Fire Girl (18 page)

Hazel stopped breathing. Trapped in the box with a face stricken with terror was Bramley.

‘For his services to the advancement of science and

invention I present Witch Finder Captain Titus White

with this master-crafted wrist-mounted pistol.’

Simon Winters, Grand Master of the College of Witch Finders

‘S
o you knew I was a witch all along?’ Hazel fumed as David tied her to a chair.

Titus towered over her. ‘Of course. Why else would a man like Murrell be interested in you? And despite my apprentice’s various faults, I trust his word. I’m surprised you
thought you could convince me otherwise.’ He appraised her like a man deciding if a horse was worth his hard-earned money. ‘Perhaps you’re not as bright as I thought.’

Bright? I’m the stupidest girl who ever lived. Why did I ever think I could fool him?

David gave his knots an experimental yank.

‘Ow!’ she yelped, kicking out at him.

‘Better tie her ankles too,’ Titus said.

‘Why bother? Why not just kill me now? That’s your job, isn’t it, Witch Finder?’ she said as David lashed her feet to the chair legs.

‘Don’t presume you know me, girl,’ Titus said. ‘I’m letting you live. Although if you test my patience much further I might change my mind.’

‘What do you want from me?’

‘For now, I want you to be quiet and let me and the boy get on with our job.’

‘To hunt my ma? Well, I won’t let you. I’ll—’

‘Quiet,’ Titus snapped. ‘It’s not her I want.’ He sat down at the table, fists clenched. ‘It’s Murrell I’m after. David, bring me the map of
Wychwood. We need to work out a route to Rivenpike.’

‘Look,’ Hazel said, ‘if it’s Murrell you want, let me help you.’

‘We don’t need help,’ Titus said. He weighed down the map with books and then conferred quietly with David. Bramley stared helplessly at Hazel from his glass-fronted cage.

She craned her neck and noticed that a direct path to Rivenpike through the forest was shorter than the route the wagon would have to take by road.
If I can escape I can get to Rivenpike and
find Ma first
, she thought.
But only if I can escape . . .

Titus straightened up. ‘Is that clear, boy?’

David nodded eagerly. ‘We track this Murrell to Rivenpike and see what he’s up to. And if we can, arrest him.’

‘And what about my mother?’ Hazel said.

David cast Hazel a poisonous look. ‘She’ll have to take her chances.’

Hazel embraced her anger like a long lost friend, feeling hot magic flowing back into her veins.

‘She’s getting ready to cast,’ Titus said, jumping to his feet. ‘Get the Syphon, boy, quickly.’

David rummaged through the wooden trunk labelled ‘Misc’.

Hazel recoiled as Titus grasped her chin in strong fingers. ‘Anger’s the trigger, isn’t it?’

‘Gerroff me,’ Hazel spluttered. She tried to gather her magic but it felt slippery, impossible to grab.

‘Where does it spring from?’ He narrowed his eyes, as if trying to stare into her soul. ‘Ah yes, your heart. It brims, doesn’t it?’

‘I can’t find it, Boss,’ David said, an edge of panic in his voice.

‘It’s there, under the telescope stand. Hurry up – she’ll incinerate us both if you dither much longer.’

‘Got it!’ David hauled a glass tube banded with copper out of the trunk. At first Hazel thought it was some sort of telescope – until she saw the plunger at one end and a
wicked looking needle sticking out of the other. It looked grotesquely surgical.

‘. . . What’s that?’ she said.

Titus let go of her chin. ‘I call it the Syphon,’ he said, taking it from David. ‘We can’t have you using your magic on us.’

Hazel shrank back into her chair. ‘You cowards – I don’t even know how to use my magic.’

‘We both know that’s not true.’ Titus pushed the plunger down the tube with a sibilant hiss. ‘And remember – I know what an accomplished liar you are.’

Before Hazel could reply, Titus pressed the blunt tip of the needle against her heart and heaved back on the plunger. Tongues of fire, red as blood, licked up the needle and filled the syringe.
Hazel tried to scream as her magic leaked away, leaving her numb and shivering.

Titus handed the Syphon to David. It was full of bubbling orange liquid. She stared dazedly at it.
So that’s what my magic looks like.
Her heart fluttered like a wounded bird.

As David locked it away in a trunk, Titus pressed a cup to Hazel’s mouth. ‘Drink,’ he said.

You’ll pay for this
, she thought, glaring at him as she slurped the water.

The old Witch Finder turned to David. ‘Get us moving. We’ve got a long journey ahead. Wake me at sunset and I’ll take over the driving.’

David climbed through the hatch, closing it behind him as Titus collapsed on to his bunk. Soon his snores were mingling with the creak of the wagon.

It’s now or never
, Hazel thought. After a few deep breaths, she bunched her fists and strained against the ropes. The chair creaked and the rope’s rough fibres bit her skin,
but it was no use – she simply didn’t have the strength. She slumped forward and closed her eyes.

Orange light filtered through her eyelids and warmth bathed her face, as if someone had opened a stove door. Bramley was standing with his front paws pressed against his cage door. Flames poured
from his fur, licking against the glass.

That’s it, my clever little mouse!

Clear rivulets of molten glass ran on to the table, blackening the wood, until Bramley had melted a hole big enough to wiggle through.

Hazel glanced at Titus.
Thank the sky he’s such a deep sleeper
.

With startling agility, Bramley leaped across the table and landed on her lap. He mouthed, ‘Hello,’ and began to chew through the rope binding her left wrist. Hazel counted the
seconds, forcing herself to sit motionless until the rope slithered to the floor.

She grinned with delight as Bramley scrambled up her arm and pressed himself against her neck.

‘Took your time, didn’t you?’ she whispered.

He nipped her ear. ‘Stop dithering and get the rest of those ropes undone.’

Eyes fixed on Titus, Hazel flexed some movement back into her fingers and set to work.

Slowly, agonizingly, she teased loose the knot around her other wrist. The second rope hit the floor. The chair creaked as she leaned down to untie her ankles. A lump of panic grew in her chest
as the rope refused to loosen.
Come on, damn you!

Bramley nudged her cheek. ‘Slowly,’ he murmured. ‘Just take it slowly.’

Hazel closed her eyes, took a deep breath and went back to working on the knots. Samson gave a whine and stood up.

‘Hush, boy,’ Hazel whispered, glancing nervously at Titus. ‘Everything’s all right.’

The coarse rope rubbed her fingers raw, but she didn’t stop until they were all undone. She gripped the chair arms and stood up . . .

Cramp locked around her legs like a vice
.
She toppled forward, just managing to grab the table to keep herself from falling. It juddered across the floor, stopping an inch from
Titus’s outstretched leg. The tobacco jar teetered on the edge; Hazel was too slow to catch it. It crashed to the floor and rumbled into a corner. Titus stirred and rolled over.

Still propped up by the table, Hazel bit back a scream as fresh spasms seized her muscles, turning them into rock-hard lumps of agony. Seconds scraped past. She risked putting her full weight on
to her left leg, then her right. The cramp released its grip, leaving behind a dull throb. Keeping half an eye on Titus, Hazel picked up the map and tucked it under her arm.

The Grinder and a pair of Entropy Goggles glinted on the workbench.
They might come in useful
, she thought to herself. She unhooked her bag from the door and placed everything inside.

‘Get that apple over there,’ Bramley whispered. ‘I’m starving.’

Hazel did as he asked, then opened the door and peered outside. The air felt wonderfully cool. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the branches, dappling the forest track with patches of
gold. Freedom beckoned.

‘Samson, be a good boy and stay,’ she said.

The huge dog gave a whine but sat down obediently. Sighing with relief, Hazel leaped to the ground and scuttled into the trees. Crouching behind a holly bush, she watched the wagon disappear
round a bend.

How long would it take for Titus and David to discover she had escaped? Would they turn back and try to capture her?

No point hanging around to find out
, she thought.
Best get out of sight
.

Experiments have shown that a Wielder spawns

magic from her corrupted bodily organs.

The English Witch Plague
by Jacob Sprenger

‘W
ell,’ Bramley said from behind her ear,
‘that
was close. I assume you’ve got fresh ideas on how to get us into yet
more trouble?’

Hazel pushed through some trailing creepers. ‘I’m working on a few.’ She glanced over her shoulder to check that the road was out of sight.

Faded ribbons of sunlight trailed through the green canopy of branches. The air was warm, but Hazel hardly felt it due to the aching, magic-less void in her heart. She pulled her cloak tighter
around her shoulders, cursing Titus and his Syphon.

‘Do you think my magic will come back?’ she said. ‘I feel so cold without it. Sort of empty.’

‘I don’t know for sure, but I think it will over time. You’ll just have to be patient.’

Hazel slid down a ditch, stepped over the sluggish brook at the bottom and climbed laboriously up the other side, noticing how much heavier her bag was now.

‘So,’ she said, ‘tell me what happened back there in Mary’s cabin.’

‘Er . . . well, Titus came back after you’d foolishly fallen asleep. Then he put me in that confounded cage – after quite a struggle, I can tell you – and carried you out
to the wagon,’ Bramley said.

‘Why didn’t you try to warn me?’

‘I . . . er—’

‘You were asleep as well, weren’t you?’