Being a Witch, and Other Things I Didn't Ask For

by Sara Pascoe

  She thought a minute. ‘Oh, shit! Sorry. Omigod, the Essex Witch Trials were now, weren’t they?’ A cold shiver rolled down her spine. Oscar pressed his sweaty paws into hers.

  Ms Watts took her glasses off and looked across time into Raya’s eyes. ‘Yes. We think your feeling so awful about Jake, your feeling so terribly guilty and responsible is what got you back there.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand.’

  ‘Remember – you, Bryony and Oscar in the hospital basement?’

  She did remember feeling so awful and responsible for Jake getting hit by a… she couldn’t finish the thought. She remembered the swirling colours and cold, Bryony seeming so far away, and… her fleeting thoughts that she didn’t even deserve to continue to live if this was what she’d done.

  ‘Omigod – I’ve sent myself back to the worst punishment a witch could go through. Haven’t I?’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘Oy. Get a move on – we have a lot to do.’ Samuel’s voice woke Raya. She moaned and Oscar emerged.

  ‘Get up, you lazy adle pate.’ Nehemiah prodded her with his boot. ‘No skin off my nose. More grub for me.’ His voice trailed off as he went down the ladder to the stables. She could hear him talking to Samuel.

  ‘I tell you, this Ralph is a Roberta, if you know what I mean?’ Nehemiah said. They laughed.

  Raya heard the gentle clink of the various bits of horse equipment. Raya poked her head out of the blankets. She saw Oscar washing himself in a shaft of early sunshine. It couldn’t have been later than six a.m.

  Samuel’s head appeared up the ladder. ‘We need to get started. Three horses to ready, then we eat before we muck out.’ He nodded and went back down to the stable.

  ‘Coming.’ Raya started down the ladder.

  Raya tried hard to be helpful in the stable, ripe with the night’s dirty straw. She handed the lads the wrong, and sometimes the right things. Then she put a saddle on backwards.

  ‘Oh, that’s it.’ Nehemiah stood and shook his head. ‘Samuel, this one is useless.’

  Raya stood next to the horse with the backward saddle crimson-faced.

  ‘Probably put off by the equipment, eh?’ Nehemiah grinned while gesturing towards the stallion with the backward saddle.

  Samuel shook his head and sorted the saddle. ‘Come on now, even a filly knows the front from the back.’

  Oh, no. They’ve made me for sure – know I’m a girl.

  Nehemiah stood too close. His breath reeked. He gave a goofy grin and reached both hands towards her chest. ‘Let’s inspect you, eh?’ Raya slapped his hands away and kicked him in the shin.

  ‘Ow. Can’t you take a joke?’ Nehemiah rubbed his shin. Raya smirked. Samuel returned with the bridle.

  ‘So, even if “Ralph” here is a lass, he or she can take care of the likes of you,’ Samuel said, then turned to Raya. ‘He’s nothing but mouth, don’t worry about him.’

  Raya was relieved. One less piece of acting to carry off while learning all this other stuff. She was grateful for their kindness or indifference.

  ‘You’ve had your share of bad luck, as best as I can see. No use us adding to it, right Nehemiah?’ Nehemiah shrugged. Samuel handed Raya the reins of the horse they’d prepared and nodded towards the barn door. ‘Take this horse round the front. The customer’s waiting.’

  Raya took the horse out of the barn and led it through the arch towards the front of the tavern, she turned her face upward soaking in the sun – you never knew how long it would last.

  ‘Raya. Can you hear me?’ Oscar broke through, ‘A warning’s come through from IHQ.’

  ‘Give me a minute, I have to deliver this horse.’

  Raya spied a man waiting. She made that little tchk, tchk she heard others give horses to move them along. She handed the horse over to the customer after confirming it was his.

  People passed on the road in front of the inn. Carts stopped and delivered food. Kitchen staff carried the goods to the back. A carriage and a man on a horse rode up. They seemed to be together. The carriage driver stopped his two horses and called down to Raya, ‘Hey, lad, should I bring the carriage and team round the back?’

  ‘No, sir. One of our stable hands will do that for you,’ she said as she glanced over her shoulder and saw Nehemiah coming. He spoke to the driver and took the carriage.

  Raya approached the man on horseback, not very old and dressed fancier than the others. His hat was bigger with feathers sticking up from the brim. His hair went down to his oversized crisp white collar, but his beard was very short. He wore a long cape that draped behind him onto the horse, and mirror-shiny knee-high boots with spurs. She would have been impressed except he looked like a jerk. She couldn’t wait to hear what Oscar thought about this guy.

  ‘Oscar, you should see this clown who just pulled up. Looks like Puss in Boots.’

  ‘Don’t you recognize him?’ Oscar said. There was the sound like a deflating balloon and the transmission cut out.

  Puss in Boots cleared his throat. He was still on his horse. ‘Good morning, sir. May I take your horse?’ she said.

  The man scowled, exhaled through flared nostrils, but said nothing.

  Raya stood extra tall with her hands behind her back. ‘I assure you we take excellent care of the horses,’ she said, then looked away. She figured he must be something to do with the war, he looked official, but he seemed like a right idiot; she was afraid she’d burst out laughing.

  ‘No one unknown to me touches my horse, and I do not know you,’ he added with an emphatic nod then looked around to see if anyone was watching. He flounced his cape. ‘Where is the other lad, the one with the dark hair?’

  Raya knew the type. She gave a deep bow. ‘That would be Samuel, sir. I assure you he remains in charge of the stable. I’m new here–’

  ‘I can see that,’ Puss in Boots said, flicking something off his cape.

  ‘Why don’t I lead you and your fine horse back to the stables?’ Raya offered.

  Puss in Boots nodded the slimmest of approvals. Raya guided the horse by the bridle. The three walked through the momentary shadow of the arch in silence except for the soft hoof falls. Raya squinted into the bright sun in the garden as she made out Samuel leading another horse towards the arch. He gave her a quick look to say he would tell her about this guy later, then turned towards the guest and bowed.

  ‘Good morning, General Hopkins. So nice to have your honourable self with us again.’

  The General dismounted and handed Samuel the reins. ‘Thank you, young man,’ he said, even though he was not much older. ‘They should have brought my things in from the carriage by now.’ He nodded with a slight tip of his extravagant hat and turned towards the inn.

  ‘Well, go on, now. Standing like a statue won’t help. Go get the special stall ready for the General’s horse. Nehemiah knows which one it is,’ Samuel said to Raya, who reanimated. She ran towards the barn as Samuel led the horse to the green beyond it.

  In the barn, she found Nehemiah mucking out a stall.

  ‘A general’s arrived and we have to look after his horse,’ Raya said, skidding to a stop. Nehemiah continued working without saying anything. ‘Didn’t you hear me? A general.’

  Nehemiah tossed one more shovelful of dirty straw into the wheelbarrow, spat on the floor. ‘Tain’t no general. Just calls himself one, is all.’ He saddled up a horse, tugging extra hard at the straps.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Raya said.

  ‘That man don’t know nothing ‘bout real war. Not like my brother who’s in the thick of it.’

  Raya nodded sympathetically, but by then the penny dropped and her blood had turned to Freon. Of course, ‘General’ Matthew Hopkins, that was what Oscar was trying to tell her.

  Nehemiah continued, ‘This idiot Hopkins fancies himself “the Witchfinder General”. Rounds up women by the score and puts them in jail. Tain’t a real man, forget about a real general.’ He spat again. ‘By the way, your cat�
�s been acting peculiar, running around the horses.’ Nehemiah shook his head and shovelled more dirty straw. ‘Can’t have it scaring them.’

  Raya tried to get in touch with Oscar, but got no response. She peered up the ladder. ‘I’ll keep an eye on him, I promise,’ Raya said. But Nehemiah wasn’t listening any more. She changed the subject.

  ‘Samuel said we should get the “special” stall ready for the General’s horse.’

  ‘You start, then.’ He nodded towards the one next to where he was working. ‘The General insists his horse stay in this box here. He makes a big show of seeing that his horse is looked after properly. Has his share of enemies,’ then under his breath, ‘comes as no surprise.’

  She used the slowed breathing Pavel had taught her. Here she was a real witch and talking to Matthew Hopkins. What could go more wrong? It doesn’t mean anything will happen to me – no one’s died, no crops have failed like I read about people getting blamed for, she coached herself. She still hadn’t found Oscar when Sam called her over to help.

  Raya, Samuel and Nehemiah worked hard over the next hours, with no time for breakfast in the end. They took a break for lunch, which was like porridge with a bit of fish and vegetables. If she hadn’t been starving, she wouldn’t have touched it. She saved some for Oscar and filled a tin cup with fresh water that had been boiled, before excusing herself. The lads said they were going to take a break in the sun.

  She climbed the ladder to see if he was taking a nap. In the hayloft, the blankets she’d rolled up looked jumbled. She tugged at the top one and a large white cat, dead asleep, or plain dead, spilled out.

  ‘Oscar?’ She remembered Bryony saying something about familiars getting ill and losing their colour if they’re around bad witches. She gathered up the woozy cat. ‘It’s me, Raya. Come on, wake up.’ He was all white except for a slim black stripe along his spine. She clutched the large limp cat against her, burying her face in his warm fur.

  ‘What’s happened? You can’t leave me, I need you, you cranky fur ball.’

  Oscar cracked open his eyes, ‘That was weak. You could do better.’ He tried to smile.

  ‘Don’t die on me, I couldn’t take that.’

  ‘Sorry, mate. This one, this Witch Gone Bad’s hit me like a ton of bricks.’

  ‘Who? This Hopkins plonker?’

  ‘The one and only.’

  ‘Ralph,’ Samuel called from the stables below, ‘You need to come down here. We’re about to have… an inspection.’

  Raya peered down. Some other people were in the stables besides the two lads.

  ‘Inspection?’ she said.

  Nehemiah looked up the ladder. ‘Yes, the Honourable Mr Hopkins,’ he said with deadpan sarcasm, ‘has requested an inspection of his horse’s quarters. One can never be too careful.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll be right there.’ Even though it was hot in the loft, Raya made a bed out of the blankets for Oscar. She remembered her nan bundling her up when she was ill. She buried her face in his neck and whispered. ‘Hang in there, fur-buddy – please.’

  She leapt down the ladder.

  Mr Hopkins, Samuel and Nehemiah stood in front of the empty stall prepared for Mr Hopkins’s horse. There was a woman standing with them. It took Raya a moment to recognize her – the cook. There was an awkward silence.

  ‘At your service, sir,’ Raya said, not knowing what else to do. ‘Good afternoon, madam,’ she added.

  The cook pointed at Raya. ‘That’s the one. That’s him!’ The cook looked very upset.

  ‘Come on, Mrs Jennings, that dog was ancient. You even said yourself he wasn’t looking good earlier this week, remember?’ Nehemiah said. Raya looked from one person to the other.

  Samuel put his hand on Raya’s shoulder. ‘Ralph, Mrs Jennings here says–’

  The General broke in. ‘Do not touch him. You are not educated in such matters. You could be NEXT.’

  ‘Next? What are you–’ Raya protested but stopped when Hopkins grabbed her by the arm. When he touched her, she saw nothing but mud, smelled rotting things and tasted metal.

  ‘You killed this good woman’s dog!’ His eyes bore into Raya. She averted hers, instinctively. ‘All because she denied you your favourite witches’ brew!’ He swished his cape for emphasis.

  Raya gasped. ‘What are you talking about? I would never do such a thing. I stroked it.’ Raya looked at the cook, trying to gain empathy.

  The cook gasped and dodged behind Nehemiah, who looked annoyed and stepped aside. The cook collected herself, then took one step forward as though this was the bravest thing she’d ever done.

  ‘This lad came to me for his supper, but that was not good enough. No, he wanted “T” and said he would kill for it. I don’t know what this “T” is. Some drink of the Devil, I’m sure! And he kept his promise. By the time I finished up and left for home, there was Shaggy, stonecold dead and stiff already, right outside the kitchen door.’

  Raya felt her blood drain. ‘I’m ever so sorry. Where I come from, we drink something called “tea”, spelled t-e–’

  Nehemiah stepped forward. ‘You see, sir, Ralph is from the Netherlands, then worked on a travelling menagerie with his special cat, but the cat got injured. They joined us yesterday.’

  ‘A special cat?’ Hopkins arched an eyebrow.

  ‘Yes, sir. Ralph is a menagerie performer. He’s no witch, I assure you. He’s hardworking and has been mistreated himself,’ Samuel said and nodded towards the bruises on Raya’s arms. Samuel stepped in front of Raya, but Hopkins was having none of it.

  He inflated his cape and expelled a chortle.

  ‘Ah, I don’t expect the likes of you to understand what is at stake here. We are fighting the evil that flows through the Royalists and papists, Laudians, and all the misled wretches who are waging war to steal not only our country but our very souls,’ Hopkins intoned as though he was in a pulpit.

  Raya looked at the two stable hands for an explanation. Nehemiah gave the slightest eye roll. Samuel shot them a quick look. Hopkins caught their silent communication and delighted at their insolence. He thrust his shoulders back and spoke in a whisper that sounded like the hiss of a snake.

  ‘Yes, the very battle between good and evil, played out even in the lowliest of lives like yours. Witches killing dogs because they did not get their favourite drink.’

  The cook gasped in a combination of horror and delight.

  Something tumbled out of the loft. They all turned towards the sound, like a sack of flour hitting the floor. There was Oscar, a white lump at the bottom of the ladder. Raya rushed to him.

  ‘Oh, Oscar.’

  Hopkins strode up to the girl cradling her cat. ‘Ah, so your familiar has already shown itself. Excellent,’ Hopkins sneered.

  Nehemiah spat on the floor. ‘Mr Hopkins, you may be an important man with much education, but that is a cat, nothing more, nothing less.’ He stepped towards the trio, but Samuel grabbed him by the upper arm.

  ‘Don’t go with… him…’ Oscar’s head talking was a weak whisper. The single black stripe on his back had broken into dashes. Raya shot Hopkins a look then turned back to Oscar.

  ‘You will come with me now for Watching,’ Hopkins said. The lads looked horrified. The cook looked relieved and pleased.

  ‘Watching what? I’m not going anywhere with you.’ Raya recoiled and clung to the cat. Hopkins stepped closer, his breath hot, cloying.

  ‘Let me see that beast.’ Hopkins tried to prize Raya’s arms open. ‘Let me inspect that thing!’

  Raya shrieked and backed away. Hopkins grabbed at Raya’s arms, snarled and growled, like an animal himself. Raya kicked at Hopkins and tried to bite him, getting only a mouthful of cape.

  ‘Samuel, Nehemiah, help me!’

  The lads struggled to reach her but were stuck in place – frozen by some unseen force, their limbs flailing uselessly like a bad cartoon.

  ‘Behold, you evil creature. I’m more powerful than the likes of any of
you,’ Hopkins roared. Wind whipped up straw. The tack clinked on the walls. Nehemiah and Samuel continued to fight their paralysis, but in vain.

  ‘Good will prevail over evil. Don’t try to stop this. I can see who you truly are – a lass and a witch as well!’ Hopkins boomed.

  The wind shrieked.

  Hopkins looked through the doorway. ‘Get in here, now!’ he said. Two large men came in. ‘Take her to the house for Watching. You know the place.’

  * * *

  The cart bumped along the cobbled roads. They turned away from the city and its walls. Raya tried to jump off a few times, but the human watchdog held her back. Then he bound her feet and tied a rope around her with Oscar tucked in her arms. She sang him songs, a lullaby she hadn’t known she remembered. After about ten minutes, the cart was on dirt roads.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked the watchdog. He opened an eye, but didn’t answer. He went back to sleeping, or pretending.

  ‘Oscar, what do we do now?’ Raya said, even though she’d had no response from him since they were put on the cart. She looked at the fields and occasional houses. Sometimes a horse, some cows or sheep looked up as they passed. She held him in her lap, his paws in her hands. Maybe she could get some help from IHQ.

  She received a quick image of Pavel that disappeared again.

  ‘Pavel? Can you hear me?’ She tried to be receptive, slowed her breathing and relaxed as he had taught her. She got more flashes of Pavel at IHQ with other people around him. The images quickened, like an old-timey film. Pavel looked worried. Then the transmission came in full bore. She sat up, rustled against the wooden cart, stirring the sleeping watchdog. She faked sleep and he left her alone.

  Behind Pavel’s worried, kind face stood Ms Sonya Watts. Other people she didn’t know rushed around, barked out questions, pushed themselves along on wheeled office chairs, at the command centre. She stroked Oscar’s sweaty front paws. She welled up.

  ‘Are they taking me to, you know, to kill me?’ She remembered reading about them ‘swimming witches’ – if they drowned they were innocent, if they didn’t they were guilty so they killed them some other way. She felt numb.