Witch Hunter (30 page)

Schuyler.

I turn to Fifer. ‘Stay behind me. Whatever he’s doing in

there, he won’t like being surprised.’ It occurs to me that

while I don’t think Schuyler will hurt Fifer, he won’t have

any problem hurting me.

Fifer reaches into her bag, pulls out Humbert’s spring-

loaded dagger, and hands it to me.

‘I don’t think this will help,’ I say.

‘Maybe not,’ she says. ‘But there’s no sense going in

empty-handed.’

I take it and press the button in the handle. With a tiny

click, the single blade splits into three. Fifer pulls a small

canvas sack from her bag and ties it around her waist.

‘Salt,’ she whispers. ‘Just in case. It won’t stop him,

either, but it’ll slow him down if we need to get away.’

We slip through the narrow opening into a small room

unlike anything I’ve ever seen. A thick carpet of moss covers

the floor and the walls. Long tentacles of it hang from the

ceiling, and the air smells damp and earthy, like a forest

after a storm. In the centre of the room is a single, moss-

covered tomb. Schuyler stands in front of it, holding an

enormous sword. His head whips around as we enter the

room, and immediately he takes a swing.

Fifer screams and I drop to the ground, feeling a rush of

wind as the blade skims the top of my head.

‘Flamin’ hell, Elizabeth!’ Schuyler lowers the sword. ‘I

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coulda killed you. And you!’ He looks at Fifer. ‘What are

you doing here?’

‘What am I doing here? What are you doing here?’ Fifer

steps over me and advances on him, pointing her finger in

his face. ‘Explain yourself!’

An unmistakable look of guilt flashes across Schuyler’s

face.

‘Ah. Yes. Well, it’s all a bit of a faff, really—’

‘It looks pretty simple to me.’ She points at the sword.

‘You’re stealing that, aren’t you?’

Schuyler scratches the back of his neck. ‘It’s not what it

looks like.’

‘What is it, then?’

Schuyler doesn’t reply.

‘Tell me,’ Fifer says.

‘I can’t,’ he says.

‘Tell me now,’ Fifer repeats. ‘Or I swear to you I’ll walk

out of here and you’ll never see me again.’ Her words are

angry, only she doesn’t sound angry. She sounds upset.

Schuyler looks at her for a moment, then steps forward

and takes her hand. Fifer doesn’t move. They stand there,

hands clasped, staring at each other in a way that makes me

think I shouldn’t be here.

She rises on her toes and leans against him, her

lips moving towards his, as if she’s about to kiss him.

Schuyler’s eyes are as round as mine feel; he looks as if

he’s about to devour her on the spot. Then, in a flash, she

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snatches the sword from his hand.

It takes a moment for him to snap out of his daze.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

Fifer backs away from him, pointing the sword at

his chest.

‘Taking this. Until you tell me what you need it for.’

Schuyler’s eyes gleam with anger, and I feel a prickle

of fear. I can’t decide if Fifer is ridiculously brave or

ridiculously foolish.

He whirls around then – the movement so sudden and

fast it makes me jump – and reaches into the tomb. He

yanks out a scabbard. It was once brown leather, I suppose,

but now it’s as green as everything else around us.

‘Do you know what this place is?’ He fastens the scabbard

around his waist.

Fifer shakes her head. She’s standing close to me now; I

can feel her trembling.

‘It’s the tomb of the Green Knight,’ Schuyler says. ‘Heard

of him?’

Fifer shakes her head again.

‘What about that?’ Schuyler points at the sword. ‘Called

the Azoth. Lots of fairy tales told about it. Elizabeth, surely

you’ve heard one or two.’

Fifer looks at me; we both look at the sword. The blade is

huge: made of silver, cut through with swirls of bronze,

three feet long at least. The hilt is solid bronze, encrusted

with emeralds of every shape, size and shade of green.

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‘Blackwell didn’t spend much time tucking me in and

reading me bedtime stories, so no. I’ve never heard of it.’

Schuyler raises his eyebrows. ‘Funny. Because it was

Blackwell who hired me to bring it to him.’

Fifer and I exchange a rapid glance.

‘Perhaps hired is the wrong word,’ Schuyler continues.

‘I think his exact words were “bring it to me or I’ll drag

you to the gallows in chains, hang you ’til you’re near gone,

then slit you from breath to belly, pull out your innards and

set them alight while you watch—” ’

‘Stop,’ Fifer whispers, her face ashen. ‘Stop.’

‘What does Blackwell want with this sword?’ I say.

‘They say this sword is the most powerful of its kind in

existence,’ Schuyler replies. ‘It can cut through anything.

Stone, steel, bone—’ He breaks off with a nasty grin. ‘They

say whoever possesses it can never be defeated. Not by

weapons, not by magic, not by anything.’

‘The most powerful of its kind in existence?’ Fifer glances

at the sword. ‘What kind?’

Schuyler flashes her a look. ‘The cursed kind, of course.’

Fifer lets out a squeak.

‘You can’t be cursed just by holding it,’ he says. ‘You

have to use it. That’s how the sword works. The more you

use it, the more powerful you become, until you’re

invincible. That’s when the curse takes hold.’

‘How so?’ I say.

‘The sword starts to take its power back. It gets stronger,

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the man weaker, until he’s dependent upon it to survive.

Once our knight here realised that, it was too late. Because

the only way to get rid of the curse is to get rid of the sword.

And the only way to do that is to lose it in battle. Only he

couldn’t do it. He was too powerful.’

I’m drawn into the story despite myself.

‘So how did it end up here?’

‘Dying with the sword is the only other way to break the

curse,’ Schuyler says. ‘So the knight found a witch, had her

entomb him here, even had her put a spell on it so that no

one could free him as long as he was still alive. I suppose

that was in case he changed his mind.’

I give an involuntary shudder.

‘What does Blackwell want with a cursed sword?’

Fifer says.

Schuyler shrugs. ‘I don’t think he cares about being

cursed. At least not as much as he cares about being

invincible.’

‘You can’t let him have it,’ I say.

‘Interesting request, coming from a witch hunter,’

Schuyler says.

‘She’s right,’ Fifer says. ‘You can’t.’

‘You want me to die?’ He fires back.

‘Of course not!’

‘What would you have me do, then?’

‘Leave it! Just leave it and walk away.’

‘And go where? If I don’t bring him this sword—’

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‘You might live,’ Fifer says. ‘But if you bring it to him,

he’ll kill you anyway. Surely you know that.’

‘He gave me his word,’ Schuyler says.

Fifer whirls to face me. ‘Elizabeth, what do you say to

that? What is Blackwell’s word worth?’

I hesitate. I was loyal to Blackwell for so long that even

now – even after he threw me in jail and sentenced me and

turned his back on me, after he lied to me – I still hesitate to

speak against him.

So I just shake my head.

Schuyler swears under his breath.

‘And is that what you really want?’ Fifer continues.

‘For Blackwell to become invincible?’

‘It doesn’t matter what I want,’ Schuyler says. ‘I have to

do this.’

‘No, you don’t!’

Schuyler marches towards us. Eyes narrowed, reaching

for the sword. A thrill of fear rushes through me as I reach

over, plunge my hand into the bag of salt hanging at Fifer’s

waist, and fling a handful of it in Schuyler’s face.

He lets out an agonised shriek – uncomfortably

reminiscent of the sound that ghoul made when I threw

salt on him, too – and falls to the ground, covering his face

and rolling around, his movement slow and sluggish from

the salt.

Fifer looks momentarily stunned. She grabs another

handful and flings it at him, then drops beside him and

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pulls out a fistful of something green and sweet-smelling –

Is that peppermint? – shoving it down his shirt, into his

boots, even down his trousers. Eventually Schuyler stops

moaning and falls still.

She puts her mouth to his ear. ‘I’m doing this for your

own good,’ she whispers. Then she jumps to her feet. ‘We’ve

got about twenty minutes before he comes to. Believe me,

we want to be long gone before he does. So grab that torch

and let’s go.’ Clutching the sword, she dashes to the door

and slips through the opening.

I retract the knife and slip it into my boot. As I pass

the tomb to get the torch, I pause to look. Inside is the

perfectly preserved body of a knight. True to his name,

he’s completely green: green hair, green skin – even his

armour is green.

Fascinating.

Fifer sticks her head back in the door. ‘Elizabeth!’

‘Coming.’ I snatch the torch off the wall, and, as I

pull away, the flame lights up the stone slab enclosing

the knight’s tomb, and I notice something I didn’t see

before. Markings. Etchings of some sort. Some are

letters, some symbols. Runic alphabet, I suppose, very

ancient magic. I don’t understand them, though their

meaning is clear enough: This knight was buried beneath a

curse tablet.

I slip out the door, and Fifer and I start running, out of

the tunnel, over the stones, and down the hill.

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‘That was quick thinking,’ Fifer says. ‘With the salt.

I thought we were done for.’

‘What was that you stuck in his trousers? Was that

peppermint?’

She nods. ‘It gives him terrible hives. He’ll be covered in

a rash for weeks. And in a very painful place, too.’

I start laughing then. I can’t help it. After a moment,

Fifer joins in.

We stop a moment to get our bearings. We’re somewhere

halfway up the hill now. Below us are the lake and the party

beyond, still going strong.

‘Well?’ Fifer holds up the Azoth. ‘This is it, right? The

thing you were supposed to find?’

I shake my head. ‘No. Nicholas said I’d know it

when I saw it, and this sword doesn’t mean anything to

me at all.’

Fifer looks from me to the sword then back again. ‘Are

you sure? Here. Take another look.’ She thrusts the sword

at me; I take a quick step back.

‘Watch it,’ I snap.

‘Sorry,’ she says, not sounding the least bit. ‘But – the

prophecy. What he holds in death will lead you to thirteen.

The knight was holding the sword. And it’s the reason

Schuyler is here.’ Fifer makes an exasperated noise. ‘This

has to be it.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘But this isn’t it.’ Fifer looks so

disappointed I almost feel sorry for her. ‘Look,’ I continue,

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‘it’s not all bad, is it? Blackwell wanted it, and now he’s

not going to get it. Especially if it really does what Schuyler

says it does.’

‘I guess.’ Fifer shrugs. ‘What should we do with it? We

need to keep looking, but I don’t want to drag it down there

with all those people. Even if they don’t know what it is,

they might take an interest in it for no other reason than

all these jewels.’ She twists the Azoth in her hand, the

emeralds glinting even in the muted torchlight.

‘Let’s take it back to Humbert’s,’ I say. ‘We can leave

it in the cathedral and come back. How long does this

party go on?’

‘A while,’ Fifer says. ‘Especially on the last night. Could

go ’til dawn, at least.’

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I don’t know what we’ll do about

Schuyler—’

‘I have more peppermint,’ Fifer says. ‘And more salt. I

brought enough to stun a revenant army. And I’m angry as

hell. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay away.’

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We make our way through the woods, back in the direction

of Humbert’s. I toss the torch on the ground and stamp it

out: if Schuyler does come to, there’s no sense in making it

easy for him to follow us.

Fifer walks beside me, swinging the Azoth back and

forth. Maybe I should be thinking about Blackwell, about

his wanting the sword, if it really does what Schuyler says it

does. But for some reason, my mind is on the knight, still

and green in his tomb.

‘Why do you suppose he was so green?’ I say. ‘The