Witch Hunter (10 page)

Most of them are old, grey, 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.

86

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

87

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.

88

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.

89

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 realise 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 favour. 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,

90

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.

91

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.

All I can do now is watch and wait. Watch my

surroundings, watch my back. Wait to get stronger, wait

92

for an opportunity to present itself. It always does.

Satisfied with my plan, I slip under the warm covers.

Within moments, I’m asleep.

When I wake next, it’s daytime. George is standing in

front of the fireplace, poking at a log with his toe. He’s fully

dressed, wearing green trousers, a red-and-white-striped

shirt, and some sort of vest.

‘Good afternoon,’ he says without turning around.

I roll my eyes. ‘Am I ever going to get rid of you?’

‘Is that any way to greet your new best friend?’ He turns

around and gives me a grin. The front of his vest is brightly

embroidered in red, green, and blue, and he’s wearing a

gold brooch with an enormous red feather sticking out of it.

‘You look like a Yule tree. You know that, right?’

‘Wait ’til you see my hat,’ he says. ‘Now get up. I’m

starving and tired of waiting around for you.’

‘What time is it?’

George sniffs the air hopefully. ‘Smells like supper.

You hungry?’

‘Not really,’ I say.

Oddly, I’m not as hungry as I should be, given that I

haven’t eaten in… I have no idea how long.

He nods. ‘John’s been adding things to your potions –

infusions and whatnot – so you wouldn’t starve. I guess

you’re still full from breakfast.’

I feel my eyes go wide. ‘Breakfast? He came in

this morning?’

93

‘Aye, he said he would. Remember?’

‘I remember him saying he would. I don’t remember

him actually doing it.’ I frown. ‘How can you people come

in and make me drink things without me knowing? Or

remembering? That’s not right.’

George looks at me solemnly. ‘Maybe not. But the day

you got here, we thought you were dead. You looked it; you

were damn near to it. John stayed with you, made sure you

didn’t die. He didn’t sleep for nearly three days.’

Three days? My stomach twists with an uncomfortable

mix of gratitude, guilt, and something else I can’t name.

I don’t know what to say.

‘Anyway, when he couldn’t stay awake any longer, I

stepped in,’ George continues. ‘He wanted someone with

you, in case you had a relapse.’

‘It still doesn’t explain why I don’t remember any

of this.’

‘Ah.’ George’s mouth twitches into a smile. ‘As I

say, you looked pretty bad when you got here, so John

brewed something up. He held you, tried to get you to

drink it. As soon as the cup touched your lips, you went

completely mental.’

‘I did?’

‘Aye. Started thrashing, screaming, cursing. You have a

mouth like a pirate, you know that? It’s not very ladylike.’

In the most unladylike way possible, I tell him what he

can do with his opinion.

94

He cracks a laugh. ‘Poor John. You kicked him in the

stomach, drenched him with his own medicine, then banged

him on the head with your cup. He brewed you more but

this time added something to calm you down.’ He smirks.

‘Knocked you out a bit, but it worked.’

‘You don’t say.’

‘Oh yes. No more privy-mouth Lizzie. Got real sweet

after you drank it, all smiles and sugar. We decided that

version of you was easier to manage, so we kept giving it to

you. Do you know you talk in your sleep?’

‘I do not,’ I say, horrified.

He nods. ‘I’ve been with you every night and getting an

earful. Swoony little maid, you are, going on about running

off with some boy. Caleb, is it?’

Damnation.

‘It’s nothing,’ I say quickly.

‘It’s the stuff of romance books.’ George smirks. ‘Who

needs knights in shining armour or handsome princes

when you have Ca-leb?’ He draws out his name in a

singsong voice.

‘It’s not like that.’ I feel my face go hot again. ‘He’s

a friend.’

Then I stop. If George bothers to ask around, he’ll realise

exactly who Caleb is. And if he knows I’m friends with a

witch hunter, it won’t be long before he knows that’s what I

am, too. I can’t exactly lie and say I don’t know him, not

after I talked about him in my sleep. The only thing I can do

95

is put as much distance between us as possible.

‘But I haven’t seen him in years,’ I add quickly. ‘We grew

up together. Worked in the kitchens together. I liked it; he

didn’t. So we went our separate ways.’ It’s not too far from

the truth, anyway. ‘I guess I just miss him sometimes. You