The Witching of the King

by Greg Hoover

  “No need to yell, my lord,” said Alyce. “Yes, sir, there are secret passages and rooms in this palace. But I wouldn’t go searching for them if I were you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, sir,” said Alyce. “They are guarded by ghosts and protected by witchcraft.”

  “Nevertheless,” I said. “Please tell me where to find them.”

  “All I can tell you is to begin your search by tapping on the walls in the rooms,” said Alyce. “When you hear a hollow sound, it means that there may be an entrance to a passageway.”

  “Thank you,” I said, disappointed. There must be nearly a thousand rooms in the palace. I felt as though I had wasted my valuable time.

  “Our pleasure,” said Alyce, curtsying. “We have great respect for our betters, don’t we Henry?”

  “That’s nice,” said Henry.

  As I was leaving the room, I heard Alyce say under her breath, “Wretch.”

  I glanced back; Alyce was smiling at me innocently.

  ***

  While continuing on my way towards the Silver Stick Stairs, I noticed Thomas and Robert Winter sitting at a small table and talking quietly with each other. As I walked towards them, they stopped speaking and seemed to wait until I passed. Then they resumed their whispers. I remembered what Edward Wilkinson, the retired sheriff, told me about looking everywhere for clues and evidence. And so, I stopped and went back to talk with them.

  “Pardon me,” I said. “May I speak with you a moment?”

  Both men looked at me with stern expressions, but didn’t say a word. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, I forced myself to speak again, this time in a commanding tone.

  “What business brings you to the palace?”

  “Isn’t supporting our new king reason enough?” asked Robert.

  “You are loyal subjects?”

  “Yes,” said Thomas. He glanced at his brother.

  “And you are here for the conference?”

  “In a sense,” said Robert.

  “Which side do you support, Puritan or Anglican?”

  The two brothers looked at each other, and then Thomas said, “I’m afraid we don’t fit neatly into either category.”

  I wasn’t sure why the brothers were being so cryptic, but I had no real reason to suspect them either. Time was of the essence, so I bid them farewell and continued on my way.

  One of the many oddities of Hampton Court Palace is how it can seem so crowded and opulent one moment, and so quiet and gloomy the next. As I turned to go down a side hallway, the noise behind me faded. For the next few moments, the only sound was my footsteps. When I stopped to look at a painting, however, I heard footsteps behind me. I glanced back, but there was no one else in the hall. After continuing on my walk for a few more steps, I stopped again and listened. Sure enough, it sounded as if someone took another step. I felt the familiar clench of my stomach and fear rising from the core of my being. Something ancient and primal awoke within me—a fear that had kept my ancestors alive for centuries.

  “It’s nothing,” I whispered.

  My heart beat faster, and my breathing became quick.

  “It’s just my imagination.”

  I strained to listen over my pounding heart. After waiting several moments and hearing nothing, my breathing returned to normal.

  “This is ridiculous,” I mumbled.

  When I walked on, a board creaked behind me. Freezing to the spot again, I listened.

  Thump.

  My heart was beating so loud it made it difficult to concentrate.

  Thump.

  It was coming from inside the wall to my right. I knocked once on the wall and listened. There was only silence. After several moments, I walked on. But after a few steps, I heard it again.

  Thump.

  There was a door on the right a few feet forward, very near where the sound was coming from. I reached into my boot and took out a small knife, inserted it into the lock, and jiggled it. The lock clicked and then opened. What I saw inside chilled me to my bones.

  There was a ring of lit candles on the floor. The candles framed a large chalk circle, nine feet in diameter. Spreading from the center of the circle to the outer ring was a five-pointed star, and at the tip of each point of the star was a candle. I didn’t know what it was, but it filled me with dread. I also noticed a familiar odor, the same smell from the physician’s office and the haunted hallway. I looked around the room, which was bare except for a lectern standing at the head of the star. It had an open book on it. I read these words in the flickering candlelight:

  Words of power, words of might,

  Brightest day and darkest night,

  In the circle and the ring,

  Curse the crown and kill the king.

  I closed the book and looked at the ancient leather cover. On it were the words, A Book of Shadows.

  I picked it up for evidence. Then I realized something: the candles were lit, but no one else was in the small room. I had been in the hallway and didn’t see anyone leave through the only door. I put the book back. On a hunch, I walked around the room knocking on the walls, listening as I knocked. Tap, tap, tap. I knocked high and low on the walls. Tap, tap, tap. I was almost ready to give up, but then I knocked at just the right spot.

  Thump.

  Chapter Twelve

  Running my fingers along the wall where I had heard the hollow sound, I searched for an opening mechanism. After several minutes of trying, I felt a small metal latch along the seam of the corner. I gripped the latch tightly and pulled it downward; a narrow door in the wall opened. I grabbed a candle and looked inside.

  There was a spiral staircase going down into the darkness. An icy wind rising from the gloom brought a sickly sweet scent to my nose; a scent which was now familiar. A faint sound rose from deep within the pitch black. The distant sound of chanting ascended on the frigid air, but it was unlike any I had ever heard.

  Candle in hand, I stepped into the darkness, and began my decent. Besides the chanting, the sound of water dripping echoed in the stairwell. I could only see a few feet in front of me, and the air was freezing. The stench of mold mixing with the sweet scent tightened my stomach. With every step downward, the chanting became clearer. I paused and listened to the words, which repeated over and over:

  Astarte, Isis, Diana,

  Demeter, Hecate, Kali, Inanna.

  Astarte, Isis, Diana,

  Demeter, Hecate, Kali, Inanna.

  I recognized some words as the names of pagan deities. Terror rose within me, and for a moment I thought of returning to safety. Judith and Samantha came to my mind, and the imperative to free them before Malachi had them burned at the stake. I shuddered, said a quick prayer, and continued my decent into the darkness.

  When I reached the ground floor, I stepped off the stairs. There was a squeak at my feet; I looked down as a rat scurried over my shoe. The chanting was louder now, and the odor more intense. Inching forward, step by step, I moved closer and closer to the sound of the chant.

  Running my fingers along the wall, I touched a door handle. I opened the door and looked around the dark room by the light of my flickering candle. There was a table in the center of the room, with a small vial on it filled with white fluid. The bottle had the same foul stench as the last vial. I slipped it into my pocket and continued to explore the room. Hooded robes hung on metal hooks, and I noticed a collection of silver daggers in a display case. Other than that, the room was empty. I stepped back into the passageway and continued towards the sound of the chanting.

  There was a haunt
ing beauty to the incantation, almost spellbinding, as the voices blended together in perfect harmony:

  Isis, Astarte, Diana,

  Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inanna.

  Isis, Astarte, Diana,

  Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inanna.

  “No,” I whispered. “Stay focused.”

  Like Ulysses tied to the mast of his ship, I fought the pull of the Sirens’ song. I took a few deep breaths, and calmed myself.

  The chanting continued, and with all the courage I could muster, I moved closer to the sound. Running my fingers along the dark wall as I walked, I found another doorway. I stepped inside. There was a tall figure standing in the center of the room. Startled, I dropped my candle. Scrambling to retrieve it, I gazed up at the towering figure. It was a man from the waist up, but it had the legs of a goat. Two horns were on its head. I reached out and touched the figure in front of me. To my relief, my fingers grazed the cold stone of a statue. Nothing else was in the room, so I continued down the hall towards the chanting.

  A large wooden chest was sitting against the wall of the passageway. It had a lock on it, so I took out my boot knife and tinkered with the lock. After a few moments of work, it clicked and unlocked. The box was filled with human bones. On the bones were strange markings carved deep into the surface. The thought of whose bones they were and how they got there made me shudder. I took another deep breath to settle my nerves. As I exhaled a white fog into the dim light of the candle, I closed the trunk and moved on. The chanting was louder than ever.

  The light from my flickering candle revealed a wall ahead. I moved to the wall and placed my hand against it; I could feel the vibrations of the witches’ chant. There seemed to be a power behind the wall, thrumming, resonating, and almost living.

  Suddenly, the chant stopped, and I withdrew my hand. Then the voices spoke:

  Double, double, toil and trouble;

  Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

  Cool it with a baboon’s blood.

  Then the charm is firm and good.

  At that moment, an icy wind rose from somewhere in that dark lair, snuffing out my candle. Alone in the pitch dark, lost in that underground world, I realized that no one even knew I was there. Images of Anne, Judith, and Susanna came to my mind. I began to grope my way along the wall, back the way I had come.

  Using the wall as a guide to keep from getting lost, I threaded my way through the dark. After a few moments, my shin bumped hard into another wooden trunk. I pulled the knife out of my boot, and began working the lock. It was my hope that there would be flint and steel inside the chest, so I kept turning my knife. The lock was stubborn, but it finally opened.

  My fingers searched inside the box, and after a moment I touched velvet. The soft fabric was wrapping something solid, a few inches wide and almost a foot tall. I unwrapped the item and explored it with my fingers. It reminded me of a prop of a human skull that we used in a play once. My stomach turned when I realized that this was not a prop. Revolted, I put it back and closed the lid to avoid leaving evidence that I had been there. I stood up and continued retracing my steps back to the spiral staircase.

  After progressing well for several minutes, I stopped to catch my breath. It was then that I heard something terrifying—a sound of scraping against the floor. There was something in the dark with me, but I didn’t know what. And it was coming towards me.

  “Who’s there?”

  The scraping continued, sounding like something dragging across the floor, coming closer towards me.

  “Stay back.”

  Now the sound was only a few feet away from me.

  “I’m warning you,” I said. “I’m armed.”

  I turned to run, but tripped and slammed hard onto the ground. Something had caught my stocking. Pulling hard and kicking wildly, I scrambled to get free. Whatever had me wouldn’t let go. With all my strength, I gave one mighty kick, freeing my leg. I reached down and felt blood seeping through my torn stocking; my leg had been caught on a metal spike. Breathing a sigh of relief, I stood up and listened. Whatever was causing the scraping sound was still coming towards me.

  Inching my way back towards the spiral staircase, I moved as fast as I could, shuffling my feet to avoid tripping again. The dragging sound continued coming after me, along with the sound of heavy breathing.

  To my great relief, my fingers grasped the cold metal rail of the staircase. A faint hint of light shone at the top of the stairs. It emanated from the open door in the room that first led me to this foul place. Relieved, I hurried up the stairs, never taking my eyes off the hopeful light shining through the dark above me.

  Behind me, I could hear whatever it was climbing the stairs, step by step.

  When I reached the top of the stairs, I stepped into the safety of the occult room that before had so terrified me. I slammed the secret door shut behind me and heard the latch click tight. My back pressed against the door, I slid down to the floor, breathing hard. Putting my head in my hands, I only then realized that I was shaking all over. I looked down at my torn stocking; there was blood staining the cloth where the spike had caught my flesh. I was glad to be back safe and alive.

  But my relief was short-lived. At the door of the room were two guards, standing on each side of Malachi Hunter.

  “William Shakespeare,” Malachi spoke in a commanding voice. “By the power invested in me by His Majesty the King, I hereby arrest you for the high crime of witchcraft. And may God have mercy on your soul.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Malachi,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here, I found—”

  A guard punched me in the stomach; I doubled over in pain and fell to the floor. “Shut up, witch,” the guard said, and kicked me in the side.

  “Stop,” said Malachi. “There is no need for that. He needs to be in good shape when we burn him at the stake for witchcraft.” He knelt down near my ear and added, “And his daughter with him.”

  The two guards pulled me to my feet and dragged me out of the room.

  “The king is in the Great Hall,” said Malachi. “Take him there.”

  Struggling to breathe, nausea filled my stomach as I stumbled down the hallway with them. We entered the Great Hall; hundreds of people were there finishing their supper. The sound of conversation and laughter filled the air; I could smell roasted lamb and fresh-baked bread. The king sat at the royal table near the front of the dining room, finished with his evening meal.

  Malachi strode to the front. “Your Majesty,” he said in a loud voice, and the Great Hall became silent. “You have appointed me to investigate witchcraft at Hampton Court Palace, and I am honored to tell you that my search has been fruitful. By the authority invested in me by God and the Crown, I hereby accuse William Shakespeare of the high crime of witchcraft.”

  The guards flung me to the floor in front of the king. He looked shocked and stared hard at me for a moment. Catching my breath, I stood to face him.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” the king asked Malachi. “I personally picked this man to be our Witchfinder General.”

  “He fooled all of us, my lord,” said Malachi. “Or at least most of us.”

  “What evidence do you have?” asked the king. “I demand answers.”

  “Your Majesty, these two noble palace guards and I caught William Shakespeare in the act of practicing black magic.”

  “Is this true?” the king asked the guards.

  “Yes, sire,” said the guard who had hit me.

  “Or at least,” said the other guard, “we found him in a room with cursed items.”

  “And where are these ‘cursed items’ now?”

 
“Here, Your Majesty.” Malachi held up the book I had found in the room. “It’s a witch’s book of spells.” Malachi turned and faced the crowd, holding up the book for all to see.

  “A Book of Shadows,” said the king, stroking his beard.

  “Yes,” said Malachi. “And there was a pentagram on the floor surrounded by candles.”

  “Witch!” a voice in the crowd bellowed.

  “Sorcerer!” screamed another.

  “Quiet!” said the king. He then turned to me. “How do you defend yourself?”

  “Sire,” I replied. “While investigating on your behalf, I found the room that Malachi described. I discovered the spell book and pentagram there.”

  The king nodded. “Is there any other evidence against this man?”

  “Yes,” said Malachi. “Your Majesty, I call as a witness the chief servant, Myles Lewis.”

  Myles Lewis was standing in back and looked shocked to hear his name. Malachi waved for him to come forward. Myles straightened his serving jacket and walked to the front.

  “Yes sir,” said Myles to Malachi.

  “Tell the king what you found,” said Malachi.

  “Found, sir?”

  “Don’t play games with us,” demanded Malachi. “I order you to testify to this court.”

  Myles looked at me and said, “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Sorry for what?” I asked.

  “Your Majesty,” Myles said to King James. “Malachi Hunter ordered me to go into Master Shakespeare’s room and search for evidence of witchcraft.”

  “And what did you find there?” asked the king.

  “This is awkward, Your Majesty,” said Myles.

  “I understand,” said the king, “but please continue.”

  “Forgive me, sir,” Myles said to me.