Witch Hunter (21 page)

going on?’

George jerks his head at me. ‘Nicholas needs her.’

My stomach flutters with anxiety.

‘And he needs you, too. He’s not well. Last night took

a toll.’

John swears under his breath. ‘I’ll go now. Can you

take her?’

George nods and they both start towards the door. ‘We’ll

go when you’re ready.’

I still have on the clothes I wore last night: the dark green

trousers, the white shirt. The velvet coat is draped across the

back of John’s chair, the boots underneath it. I draw them

on, run my hands through my tangled hair, pinch some

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colour into my cheeks. I was feeling confident about

Nicholas, that he wouldn’t throw me out of his house, that

I’d get another chance. But now I’m not so sure.

George waits for me outside the door. He gives me a

quick nod, and, without a word, he starts down the hall, the

opposite direction from the stairs.

‘What’s happening?’ I hurry to keep up with him.

He doesn’t reply.

‘He knows about me. Veda told him. Did you

know that?’

George still doesn’t reply. We walk along the hallway

until we reach the double doors at the end.

‘George, what’s going on?’

‘It’s not my place to tell you. You’ll find out soon enough

anyway.’ He gives a quick, staccato knock. My heart is

beating a little too fast, my palms a little too damp. I swipe

them against my trousers.

‘How is he?’

‘Cursed,’ George replies shortly. Then he opens the door.

Inside is an enormous bedchamber. It’s dark, and it takes

a moment for my eyes to adjust. When they do, I see

Nicholas sitting in a chair next to the fireplace, John leaning

over him, speaking to him in a low voice. Nicholas looks so

frail, so fragile, and even from here I can see he’s trembling.

My stomach gives an uncomfortable twist.

‘Please, come in,’ Nicholas says. His voice is hoarse, thin.

George steps aside to let me through. John straightens up

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and makes his way to the door. He stops in front of me.

‘He wants to see you alone,’ he says quietly. ‘It’s

important, I know, but try to keep it quick, all right?’ He

and George leave then, the door closing behind them

with a quiet thump.

Nicholas beckons me to the chair opposite his.

‘Come. Sit.’

I cross the vast bedroom. It’s decorated entirely in shades

of red: red carpet, red walls, red bedcovers. Even the candles

are red, their flames flickering rhythmically off the walls. I

feel as if I’m inside a beating heart.

I settle into the chair. Up close, Nicholas looks even

worse. His skin is ashen, his hair is greyer than it was last

night, even his dark eyes seem grey. For a moment, he just

stares at me.

‘I’d like to talk to you about what happened last night,’

he says, finally.

‘Okay.’ I take a breath. ‘Which part?’

‘About Caleb and the others showing up.’

‘How they found us, you mean?’

He nods. ‘How they found us, how they knew we were

there. That was not guesswork, nor was it an accident. They

knew the location down to the village, the time down to the

hour. How do you suppose they knew that?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘But Blackwell always seems to

know everything. As for how, it could have been as simple

as using a spy, or as complicated as using magic.’

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‘As complicated as using magic,’ Nicholas repeats. ‘Has

it ever occurred to you how odd it is that the Inquisitor –

former Inquisitor, rather – a man who spends his life

rooting out magic and punishing those who practise it, uses

magic himself?’

‘Blackwell doesn’t use magic himself,’ I say. ‘He…

employs the use of magic, if and when it suits his needs.’

‘I fail to see the difference.’

‘There’s a big difference. Blackwell had to use magic to

educate us. To train us. We had to have magic in order

to know how to fight it. He couldn’t very well train us

without it. It would be like trying to train an army without

giving them weapons.’

I repeat the answers Caleb gave me to the very questions

I had asked, time and time again. But Nicholas just shakes

his head.

‘The things you describe, your experience, those were

not simple spells or mere enchantments. The power it

would take would rival my own. However, the lack of

conscience…those creatures…’

‘Blackwell called them hybrids; Caleb called them

halflings. I jokingly called them cockatrices, after the dish I

used to make in the kitchen.’

He nods. ‘But creating living creatures like that is no

joke. It is complex magic – highly difficult, attained through

many years of practise and trial and error. It could not have

been done by just anyone. How did he come by such magic?’

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I have to admit I never questioned exactly how Blackwell

made those things happen. Not that he would have told me

even if I did. He did everything in secrecy, behind closed

doors and blindfolds. I never even saw who marked me

with my stigma. At the time, I didn’t really care.

‘Caleb said he used some of the wizards we captured to

do things for him,’ I say. ‘There were plenty of wizards we

arrested that I never saw burn.’

Nicholas goes still.

‘Why is he after you?’ he says after a moment.

‘What do you mean?’ I say. ‘You know why.’

He waves it away. ‘What is it about you that makes him

so determined to find you? I’m a far bigger prize than a

sixteen-year-old girl. Why did he go through the effort of

trumping up charges for you? Do you really believe he

thinks you’re a witch? A spy? A traitor?’

‘He told me I was a liability.’

‘He may have been telling the truth about that. At

least, the truth the way he sees it. Rather, the way it has

been foreseen.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m talking about the tablet.’

I frown. ‘Are you saying Blackwell had me arrested

because he knew I could find your tablet?’

‘Yes.’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t see how he could possibly

know that.’

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‘No? You said yourself Blackwell used magic if and when

it suited his needs. Wouldn’t it be possible, then, that he

used a seer?’

I shake my head again, but he presses on.

‘It would explain how he found us at Veda’s, how he

knew you were here. Perhaps you saw one in his room,

someone you mistook for a servant. Perhaps even a child?’

I think back to the night Richard took me to Blackwell,

the boy I saw scurrying down the hall. He was about five

years old, the same age as Veda. I look up to see Nicholas

watching me. He just nods.

‘So he has a seer,’ I say. ‘It doesn’t mean anything.’

Nicholas takes a breath, as though his words were a

weight he was about to lift.

‘Elizabeth, I’ve been watching Blackwell for a long time.

I watched him go from duke and brother of the king to

Lord Protector, as good as a king. Indeed, if Malcolm had

died from plague, too, Blackwell would be king. I don’t

doubt a day goes by that he doesn’t regret that.’

I can’t disagree. Malcolm knew Blackwell hated him; he

never knew why. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was

because his uncle wished he were dead.

‘With Blackwell, change tends to precede greater change.

A king dies, a duke becomes Protector. A prince becomes

king, the Protector becomes Inquisitor. Now he’s handed

that title over to your friend Caleb. Do you think Blackwell

will be content to go back to being a duke?’

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I suck in a sudden, sharp breath. ‘Do you think he means

to be king?’

‘I think he’s after the greater victory,’ Nicholas replies.

‘Whether that is king or something worse than king.’

Something worse than king. The words send a chill down

my spine.

‘Whatever his plan, he needs me out of the way to

achieve it,’ Nicholas continues. ‘He knew you would

threaten that, so he was forced to take action. I believe it’s

why he’s after you now. I believe it’s why he cursed me.’

‘Why he had you cursed, you mean.’

‘No. I mean why he cursed me.’

His words hang in the air, swooping and swirling above

me like one of Blackwell’s winged reptiles; and when they

land, they pierce me like metal feathers: hard, sharp,

burrowing deep.

‘Why he cursed you,’ I repeat.

Nicholas nods.

‘So you think…you think that…’ I can’t say it.

He says it for me. ‘Blackwell is a wizard.’

I’m on my feet before he finishes the word.

‘No,’ I say. ‘No, no, no.’ I shake my head so hard it hurts.

‘Blackwell is not a wizard. No. That’s ridiculous. It’s

impossible. It’s insane.’

‘He trained you, using magic. He marked you, using

magic. He created things, using magic; and he, himself,

uses magic.’ Nicholas marches through the evidence

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like a barrister before the bar.

‘He didn’t do those things,’ I say wildly. ‘It was the

other wizards. The ones we captured, the ones we didn’t

burn. They did it. Not him.’ I cling to this scrap of possibility

as I might cling to a scrap of rock to keep from falling

off a cliff.

‘No.’ Nicholas’s voice is soft but firm. ‘I told you.

The only witch or wizard who could perform magic like

that is now dead. And they are dead: I witnessed their

deaths myself.’

‘It’s not true. Not true, not true, not true.’ I’m babbling.

‘He led a life of lies,’ Nicholas says quietly, almost

sympathetically. ‘He would have had to; a young wizard

living in a household of Persecutors. At best, they would

have sent him away; at worst, well. We know what they do

to witches and wizards, don’t we?’

I’m still shaking my head.

‘By the time his brother became king, by the time

he opened the door to the possibility of reconciliation

between Persecutors and Reformists, Blackwell’s choice was

made. It wouldn’t be enough for him to be able to finally

use his power. He wanted to rule with it. To take control

after all the years spent relinquishing it. I believe it’s why

he started the plague: to kill the king, to kill Malcolm, to

give him the throne.’

The ground shifts; everything shifts. The rock breaks and

I’m off the cliff now, falling through the air, plummeting

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towards the hard earth and an even harder truth:

Blackwell started the plague.

Blackwell killed my parents.

Blackwell is a wizard.

I sink back into the velvet chair, bury my head in my

hands. I don’t know how long I sit here, in this red, beating

room. It could be minutes; it could be hours.

‘What do I need to do?’ I say, finally. There’s no point in

telling him I can’t find the tablet, that I’m in enough trouble

as it is, that helping him will only make things worse for

me. There is nothing worse than this.

Nicholas nods. ‘First thing – and this is very important

– you cannot let anyone know you are a witch hunter. I

know that George knows. But he can be the only one.’

I frown. ‘Surely they’ll find out,’ I say. ‘If I get hurt, if I

heal, if I’m somehow drawn into a fight…it’s going to be

really hard to keep it from them.’

‘Then I’ll need you to try even harder to keep it secret,’

he says. ‘Don’t get in any fights, and don’t get hurt.’ A pause.

‘I’ve already told them you’re a witch.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Because they need a reason why you’re the one to find

the tablet. They need a reason why you survived jail. And

because you were arrested with those herbs in your pocket,

it’s the reason that makes the most sense.’

‘And what about Blackwell? That he’s a—’ I swallow.

I still can’t say it.

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‘I think it’s best we keep that to ourselves for now. The

truth will come out soon enough.’

I nod.

‘Second, I’m sending you away. Today. You’re to travel

with the others to Stepney Green, to pay a visit to Humbert

Pembroke.’

I blink. Humbert Pembroke is the richest man in

Anglia, next to the king. He’s a great friend of Blackwell’s

and a big supporter of the crown. He’s been a fixture at

court for many years, though I haven’t seen him in a while.

Why him?

‘He’s one of us,’ Nicholas says before I can ask.

I’m so surprised by this it takes me a moment to respond.

‘Why Stepney Green?’ I say. ‘Is that where the tablet is?’