poison or kill, I don’t know it.
“It’s just a blood purifier. Plus something to help your stomach. That’s all.” A pause. “Well, I added in a little cucumber for your fever, some burnet and elm for your cough. A bit of oat for your rash. Mugwort, too, because you have fleas. And a couple of drops of poppy, just to help you relax. But that really is it. I swear.”
He smiles then. It’s a nice smile, warm and friendly. Not the smile of someone who wants to fill me with poison and watch me drop to the carpet and foam at the mouth and twitch out a slow, agonizing death in front of him. Still, when he offers the goblet again, I don’t take it.
Maybe he knows what I’m thinking, because he says, “If I wanted to harm you, I wouldn’t have given you anything at all. You’ve been drinking it since you got here.”
I look at George. I don’t know why, but I feel that if I were about to drink a fat batch of poison, he would tell me. Or at least make a joke about it beforehand.
He nods.
I snatch the goblet from the healer’s hand and drink the whole thing in one swallow. It tastes like celery.
John laughs a little, as if I’ve done something funny. He doesn’t look like a typical healer, at least the ones I’ve seen. Most of them are old, gray, and toothless. Not to mention female. But he’s young, my age. Maybe a bit older. Longish dark curly hair, hazel eyes. Tall. A little scruffy, as if he needs a shave. But maybe that’s because it’s the middle of the night. When I hand him back the goblet, I notice his shirt is buttoned up wrong.
He takes it and goes to check on Nicholas, who doesn’t need an explanation of what’s in his cup. But I wonder what is. He places his hand on Nicholas’s forehead, then around his wrist. He frowns.
“Not too long, all right?” John looks at me. “That goes for you, too.”
I raise my eyebrows.
Nicholas smiles at me. “He’s very strict.” He nods at John.
“Like a priest on Sunday,” chimes in George.
John responds with something a priest on Sunday definitely would not do. George and Nicholas crack up with laughter. I start to smile, but stop immediately.
“I’ll check on you both in the morning,” John says, walking to the door.
“You don’t have to do that,” I blurt. Healers make me nervous. And the idea of this too young and far too male healer coming into my room—alone, when I’m in bed—makes me even more nervous.
“Whyever not?” George asks, mystified. “He’s only been checking on you every hour since you got here. If we’re down to twice a day now, that’s a vast improvement.”
I feel my cheeks grow hot. Every hour? Was he the one who changed my gown? Cleaned me up? No, that was the girl. God, I hope it was the girl.
“It’s not necessary, that’s all. I’m fine,” I say again, but John isn’t even looking at me. He’s scowling at George.
Then he turns to me with a small smile. “Don’t argue with the clergy.” He closes the door quietly behind him.
Nicholas leans back in his chair and sips his drink. I wait for him to say something, but he just sits there, tapping his fingernail on the goblet and staring at its contents. Finally, he speaks.
“Elizabeth, up until now, you have been a good and loyal subject of King Malcolm, have you not?”
“Yes.”
“As such, you have, up until now, abided by the rules and laws of his kingdom, correct?”
I hesitate a little, then nod. Where is he going with this?
“Whether or not you believed his rules to be fair.”
That’s where. “Yes.”
He drains his goblet and hands it to George. “As you may know, not all of King Malcolm’s subjects are as loyal as you. Not all of them abide by his rules. Many of them, myself included, believe his rules are wrong. How could it be right that an innocent girl such as yourself be thrown in jail and sentenced to death? For nothing more than possessing herbs?”
The herbs.
I guess I’m not surprised he knows about them. He knew my name, knew I was in prison. It stands to reason he would know why. And what I used them for.
Who else knows? That healer? The girl? George? A glance at him confirms it: He doesn’t meet my eyes, intent now on examining his fingernails. A hot blush works its way up my cheeks again, and I duck my head in hopes of hiding it.
“It’s all right,” Nicholas says, his deep voice quiet. “You needn’t fear recrimination here. There’s no one here who will judge you, or harm you. You’re safe now.”
Safe. It’s the same thing he said in prison. Right after he multiplied on me and converged on me and used magic to subdue me. It’s enough to remind me of burnings, of death, enough to remind me who my enemy is. I was a fool to forget it, even for an instant.
A fool.
“You.” I turn to George. “You’re not a fool at all, are you? You’re a Reformist. A spy.” I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out.
George looks at Nicholas, who nods. “Aye. It’s true,” George says. “I am a spy. And a Reformist. But believe me, I’m still a fool,” he adds, winking.
I can’t believe Nicholas managed to place a spy right under Malcolm’s nose. More than that, I can’t believe he admitted it. This is too much, even for me. I have to get out of here. And the sooner I get this wizard talking, the sooner I can figure out how.
“At Fleet, you told me you were sent to find me,” I say to Nicholas. “Who sent you?”
“From time to time we consult a seer. She helps us by telling us things. Things that have not yet happened, things that have already happened but we don’t yet know about. Everything she has ever told us has proved to be true, so we take her visions very seriously.”
Already, I don’t like the sound of this. But he continues.
“The last two times we saw her, she said we had to find you—you, specifically—and bring you here.”
“Me?” The fear I felt earlier is back. “Why?”
He shakes his head. “We don’t know. She hasn’t been able to tell us, at least not yet. Seers can be roundabout at times. It can take several visions for their meaning to become clear. But now that you’re here, that will change. We’ll take you to her, and she’ll be able to tell us everything.”
It may not be clear to Nicholas, but it is to me. This seer, she’s finding witch hunters. Because if they’re really looking to stop the burnings, killing witch hunters is a good place to start. As soon as they realize that’s what I am, they’ll start with me.
I can’t kill him: Blackwell’s rule. I can’t fight him or capture him: I’m still
too weak and I’m not about to risk his performing any more magic on me. Which leaves only one choice:
Escape.
Out of this house, back to Upminster. Find Caleb and tell him what happened. Lead him straight back here, along with every witch hunter we’ve got. It’s the only hope I have of earning back Blackwell’s favor. The only hope I have of getting out of here alive. So I do the only thing I know that is guaranteed to drive both George and Nicholas out of this room: I bury my face in my hands and pretend to cry.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, innocent girl voice. “This is a lot to take in. I think I’m still sick. Perhaps if I had a bit more rest…”
“Of course,” Nicholas says, moving to stand. George helps him to his feet. “I understand this has been very trying for you. We can talk in the morning.”
“I think I’ll feel much better by then,” I say. When I’m halfway to Upminster, that is.
George walks Nicholas to the door. “Good night, Elizabeth,” he says quietly. “Sleep well.” Then he’s gone.
I look down to hide my smile. No wonder these Reformists haven’t been able to take over. They’re far too trusting.
When I look up, George is watching me intently.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he says, closing the door. From the inside.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought I’d stay. You know. Since you’re so upset and all.” He settles back in the chair, propping his feet on the stool and pulling the blanket over him. Then he closes his eyes. I swear I see him smirk.
Not too trusting at all, then.
I COULD KILL HIM, OF course; Blackwell has no rule against killing fools. Especially when the fool isn’t a fool at all but a Reformist and a spy. I could do it here. I could do it now.
But George won’t go down without a fight. He’ll call for help and there’s no telling who will answer. Wizards, undoubtedly. Reformists, naturally. Spies, witches, healers, God only knows who else is in this house. No matter what, there are more of them than there are of me. I’m not strong enough to fight all of them at once, then make it back to Upminster. Not the way I am now. I have no clothes, no coat, no weapons. I don’t even have shoes. It’s one thing to escape under these conditions. To fight in them, another thing entirely.
The Witch Hunter Page 6
