The Crystal Prison

by Robin Jarvis

  Isaac looked doubtful. He took his position as mousebrass maker extremely seriously. He considered the suggestion but declined.

  ‘I will not presume upon my Lord,’ he explained. ‘I will not anger him by making a brass of my own design. I must know it to be his will.’

  Madame Akkikuyu sighed, but there was one more trick up Nicodemus’ sleeve. He had been prepared for Isaac’s piety and had instructed her to take him to the owl tree and wait there.

  ‘Nettley,’ she said, ‘it hot in here, I go for walk. Come join me, leave your danglers and talk with Akkikuyu.’

  Isaac was unwilling: others in Fennywolde might see him and he did not want that. As if she understood this, Madame Akkikuyu added, ‘We not go to Hall, we walk in meadow!’ Mr Nettle agreed and he followed her out of the forge.

  As they walked Madame Akkikuyu pointed out plants and reeled off their good – or bad – qualities. Mr Nettle tried to listen and pay attention but his mind was elsewhere. Inside, he was seething. The thought of Audrey Brown, that odious town mouse who had wrought so much grief and harm, inflamed him and his fingers itched for his hammer. What could be done with her? Her crimes were too great to go unpunished. If she was a witch then there was only one way to deal with her. He wondered if the Fennywolders would agree with him.

  When Mr Nettle next looked up they had left the meadow and he drew a sharp breath. Madame Akkikuyu had steered him towards the oaks and the sight of them brought the pain of his loss back to him.

  ‘Why are we here?’ he questioned her with a faltering voice.

  ‘Oh me!’ said Akkikuyu, trying to sound shocked that she could have been so thoughtless and unsympathetic.

  ‘Silly Akkikuyu – her head not screwed on today. Come Nettley we go from here.’ She moved back a few paces and observed Isaac keenly. He seemed to have seen something near one of the roots and he made no attempt to follow her.

  ‘Look!’ he said. ‘There’s a shining thing over yonder. What can it be?’

  Akkikuyu squinted in the direction he was pointing. The fierce light of the sun was reflecting off something down there. Isaac walked up to the great root cautiously.

  ‘Oh no Nico,’ she breathed to herself, ‘not this – he suffer enough.’

  When Mr Nettle reached the great root he fell to his knees and shrieked. Madame Akkikuyu ran over to him and looked over his quaking shoulder.

  There on the dusty ground was an owl pellet, one of those tight little bundles of fur and bones. Sticking out of it was Jenkin’s mousebrass.

  The sign of life blazed in the sunlight as Mr Nettle wrested it free of the pellet. Then he turned his face on the fortune-teller and cried, ‘I shall make that brass, and may eternal damnation fall on that town mouse. For every stroke of the hammer shall be a curse and malediction – may she suffer for the agony she has given to me and my son.’ Madame Akkikuyu smiled soberly – Nicodemus would be pleased.

  The morning passed and the afternoon crept up. The rings of Mr Nettle’s hammer sang over Fennywolde.

  The atmosphere in the Hall of Corn was terrible. Arguments broke out for the slightest reason. Old Todmore yelled at the children who were pestering him for a story and told them he had better things to do. One of the young boys kicked his stick and ran away.

  ‘Come back ’ere Abel Madder,’ fumed Old Todmore. ‘I’ll clout you one!’

  Dimsel Bottom and Lily Clover were seen quarrelling and they had to be separated when plump Dimsel flew at her friend in a shocking fit of rage.

  Josiah Down kicked the family nest to pieces while his wife called him a no good Cheddar head.

  All this was watched in fearful silence by the Scuttles and their guests. They kept well away from the rest of the fieldmice and looked at one another in disbelief. What was happening to everybody?

  Audrey decided to go to bed early that night. She sat in her hot nest with her knees tucked tight up under her chin. She was frightened. Several times that day she had heard her name mentioned in high, disapproving voices and when Mr Nep went by he actually spat on the ground when he saw her.

  Alison Sedge was restless. She did not want to go to bed. All day she had lain in the shade by the still pool, thinking of Jenkin. She remembered their happy days together before she had received her mousebrass, but that was gone now and good riddance. She wore no flowers around her neck any more and had not once gazed at her reflection. Her hair was forgotten and neglected in two untidy plaits. She had not eaten all day.

  Twilight came. Reluctantly, Alison picked herself up and ducked under the hawthorn branches. She passed over the ditch and entered the field. The corn was silent. No wind rustled its ears or rattled its stems. Their long black shadows fell on Alison like the bars of a prison. She became increasingly uneasy. The field was an eerie place. She had never noticed how impenetrable those dark shadows were before. Alison gulped nervously as she remembered the murderer that hid in here throttling unwary mice who wandered around alone. How could she be so stupid?

  A noise startled her. The corn moved behind and a crackling rustle moved towards her.

  Alison did not wait to look. She ran deeper into the field towards the Hall of Corn but the rustling grew louder. It was ahead of her now and she could see dim shapes before her. Alison wheeled round and sped back towards the ditch, missing the path in her haste.

  Suddenly she tripped and stumbled. She put out her arms to save herself but landed on something soft.

  Panting heavily Alison lifted her face – and stared into the blank eyes of Young Whortle. She had fallen on top of his discarded body. Alison leapt up and screamed at the top of her voice.

  In the Hall of Corn the fieldmice were once more disturbed by the alarm call. What could be the cause this time?

  They lit their torches and fled out of the great doors.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Audrey, as Twit slid down past her nest.

  ‘Another alarm,’ he answered, ‘we must all go come on Aud!’

  They followed the other mice. Arthur had been on duty and slid down a corn stem as they ran by. ‘Wait for me!’ he puffed.

  The fieldmice ran along the ditch, fearing the worst. Had another tragedy occurred? Then, crashing out of the field came Alison Sedge. She ran to her mother’s arms and squealed.

  ‘It’s Young Whortle – he’s dead. I found his body in there.’

  Mr and Mrs Nep held on to each other for support. ‘Where is he?’ cried Mr Nep, preparing to enter the field.

  ‘No, don’t go in there,’ shouted Alison, ‘there’s something after me – it nearly got me.’

  The fieldmice made angry noises and lifted their torches high above their heads. ‘We must find it!’ they declared. ‘We must put an end to this murder!’

  Before any of them could move, there came a splintering and rustling sound. Out of the field, silhouetted against the sky, was the evil corn dolly.

  Its looped head jerked from side to side as if it were sniffing the air. Then it began to advance stiffly towards them.

  The fieldmice gasped and staggered back in horror.

  ‘It’s that doll thing!’ some of them muttered. ‘How is it moving like that? It is bewitched.’

  Isaac Nettle came out of his quarters and beheld the scene with a mixture of horror and satisfaction. The straw figure was truly an abomination, yet surely now there would be no doubt that the town mouse was to blame for everything. Here was the proof of her witchcraft.

  The corn demon marched awkwardly on and the mice fell back before it. Its wild arms were raised and its twiggy fingers twitched eagerly.

  From the dark shadows near the ditch Madame Akkikuyu observed the scene with interest. ‘See how I let the mice do our work for us,’ whispered Nicodemus. ‘We shall see what they do with Miss Brown.’

  The demon struck out with its arms and caught hold of Dimsel Bottom. She squeaked with fright as it drew her near its lowered head.

  Isaac raced up to the thing and dealt it a savage blow with his hammer. Th
e corn dolly buckled as the hammer plunged into the straw but it reared itself up again immediately and with one powerful arm swept Mr Nettle off his feet and flung him to the ground.

  ‘Save us Green Mouse!’ he wailed.

  The thing was unstoppable. It placed its head over Dimsel’s and the plait began to tighten. Arthur rushed out and pulled the hideous thing off and Dimsel sped away.

  The fieldmice were driven back terribly afraid. ‘Where is that town mouse?’ some began to ask and the call was taken up by all of them. ‘Where is the town mouse? Where is the town mouse?’

  At the rear, Audrey held Twit’s paw in terror. Out of the crowd Mr Nep saw her and cried, ‘There she is. Bring her forward.’

  Feverish paws grabbed Audrey and pulled her away from Twit and the Scuttles. Through the mass she was dragged and shoved until she was pushed out in front of her creation.

  Audrey could not escape. She tried to turn back but angry paws and bodies barred her way. Arthur tried to help her but found that his arms had been grabbed and the mice were holding on to him fiercely.

  The corn dolly swept up to Audrey and lowered its head again. Audrey screamed, ‘Stop! Stop!’

  The figure jerked up quickly and lowered its arms. Then to her everlasting horror it bowed before her and fell lifeless to the ground.

  The crowd stared at it with wide eyes and then Mr Nep said, ‘It obeyed her.’

  ‘Witch,’ hissed the mob, ‘witch, witch, witch!’ They circled round Audrey menacingly.

  Try as he might, Arthur could not struggle free and at the back, Twit could not break through the crowd.

  Isaac Nettle came striding forward booming, ‘The town mouse is a witch. She has insulted the Green Mouse by weaving idols, and conjured spirits to give life to her hellish work. Three of our folk have died because of her. What do we do with a witch?’

  ‘Bum her,’ cried the crowd.

  ‘No,’ whimpered Audrey as they tied her paws behind her back. ‘I’m not a witch!’

  But her voice was drowned out by the cries of the angry mice.

  Isaac picked up the motionless corn dolly and cast it down into the ditch. Then he hurled a blazing torch after it and the figure immediately burst into flames. The loop head blackened and withered into a wisp of oily smoke.

  The fieldmice pushed Audrey to the edge of the ditch and the glowing ashes rose up and curled round her ankles.

  ‘Bum, bum!’ they repeated excitedly. Two strong husbands lifted her up and swung her out over the flames.

  Madame Akkikuyu covered her face with her claws and trembled. Nicodemus laughed triumphantly. All was going wonderfully.

  ‘STOP THIS!’ Mr Woodruffe wrestled forward angrily. ‘You must all stop this!’ He pulled Audrey out of the mice’s paws and she clung tightly to him.

  Isaac thundered in and whirled Mr Woodruffe round. ‘Go back to your nest Woodruffe. You are not our king now. Let us do what must be done. The witch must die!’

  ‘But you can’t burn her, Isaac. It is unspeakable!’ He appealed to the crowd, ‘Surely you cannot have sunk so low to allow this. Never has a mouse been burned in Fennywolde. As for you, Nettle, I’m surprised. This has the smack of paganism in it.’

  The fieldmice looked anxiously at their leader. Mr Woodruffe was right, they had never burned a mouse before. ‘But what are we to do with her?’ asked a frightened Mrs Nep.

  Isaac snarled and yanked Audrey from Mr Woodruffe’s grip. ‘Then she shall hang!’ he proclaimed. ‘Let her choke, just as her creature choked Hodge and Young Whortle.’ He signalled to the crowd and they swarmed along the ditch, with him at their head and Audrey stumbling at his side.

  ‘We’ve got to do something,’ said Arthur when his captors released him. ‘Will they really hang her, Mr Scuttle?’

  ‘Fraid so lad,’ he answered in dismay. ‘Gladwin wrung her paws together.

  ‘We’re not done yet boy,’ said Mr Woodruffe.

  ‘Come on!’ They ran after the angry crowd, and pushed their way through.

  Twit remained behind. He had never felt so useless in all his life. He was too small to do anything useful. He wished that Thomas Triton was there – he would have shown these mice a thing or two with his sword. But the midshipmouse was not there and there were far too many fieldmice to fight against anyway. This needed a cool head and lots of wits. Twit, the simple country mouse, had neither. He was the one with ‘no cheese upstairs’, the butt of every joke. Now the life of a friend was in, danger and he could think of nothing to help.

  Suddenly he gasped. ‘Could I?’ he asked himself. ‘Would it work?’ There was only one way to find out. He rushed forward.

  At the yew tree a tight circle of mice had formed. In the centre were Mr Nettle and Audrey. Her wide eyes were rolling in terror and their whites were showing. A straw rope had been slung over the ‘hanging branch’ and a noose had been tied in one end.

  Mr Woodruffe barged in followed by Arthur. ‘This must not happen!’ he cried. ‘Execution must only be as a result of a trial and only then if the accused is found guilty.’

  ‘We know she’m guilty,’ yelled Mr Nep. The crowd roared their agreement. ‘This is against the Greenlaws!’ continued Mr Woodruffe.

  Isaac held out a trembling paw. ‘Thou knowest full well the respect and honour I hold for the mighty Green. I would not do this thing if the law did not permit. It is you who have forgotten the law, Woodruffe. Did not Fenny himself declare that all witches must be put to death?’ The mob roared again and waved their torches. ‘Bind their paws so they may not interfere!’ commanded Isaac.

  Both Arthur’s and Mr Woodruffe’s paws were tightly bound and strong arms were clenched about their necks.

  ‘No, no,’ wailed Arthur. ‘My sister’s not a witch believe me.’

  Madame Akkikuyu left her place of shadow and moved towards the yew. ‘Quickly Akkikuyu,’ said Nicodemus. ‘I must see! The girl must not die by hanging, she must be alive when the flame takes her. If you can cut her down before she is dead we may still be able to perform the spell. But hurry, and keep away from those torches, the heat of them is agony for me.’ The fortune-teller hurried forward, a confusion of loyalties whirling round her jumbled head.

  Mr Nettle put the noose round Audrey’s neck and pulled the knot down tightly. Then he took hold of the other end and began to draw it down. Arthur closed his eyes.

  Yelps and squeals broke out of the crowd and the mice jumped as something bit and clawed its way through. It was Twit. He didn’t care how he got past. He ran into the ring and before anyone could stop him he had slipped the rope from Audrey’s throat.

  ‘Leave her be!’ roared Isaac, looming over him with his paw raised.

  A smouldering green fire seemed to issue from Twit’s eyes and Isaac faltered. ‘I come to claim her!’ Twit shouted at the top of his voice. ‘I claim her in the name of the Green.’

  ‘How dare you blaspheme!’ growled Mr Nettle. ‘She is for the noose.’

  ‘Do you forget your own laws, Nettle?’ Twit barked back at him.

  ‘What laws?’

  ‘The law of the gallows,’ snarled Twit.

  ‘The gallows law,’ repeated everyone in astonishment – surely Twit was not that stupid.

  Mr Woodruffe reminded Isaac as he stood, searching his memory. ‘The gallows law runs thus,’ he said. ‘Any may invoke the law of the gallows – if a willing spouse can be found beneath the hanging tree then the accused, whatever the crime, will be reprieved.’

  ‘A spouse!’ mocked Isaac. ‘Who would marry a witch?’

  ‘I will,’ said Twit proudly. ‘I invoke the law and offer my paw in marriage to Audrey Brown.’

  The crowd rippled in discontent and Nicodemus hissed in Madame Akkikuyu’s ear.

  ‘No! The girl must not marry -it will bind her up in the Greenlaws and she shall be useless to me. Stop this now.’

  The fortune-teller entered the circle, but instead of obeying Nicodemus she said, ‘Mousey must marry follow the l
aw of your Green. Join the two before you feel his anger.’ In the centre of all the fieldmice the tattoo dared not move on her ear but it glared at her venomously.

  ‘Imbecile!’ it whispered harshly.

  Isaac stared at the rat in disbelief. He had made a brass for the destruction of Audrey at her request. Why was she changing sides now? ‘But she is to blame!’ he said blankly. ‘Are you telling me now that she must go free?’.

  ‘She must, it is the law!’ demanded Twit. ‘I call on the Green Mouse to witness all that goes on here. He shall know who disobeys him.’

  The crowd murmured. There was no getting away from it. If Twit married Audrey then she could not be hanged.’

  ‘No,’ cried Mr Nep as he sensed their doubt. ‘We cannot let her go unpunished. My son is dead.’

  It was Isaac who answered him. ‘Silence Nep. The way has been shown, though it grieves me no less than you. We must obey the law or we ourselves are guilty. But hear me, tomorrow we shall drive Twit and the witch to our borders and banish them. Then if any find them crossing our lands they have the right to do with them as they see fit. They are outcasts.’ He turned back to Twit and Audrey.

  ‘Now, take the witch’s paw in yours, William Scuttle,’ said Mr Nettle.

  Twit looked at her. She was much calmer now and she stared back at him with gratitude. ‘Do you mean to go through with it?’ she asked him.

  ‘If’n I don’t marry ’ee Aud they’ll lynch yer,’ he replied.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Audrey mumbled.

  ‘Just say “yes” an’ save yer neck,’ advised Twit.

  ‘Kneel ye,’ ordered Isaac, ‘and humble thyselves before the Green Mouse.’ Audrey felt someone cut the ropes which bit into her wrists and she dropped to her knees beside Twit.

  ‘Dost thou, William Scuttle, take unto thyself this mouse, Audrey Brown? To cherish through the Winter and revel with in the summer? Forswearing all others until the grass grows green over you both?’