The Return of the Witch (8 page)

“Please, help yourself,” he said, taking a stone jar of ale from the highest shelf and using his sleeve to wipe dust off two earthenware beakers. “The cheese is unremarkable, but the bread is delicious, if I say so myself. I baked it yesterday. One of the advantages of my newfound trade; a miller is never short of flour. “'Tis only cheat bread, but fortunately I am a more accomplished baker than I am a miller. Come along, tuck in, I'll have no guest of mine die starving of manners.”

He sat opposite me and began carving generous chunks from the loaf with the same bone-handled knife I had seen him use on the sacks earlier. Even slicing bread was a task he tackled with alarming speed, the blade glinting in the summer sunshine, yet more flour rising up from the crust of the loaf.

“I am a little confused,” I told him.

“No doubt. Everyone always is. Lots of questions, naturally. Ask away!”

“I had anticipated some manner of communication between us before … before we were to travel.”

“I heard your call, loud and clear. Very good it was, very…” he paused, motionless for the briefest of moments, eyes raised to the high ceiling as he searched for the appropriate word. “… forceful,” he said at last, before resuming piling food onto his wooden platter.

“But, how did you know where … when I wanted to go to? I had given you but the scantest details.”

“English Civil War,” he spoke as he chewed. “Batchcombe Hall.” He used his knife to point over his left shoulder, evidently indicating the location of the great house. “Plenty to be going on with.”

“As I recall, this country was engaged in sporadic war for over fifteen years. I only mentioned summer, and some details regarding the uniforms. You may have brought me to the right place, but what of the time? We could be years adrift from the date Gideon disappeared to.”

“Possible,” he conceded, washing down his bread and cheese with a long gulp of ale, “but unlikely.”

His relaxed attitude began to grate upon me. “Mr. Balmoral…”

“Oh, call me Erasmus, I implore you!”

“… I do not think you are fully aware of the gravity of the situation.”

“Am I not?”

“I am not here on some flight of fancy. I did not undertake Time Stepping lightly. I understand it is not without risk. I have come here because I must, because someone dear to me, someone who depends upon my help, is in great danger. I must find her, and I must find her quickly. To be successful it is imperative I have arrived at the right time. I cannot afford to let the trail go cold. Tegan's very life depends on my finding her before … well, the point is, there is no time to be wasted. I have neither the patience nor the wish to observe the niceties of being a guest, or to take in the view, or to sit here while a violent, evil man holds an innocent young woman captive.”

Erasmus finished his mouthful, dabbed at his lips with a floury kerchief, which he then dropped onto his plate, before leaning back in his chair. He studied me, his head tilted, and when he spoke his voice was, for the first time, level and serious.

“Madam, trust me when I tell you no one engages in the potentially perilous business of Time Stepping without a compelling reason to do so. Aside from the individual's own wishes, no Time Stepper would agree to be of service to them for, as you so quaintly put it, a ‘flight of fancy.' What is more, whilst you yourself are by all accounts a highly able and much respected witch, and a near immortal one at that, kindly allow that I am an expert in my own field. I would never,
never,
Step blindly. I always know precisely where and when I am to travel to, with whom, and to what end. You informed me whom we were in pursuit of, and this information enabled me to pinpoint their chosen time.”

“But, Gideon is adept at cloaking his location,” I protested, shaking my head. “I cannot see him. Even with the assistance of the Goddess and the help of my sister witches I was unable to stir a vision of him. Had I not had the help of the wood faeries I would not know what little I do of his whereabouts. How is it, then, that you believe you have traced him? How are your powers of divination in such an instance more effective than my own?”

“In all probability, they are not. So it is as well that I had another avenue of exploration open to me. As you say, this warlock is able to cover his tracks extremely well. Whatever cloaking spells he uses are complex and not easily broken. However, he is not a Time Stepper. Though he is immortal, he does not have the ability to jump from one era to another, back and fore, as his will dictates. No, that skill is denied him. He was not born to it, and he will never be given it. Such a man would be forever excluded from our ranks. So, it follows that to journey as he has done he would have to have employed the services of one such as myself.”

“Another Time Stepper? Would they have agreed to help him?”

“It is possible they had no choice. Few would attempt to coerce one of my society to work for them, but I fear Gideon Masters is one of those few. Whatever his methods of
persuasion
, it seems he found a Time Stepper unable to refuse his request.” He waited for me to take in this information and then clarified further. “Your warlock I could not follow, but another Time Stepper leaves a trail as clear to me as footprints in the snow.”

“Then we are arrived at the right moment, it is certain?” When he nodded I rushed on. “And have you found him, this other Time Stepper? Have you been able to question him further? It might be that he can shed some light on where Gideon is hiding Tegan. He might have valuable information for us.”

“Alas, if he did he took it with him to his grave.”

I was shocked but not surprised. “I'm sorry,” I said, seeing Erasmus's sorrow at the death of one of his own, a shadow passing over his naturally cheerful face. “Gideon's ruthlessness knows no bounds. Which is why I must begin my search as soon as possible. We do at least know that he and Tegan are here somewhere?”

“We do.” He paused and then asked, “Are you confident you are a match for your opponent when we find him?”

The baldness of the query took me by surprise. It was a fair question, and one I asked of myself often, but it was as if I were facing it anew hearing it spoken aloud by someone else.

“I will have to be,” I told him. “There is no one else to help Tegan. She is in danger because of me. It is up to me to save her.”

“Laudable sentiments, but ones that may get us both killed, judging by the fate of my fellow Stepper.”

“I had not thought to put you in peril, beyond the Stepping, that is.”

“What am I here to do if not to see that your journey is safe and successful? Of course I shall assist you in any way I can, and to do that, I need to know more about our adversary. What can you tell me of him that may be of use?”

It was hard to know where to begin; how to give a clear and accurate summary of such a man as Gideon Masters.

“He is single-minded, without pity, unable or unwilling to consider the value of another unless it is someone who matters to him. And even then he can turn from obsessive love to murderous hatred with breathtaking ease.”

“You sound as if you were once the recipient of these … affections.”

“I was. Indeed, he hates me still, and I believe he is using Tegan to punish me, even after all these long years.”

“It seems an extreme course of action, I mean to say, extreme for a snubbed lover or ally or whatever. Forgive me, I am not implying that you might not inspire such … passion, only that, well, if the man is as clever and as skilled in magic as you claim him to be, such sustained fury seems out of proportion to a bruised heart and dented pride.”

“I can only tell you how he has behaved in the past. I admit I don't know if he has a new motivation, a new goal. If he does, I have yet to discover it.”

Erasmus shrugged and grinned. “Until he reveals it, then, we will consider him a spurned lover, harboring a centuries-long grudge, furious at having had his liberty taken from him for five years, bent on paying you back for the wrongs he believes you have done to him…”

“… and prepared to kill anyone in order to do so,” I added.

“So it would seem,” he agreed. “A warlock, you said in your summoning. Given to using aliases, then?”

“Indeed he has used many variations on his name…” I stopped speaking as, at that moment, a movement caught my eye. Aloysius had been tempted from his hiding place by the smell of fresh bread and pungent cheese. He scampered across the table. With startling speed my host drew back his knife and threw it. I had not time to shout, but instinctively released a protective pulse of magic that reached the mouse a fraction of a second before the blade, deflecting the knife and sending it crashing to the floor. It was not a spell as such, not a considered act. It was a witch responding faster than reason when someone close to her is threatened.

“Good lord!” Erasmus exclaimed.

“This is Aloysius. He is accompanying me on my quest,” I explained, breaking off a morsel of cheese and feeding it to the mouse, who was utterly unperturbed.

“I don't know which surprises me more,” Erasmus said, retrieving his knife, “that your skill is so impressive, or that you choose to bring a rodent with you.”

“He belongs to Tegan. He may be of assistance.” When this remark was met with raised eyebrows, I went on, “He is no ordinary mouse.”

Erasmus laughed loudly at this. “I fear his singularity may be lost on the family of cats that patrol the mill!”

“We will be on our guard for predators,” I assured him. “And we would appreciate your not using him for target practice.”

“Forgive me … Aloysius, was it?” He made a solemn bow to the mouse. “I rarely fling knives at my guests. I promise not to do it again. You are most welcome here.” He poured us both a little more ale. “Now, to matters of business,” he said, leaning forward in his seat. “I have to tell you there are certain conventions concerning Time Stepping which will be required of you.”

“I had expected as much.”

“First, you cannot discuss how you come to be here with anyone. Our work is protected by secrecy, you would quite probably be thought a lunatic, and, given the year…”

“If anyone did believe me I would likely be accused of witchcraft. Trust me, that is a charge over my very long life I have become adept at avoiding.”

He looked at me thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said, “I imagine it must be. Good. Second, and this goes with the first, on no account is the Time Stepper to impart knowledge of the future, whether it be events, developments, discoveries, or expertise in any guise whatsoever. Which is to say, no telling someone something about things from beyond their possible lifetime, no writing it down, painting a picture of it, nothing of that sort.”

“Of course.”

“And third, you must have a name and a position fitting for the society and time to which you have journeyed. In your particular case we must be particularly careful. As I understand it you were born and raised in the area and lived here into your teens. There is a chance you may be recognized.”

“And, as I left fleeing the local gaol under charge of being a witch, I certainly don't wish to remind anyone of who I am or why I disappeared.”

“Precisely so. You need to have a new name. I am unknown here, and so can use my own, and as such I have already established my identity as a cousin of the miller whom I have replaced.”

“Can I ask what happened to him?”

“Do not concern yourself on his account. I do not function under the same ethics as the somewhat single-minded Mr. Masters. He was approached by a Time Stepper already resident in this time and paid for his temporary absence and permanent silence.”

“You must have to be very certain of the loyalty of a string of people whom you do not know well.”

“Our continued existence is testimony to the belief that every man has his price, Mistress…? Well, what am I to call you?”

“Carmichael,” I said, “Mistress Carmichael.” The name brought a familiar tightening to my chest even after so many years. I had loved deeply only once in my life. If there had ever been anyone's name I would have happily taken, it would have been dear Archie's. At least now, for a short time, I could remember him this way. We had met in the midst of another war. While death marched across the battle-scarred land and Archie led his men from the trenches and I nursed the wounded, we found each other. And for the briefest of times I allowed myself to love. Yet again, it was not I who paid the price for that. A price that Gideon exacted.

“Excellent!” Erasmus brought me back from my memories. “You are my widowed sister, come to visit. I must caution you to be on your guard. What age were you when you fled, and in what year?”

“I was sixteen. The year was 1628.”

“Nineteen years before this date. In the natural order of things you would be … let me see … thirty-five years old.” He looked at me anew, calculating, wondering, and then nodded and shrugged. “Yes, it's plausible.”

“You are too gallant.”

“Forgive me, I was not attempting to flatter. My point is that, should you be recognized, less suspicion will be aroused if you look how you might be expected to look. If you were either ridiculously young in appearance or markedly old, well, that in itself would suggest something amiss. In any case, it is best if you keep yourself to yourself.”

“And how am I to do that when I need to search for Tegan? I must talk to people who might have seen her, I must ask questions.”

“You will be of no use to your friend in a cell. Or … worse. Be cautious, madam. That is all I ask.”

 

6

I waited impatiently until dusk and then made my way to the woods at the far edge of the meadow. I needed to spell cast in order to try and detect Tegan, and for this I needed darkness, and a place of shelter and calm. Such ancient woodlands as those of Batchcombe teemed with an ethereal energy and would amplify any enchantment of my own. As I stepped into the cool embrace of the leafy oaks and beech trees I experienced so many conflicting emotions and sensations. The magic of the forest caused my skin to tingle. Memories flooded back to me, bright and strong. Seeing Gideon here engaged in an act of violence against a lone Gypsy girl. Gideon's hut, deep in the heart of the forest, where he had taught me my first magic. Where I had fallen under his dark spell. And running. Running from him, from the baying mob, from the fate I refused to succumb to. I had to guard against the siren call of feelings past. It was my new position in time, the point where I now found myself, this was where I needed to hold my attention. This was what mattered now. But the events of my youth played themselves out over and over in my mind, flashes of thought, of deed, of love and loss and pain. With my witch's eye I glimpsed little Margaret, my dear lost sister, running among the trees. I could make out the imposing figure of Gideon himself in the shadows, watching and being watched. The scents of the forest—fungi, loam, lichen, wild garlic, fading bluebells, mosses and ferns—all combined into a heady aroma of times past and come again. My mind struggled to find order in it all. I felt Gideon moving closer but could not tell if it was the memory of him or his presence in that very moment. All at once I felt trapped by the trees, penned in by their towering trunks, held back by the tangle of low branches and thickets of brambles and vine. If Gideon came to me here, now, I was not prepared, was not equipped to face him. I wanted to run, to dash back out into the open space of the meadow, but I so dearly wanted to call out to Tegan, too. If Gideon was close, truly close, then might not she be also? It was too dangerous, too much was at stake. If I played my hand badly, Gideon would, at the very least, be forewarned of my presence. At worst, well, to face him insufficiently defended would be foolish indeed. I turned and strode through the woods, tramping the forest floor with determined feet, endeavoring to give myself the courage I needed not to run like a frightened child. My moment with Gideon would come, but this was not it. Not here, not yet.