The Hidden Witch

by A C Rae

  “You might want to slow down before you inhale the table as well.” Pryce commented dryly. Quinn grinned sheepishly, chewing a bit slower. Pryce leaned forward and lowered his tone. “I think you know why Abershaw and I ambushed you out there.”

  Quinn swallowed a particularly large amount of bread before replying. “You want to make sure that I’m going to keep my mouth shut.” He smirked, looking at his plate of food. Tendrils of steam were still wafting temptingly from his meat. “You’ve made a good start.”

  “Well I had a feeling you wouldn’t betray me if I fed you.” He joked. He lowered his voice further. “But there’s another reason. If we didn’t think that you would keep quiet there are other ways of making sure you don’t talk than feeding you.”

  Quinn’s eyes widened momentarily before laughing. “Glad to hear that you’ve decided to feed me then.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “But have you, you know…”

  “Killed someone?” Pryce offered. Quinn nodded. “Not yet, the threat from a good pair of pistols has been enough to get people to hand over their money…” He drifted off; lost in his own thoughts as he stroked his beard.

  Quinn filled the silence with the sound of his chewing. He dusted crumbs off his breeches. “So what do you want me to do then?”

  “Straight to the point then?” He grinned. “We hit on an idea that could save us some trouble.”

  Abershaw shifted his chair forward. “As a coach driver you know when and where the coaches are going to be.”

  Quinn nodded. “Most of them anyway.” He sipped at his beer, after pulling out a hair from within the murky contents.

  Pryce smiled broadly. “Well it would be helpful to us in our current occupation,” he winked, “if we knew when the coaches would be coming. Particularly the ones with the more… shall we say, wealthy occupants, rather than holding up all of them. Of course we’d split the earnings with you. You wouldn’t have to do any of the more dangerous work.” He paused. “What do you think?”

  Quinn looked at him. “Why don’t you ask a diviner?”

  Pryce shook his head. “The cheap ones are easier to bribe but speak in riddles. The better ones usually need huge bribes.”

  Abershaw laughed. “What he means is we tried it once. The local diviner was cheap but his instructions were so vague! When he told us to avoid a fork in the river when holding up the coach, we weren’t expecting it to be flying cutlery. The woman whose coach we held up forced us to make a getaway across the river. Pryce got a fork embedded in his rear while he was swimming away.” He started roaring with laughter, much to Pryce’s evident dissatisfaction. “We still don't understand what she was doing with all that tableware in her coach.”

  Once he had finished laughing, Quinn inhaled and breathed out slowly. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. As attractive as that sounds I can’t do it. I think it would be an insult to my father’s memory. He wanted me to be as honest a coach driver as he was.”

  Pryce looked disappointed. “Well we don’t expect you to come up with an answer right away. We’ll give you some time to think about it.” He stood up, along with Abershaw. “We’ll be back later, see if you’ve changed your mind.” Abershaw walked behind him, miming a fork flying towards his rear, followed by such a comic expression of surprise that Quinn choked on his sip of beer.

  Quinn watched them leave and drained the rest of his drink. Putting the apple in his pocket, he stood up and walked out of the tavern, ignoring Molly’s curious glances. He let the door swing shut with a bang behind him as he went down the steps.

  Quinn absentmindedly passed the village well, completely missing the admiring glances from the village women gathered round it that he normally revelled in. He was so engrossed in his thinking that he bumped into his employer Wilkins with such force that he bounced off him onto the floor. He winced as he stood up, brushing mud off his breeches. Wilkins seemed unaware that Quinn had just bounced off him, and peered down at him.

  “Ah Quinn, there you are. I’ve been looking for you; I need to give you your wages.” He smiled at Quinn through reddened dimpled cheeks. He felt in the pockets of his large waistcoat, the buttons straining down the front. He pulled out some coins. “Ah, there we are!” He put them in Quinn’s outstretched hand.

  Quinn looked down at the few coins that were in his palm. “Excuse me,” he blurted, “But where is the rest? You paid me twice this last time.”

  “Sorry young man but you took less coach trips this week.” At Quinn’s indignant look he continued, frowning, “You know your pay is tied to the amount of coach journeys you do…”

  “But I only did two less than last week! How is it that I’m being paid half of what you paid me last week?”

  Wilkins’ frown deepened. “I could always pay you nothing? Unless you no longer need this job?”

  Quinn swiftly smiled. “Of course, sir. Thank you.” He walked away, waiting until he was around the corner before he started a swift stream of curses, backed up by a repeated kicking of the wall. He was interrupted by a low cough from behind him.

  “Excuse me Mr. Tannin.”

  Quinn inwardly groaned, flushing red at having had an audience to his outburst, and knowing the owner of the voice, he knew full well what was about to happen. He turned round to face the speaker: a short man, owner of a thin moustache and an unfortunately pointy nose. “Greetings, sir. Fancy meeting you here! What brings you down from Aelin?”

  “Well, actually I am here on a matter of business. A small matter of the money that you owe me.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I have a bill here for two pairs of breeches, a waistcoat and a lace sleeved shirt. The money on this was due two weeks ago. And now the bill includes my coach fee and a night stay in the inn for having to come in person to collect. I have had enough of your late payments. This is no small bill Mr Tannin, I needed this money when it was due, and detest that I have had to waste time coming down here to ask you to pay what is owed to me.”

  “Please be reasonable, sir. My employer has lowered my wages. If I pay you I will have no money left for food or lodgings. Perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement—”

  The tailor cut him off with a curt shake of his head, his thin moustache twitching angrily. “Are you leading me to believe that you are unable to pay me? Mr Tannin, I am not responsible for the matter of your finances. You owe me money and I am afraid that it must be paid- or I will have to notify the debtor’s prison.”

  Debtor’s prison loomed large in Quinn’s mind; cold, dark walls dripping with damp closing in on him. He sighed, reaching into his pocket for the money he had been paid only moments earlier. “I do not have all the money. This is all I have.” He held out his palm, with the few coins he possessed lying on it. The tailor swiftly took them, counting them with disdain.

  “This covers a lot less than half the money that you owe me. I expect the rest of the money in two days.”

  “Two days? Two days! How can I raise that amount of money in two days? The money I just gave you was my entire week’s wages and I was only paid a few minutes ago!”

  “Well I’m sorry Mr Tannin but as I told you a moment ago your financial situation is not my problem. I am sure you will find a way to raise the funds. Good day.” He turned swiftly and continued to walk out of view as Quinn slid down the wall, putting his head in his hands.

  After a few moments of self-pity, he pulled himself to his feet and plodded towards the stables to see Bessie.

  Bessie neighed softly as Quinn entered the warm, dark stables, stopping to greet the stable boy, Jack, on his way in. “Shush, Bessie.” She nudged his outstretched hand with her nose as he lifted it to stroke her. He put his other hand in his pocket, pulling out the apple that Molly had given him. “I’m sorry; I couldn’t get you your carrot.”

  Bessie whinnied, and then pulled the apple out of his hand.

  The stables were soon filled with the sounds of loud crunching. Quinn laughed. “Well I guess you don’t care about c
arrots as much as I thought!”

  He patted her side and pulled up an old bucket. He turned it upside down and sat on it silently for a while, pondering his situation. Bessie left him alone, seeming to understand his melancholy. On the wind drifted the distant roar of a fire, and the steady clanging of the village blacksmith's hammer, whose shop was nearby.

  Jack brought in a broom and began to sweep the floor in confident, steady sweeps. Quinn watched him bleakly. His father might have been an honest man but he was finding it rather difficult to live up to his memory. Every day he gained more appreciation for what his father had done, bringing him up alone for all those years, scratching an honest living from driving Wilkin's coaches. He sighed. Sometimes he wished his father had had a more exciting trade he could have followed - and certainly one that paid more. But what else could he do, other than follow in his father's footsteps?

  He pulled out a bag of Spirit Stones from his coin purse and turned the two smooth stones over in his hands, roughly carved on one side with the corresponding ancient symbols for ‘Yes’ or ‘No’. He put the stones back in the bag, closed his eyes, and silently asked his Ancestors for an answer.

  “Quinnnn!” A loud voice bellowed through the stable door, upsetting the horses. Quinn looked up, startled. Jack looked at him with a similar expression.

  Quinn beckoned to Jack and whispered loudly, “I’m not here!” He pushed the Spirit Stones roughly back into the bag and dived into a pile of hay and straw, quickly pulling it over him. Jack grinned.

  “OK, Quinn.” He straightened up and leaned on the handle of the broom with his arm just as the owner of the voice came storming into the stables.

  “Where is that confounded boy? I was told that he had come here. He’s usually in here or at that blasted tavern!”

  Jack cleared his throat. “I’m sorry sir. You just missed him. He left only a few minutes ago. Perhaps if you follow the direction that he left in you might catch up with him.” He pointed in a random direction, away from the stables.

  “Well he’d better show his face sooner or later. He owes me three weeks’ rent. Three weeks!” He spat, “If you see him, tell him that I’m looking for him and if he doesn’t pay soon he’ll be living in debtor’s prison instead!” He swung round and stomped in the direction that Jack had pointed.

  Quinn waited a while before emerging from the pile of straw and hay, coughing violently as he pulled pieces of it from his hair and clothes. He pushed Bessie away, who was attempting to assist him by eating it, with the unfortunate addition of chewing his hair.

  “In a bit of trouble with the landlord again Quinn?” Jack asked pityingly. Quinn nodded in reply, patting Bessie as she was trying to comfort him by repeatedly nudging him with her nose. “Rather you than me that landlord is a big fella- I wouldn’t cross him.” At seeing Quinn’s crestfallen face, Jack apologised. “Sorry,” he said rather too quickly, “I’m sure you’ll sort things out- you always do.”

  Quinn groaned. “I think I owe too much this time.” He got up and walked towards the doorway. “Thanks anyway.” He walked out of the stables, Bessie following him. He turned to her. “You should stay. I’m in enough trouble as it is without having people think I’m trying to steal you.”

  He watched her move obediently back into the stables. He took a deep breath. The trees were already silhouetted darkly against the reddening sky, the sun steadily making its way to sleep beneath the horizon.

  His earlier meal seemed like it was aeons ago, and now he had no money left for food. Perhaps he could go back into the stable, and eat some of the hay. If it was good enough for the horses, at the very least it could ease the empty feeling in his stomach. He laughed inwardly at his foolhardy plan.

  Quinn whirled round at the sound of footsteps.

  “Oh, you are in trouble now, boy.” Quinn ducked as his landlord’s fist missed his nose by inches.

  He whipped round to face his landlord. He had brought friends, three of them. “I knew you were still here.”

  “Can’t we talk about this?” Quinn gasped. One of the men cracked his knuckles. Another flexed his dagger, letting the last of the evening light play along the sharp edge. Quinn squinted as the light hit his eyes. He was morbidly fascinated for a brief moment before gulping and turning to his landlord. “Please, let’s be reasonable. I only owe you two weeks’ rent.”

  “Three,” the landlord glared at Quinn. Quinn jumped as he suddenly spurted forward, increasing in volume. “You owe me three! You repeatedly make your payments late. I’m about to teach you what happens to those who don’t pay me on time.” His companions laughed, starting to circle Quinn.

  “Please…” Quinn jumped back just in time to avoid another punch, this one aimed at his head. He responded by kicking out at the man holding the dagger. He managed to kick the dagger out of the man’s hand by the toe of his boot, elbowing another in the face. He stepped back, panting. “You don’t need to do this. If you just give me a little more time…”

  His arms were pinned from behind by the landlord’s third man. “Please…” His landlord aimed a heavy punch to his stomach. The man let go of him. Quinn sank to the floor instantly. He curled into a tight ball, winded; gasping roughly for air.

  The men started kicking him. Each kick sent a spasm of pain shooting through him. He bit on his lip, trying to stop the groans from escaping him but by the tenth kick his resolve failed. His cry of pain echoed around the stables.

  Hooves thundered into the clearing. “Stop that!” A man bellowed, riding up alongside the men beating Quinn. He dismounted.

  The men ignored him, continuing to kick Quinn.

  Another man rode up.

  “No use talking to these men.” He said, swinging from his horse, using the momentum to kick one of the men in the head, leaving him instantly unconscious on the floor.

  “Agreed.” His companion kicked one man swiftly down and pulled the landlord off Quinn, who rolled onto his back, moaning.

  “Pryce,” he murmured.

  Pryce flicked his black hair out of his eyes. “Shh. I’ve got my mask on.” He hissed, ducking the blow that the landlord had been aiming at him with a side step. The landlord fell to the floor with the lost momentum.

  Pryce turned to Quinn. “Watch out!” The man with the dagger had retrieved it and was attempting to stick it in Quinn. Quinn grabbed his wrist with both hands and strained to keep the dagger at bay, the glinting blade rapidly and uncomfortably close to his eye.

  The echoing sound of an additional set of hooves thundered towards him, followed by a loud whinny and a flash of a solid black hoof. The man shot across the street with the force that the horse had kicked him with.

  Quinn stood up gingerly, wincing as he felt his ribs. “Thanks Bessie.” He swung onto the relative safety of her back, which was no easy task, seeing as she was unsaddled. With a sharp intake of breath, he clutched his ribs. He smiled thinly as he grasped her mane with one hand, taking comfort in her solid strength.

  Abershaw and Pryce swung onto their horses and pulled up alongside Quinn. Abershaw coughed. “Perhaps we should leave the area for a while? Before they get up?” He pointed towards the landlord, whose face had begun shaking with the sheer force of his rage. Quinn turned to agree.

  “Stop…! Stop…! Thief! Thief! He’s…He’s stealing my prize horse! Stop!” Wilkins, Quinn’s employer, waddled up the path, heaving great breaths with the strain of the effort of his pace.

  “Mr Wilkins. I’m not trying to—”

  “Thieves! Bandits! Help!”

  The landlord stood up with a sudden smirk, pointing at Quinn. “Thief!” He turned to Wilkins. “We were trying to stop him. We saw him trying to steal your horse with his masked companions there.”

  People started spilling into the street. Jack came running from the stables. “Quinn wouldn’t—” He was pushed to one side.

  “Get him!” The men pushed forward. Quinn saw Molly walk in his direction, puzzled as to the cause of the commotio
n. She often popped round to the stables after her evening shift to hurry him on his way home.

  Within seconds it seemed to Quinn that most of the village had arrived.

  Pryce grabbed Quinn’s arm. “We need to leave. Now.” Quinn shook his head vehemently. “Listen!” He said sharply. “Quinn! They’ll likely kill you if they catch you in this mood.”

  Quinn shook his head, and turned to face the crowd, grimacing at the twinge the movement sent across his ribs. “I am innocent!” He wheezed and called out again. “Believe me!” The growing crowd booed. “Please!” He begged. He turned painfully, trying to see a familiar face, the faces of the people he had grown up with. With the exception of Jack and Molly, the faces of the crowd were twisted as they started shouting, shaking their fists. Quinn ducked swiftly, nearly falling off Bessie as projectiles were pelted at him. A tomato hit his jacket with a splat. Worse, a stone whizzed past his ear.

  All they saw was Quinn on Bessie, about to ride off in the presence of two masked men, moments after the landlord had no doubt been shouting about the village about his unpaid rent. Not to mention the tailor who had been staying in the inn, probably cursing about how he would have him sent to debtor’s prison. There was only one conclusion for them to draw in the heat of the moment, no time for reasoned debate.

  His shoulders sank as he resigned himself to this truth. He grabbed Bessie’s mane. She seemed to understand, her muscles tightening. “Let’s go, Bessie.” Quinn said tiredly.

  Pryce nodded firmly, relieved. He dug his heels into his horse. It reared and kicked out, clearing a space in the crowd. Quinn’s legs already began to ache from trying to stay seated as Bessie sprung forward into a canter, bouncing him uncomfortably as he slumped forward in an attempt to stop the drumming ache from his bruised sides.

  The three men thundered up the road, the cries of the crowd echoing in Quinn’s ears until they faded rapidly into the distance, along with the only home he had ever known.