by Matt Ralphs
‘Belay that – I’ve had enough of the Spymaster’s interference.’ Hopkins waved the guards off. ‘William, Murrell tried to make you drown yourself, just to spite me. I see your survival and loyal return to me as a victory of the good over the malign.’ He smiled. ‘It proves my faith in you was well founded.’
‘So . . . you’ll have me back? As your apprentice?’ Hazel asked, feeling her hope return.
‘Oh, you’re more than just an apprentice.’ Hopkins laughed, leading her out into the sunshine. ‘You’re the prodigal son returned to the family fold!’
Hopkins accompanied Hazel back to her room. ‘Light work for you today while you get your strength back,’ he said. ‘I’ll send Anthony up with some paperwork – in the meantime you’d better put on a clean uniform.’
The room was just as she’d left it, although it felt like a lifetime had passed since she had last been there. And I certainly never expected to return, she thought forlornly as she closed the door, plucked Bramley from her hair and put him on the windowsill.
‘Keep an eye out for Thorn,’ she said.
Bramley pressed his nose against the glass. ‘Let’s just hope he knows where to find us.’
Hazel tried to order her thoughts as she changed. She and Titus had so much to do and to get exactly right for the plan to work, and she hated that so much was being left to chance. But it was pointless to worry about things outside her control.
I have to do my best, and make damn sure my best is good enough.
Bramley hid behind the curtain as someone knocked on the door. Hazel opened it and found Anthony outside with a stack of papers in his arms.
‘Hello, William,’ he said. ‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you again.’
Hazel smiled, her spirits lifting. ‘Me too. Are you settling in yet?’
‘I’m trying to.’ Anthony put the papers on the desk; he seemed relieved to be rid of them. ‘These are death certificates,’ he said in a hushed voice. ‘For all the witch prisoners who are to be burned at the Pageant this weekend.’
Hazel stared at the pile in horror. ‘But there are so many . . .’
Anthony looked up and down the corridor and then closed the door. ‘I counted them. There are three hundred and sixty-four certificates there – all the witches in the hulk and the Tower.’
Hazel struggled to even picture that number of people. It was enough to fill a hall, a street – there were whole villages with fewer people. And Hopkins was going to murder them all: mothers, daughters, sisters . . .
Just for being different. Just for being witches, or those who sympathized with them.
She was gripped by an anger so intense it made her heart thrum with magic.
‘Three hundred and sixty-four?’ she said. ‘But how are they going to kill so many at once?’
‘They’re going to lock them all below decks in the hulk and then shoot fire arrows to set it alight.’ Anthony swallowed. ‘People can watch from the riverbanks as they . . . burn.’
‘I just can’t believe it.’
‘I know. I can’t sleep for thinking about it,’ Anthony said, close to tears. ‘The General says it’s the right thing to do but . . . I just don’t understand how that can be.’
‘Here, come and sit down.’ Hazel felt him shaking as she helped him into a chair.
‘And there’s something else,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve found out why Grimstone chose me to join the Order.’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s about that prisoner they’re always going on about, Nicolas Murrell. You know he’s to be burned at the stake as well?’
‘Yes, I know,’ Hazel said gently. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, the General, he wants me to light the pyre.’
‘You?’ It took a moment for the words to sink in. ‘But why?’
‘He says the sight of an innocent boy ridding the world of an evil man like Murrell is a powerful lesson for the nation,’
Anthony said, wiping his streaming eyes. ‘But I don’t know what that means. All I know is that I don’t want to kill anybody, no matter how evil they are.’
He broke down, sobbing piteously, narrow shoulders heaving. Not knowing what else to do, Hazel put her arms around him and waited for him to stop.
34
A BIRD IN THE HAND
‘The Black Widow – they say she glows all the time
like fiery embers, although I have never seen her.’
Witch Hunter Sergeant Josiah Hart
When Anthony had calmed down, Hazel walked him back to his room with comforting words that she knew wouldn’t help. She found it hard to believe how anyone could ask a boy like Anthony to set light to an execution pyre; the fact that if her plan to open the demon gate was successful, Anthony wouldn’t have to set light to anything didn’t stop her blood from boiling.
Back in her room, she leaned her elbows on the windowsill and stared past the Tower’s suffocating layers of defence. The sun was low, blooding the distant rooftops red. She was tired, and angry, and frightened.
Bramley crawled down her arm and perched on her clasped hands. ‘You can’t save Anthony too, you know. So try not to think about it.’
‘I can’t help it. And all those witches . . . they’re going to die.’
‘I know,’ Bramley said, shaking his head sadly. ‘It’s monstrous.’
Hazel took a deep breath. ‘Bram, I’ve made a decision.’
‘Oh dear . . .’
‘I’m going to find a way to help them.’ She nodded with conviction. ‘Yes. That’s what I’m going to do.’
‘Oh, Hazel,’ Bramley cried, fur bristling with frustration.
‘I can’t simply stand aside and let it happen. All those lives!’ A halo of angry magic flickered around her head. ‘I won’t let it happen.’
‘But have you thought about how?’
Something fluttered on to the windowsill outside and tapped on the glass.
‘Look,’ Hazel said. ‘It’s Thorn!’
‘Thank goodness,’ Bramley said as she threw open the window. ‘We deserve a bit of luck.’
The little robin hopped inside and perched on Hazel’s finger. ‘Greetings, Hazel Hooper. Greetings, Hazel’s mouse.’
‘My name’s Bramley.’
‘The whole Tower is talking about your reappearance,’ Thorn said. ‘So naturally Nicolas is interested to know what precipitated it.’
Hazel looked blank.
‘He means what caused you to return?’ Bramley muttered.
‘Oh, right . . . Well, it’s like this, see . . .’
And so, with Bramley sitting in one hand and Thorn balanced on the other, Hazel explained the plan to enable Murrell to recite the demon spell and open the gate at his own execution.
Thorn listened attentively, head cocked and shrewd eyes shining. When Hazel had finished he said, ‘And in return for Nicolas’s service . . .’
‘He gets a fair chance at escaping death,’ Bramley snapped. ‘He should be grateful.’
‘I understand that,’ Thorn said mildly. ‘And I feel sure this is an opportunity he will embrace wholeheartedly.’
Hazel narrowed her eyes. ‘Murrell must have known that we’d not be able to recite the spell properly. So why didn’t he tell me that before?’
‘He told you what you asked to know, no more, no less.’
‘He knew we’d come back, didn’t he?’ Hazel said hotly.
Thorn stretched out awing before replying. ‘He suspected as much, but he did not know. Besides, he is not the only one who withheld information. Is he, Hazel Hooper?’
‘I don’t know what you mean . . .’
‘You didn’t mention his final appearance at the Execution Pageant, did you?’
Hazel flushed. ‘I . . . No, I didn’t.’
‘See?’ Thorn said, hopping on to the windowsill. ‘We all keep secrets from time to time, when it suits us.’
Hazel and Bramley shared a look; Thorn was even more perceptive than they’d
previously thought.
‘But what of the magic circle?’ Thorn asked. ‘Will it be ready in time?’
‘I hope so.’ Hazel took out the folded page of the Necronomicon. ‘This is the spell. Can you carry it to Murrell?’
‘No need. He knows it by heart.’
‘He knows it by . . . ?’ Angry sparks crackled through Hazel’s hair. ‘Dammit, he knows everything about the gate, doesn’t he? The spell, the placement of the magic circle?’
‘That’s true, Hazel Hooper,’ Thorn said. ‘But there’s no cause to become angry – in the end you both want the same thing, just for different reasons.’
‘We want to get into the Underworld, Murrell wants to escape,’ Bramley said.
‘Serendipitous, don’t you think?’ Thorn fluttered to the window. ‘Now I must tell Nicolas the details of your plan . . .’
‘Wait!’ Hazel said. ‘I have a friend: Titus White.’
Thorn turned back to her. ‘Nicolas has spoken to me about him.’
‘Can you take a message to him right away? I’d like him to know that I’m back in the Tower, and that Nicolas has agreed to help us.’
‘Very well,’ the little bird said. ‘Tell me where to find him . . .’
35
A FINGER BECKONS
For if any adversity, grief, sickness, loss of children,
corn, cattle or liberty happen upon a man,
by and by they exclaim upon witches.
The Discoverie of Witchcraft by Reginald Scot
The sun swung its beams around the room as Titus pored over the Necronomicon. Hours bled into each other, but he hardly noticed, so intent was he on memorizing the eye-watering patterns and symbols that made up the magic circle he was going to have to copy.
When the light in the room turned grey he leaned back and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He was waiting for night to fall so he could go out and hunt the demon, knowing that his chances of finding it were slim.
There was a knock at the door, so he covered the Necronomicon with a cloth and got up to open it. Mrs Treacher was standing outside.
‘This was just delivered for you,’ she said, passing him a package and a sealed letter.
‘Thank you,’ Titus said, and closed the door.
He put the package on the desk, opened the letter and began to read:
Dear Mr White,
I fear that writing this letter may be the last meaningful thing I do before this blasted plague takes me – I fervently hope it will make a difference.
Another dead girl has been found, this time in the abandoned meat-packing district in Southwark docks. In the knowledge that I had examined the other victims, the Gatherers of the Dead brought her sad remains to me.
She bore the same expression of fear as the others, but this one was a fighter – upon close examination I found something clutched in her hand, something that proves beyond doubt that the killer is not of our world.
I’ve put it in the package. Open it when you are alone. I implore you to use your courage and skills to rid the city of this killer.
See you on the other side,
Sebastian
With growing excitement, Titus cut the string from the package and allowed the paper wrapping to unfold. Inside was a plain wooden box. Using the tip of his knife, he flipped the lid open.
‘Good God,’ he breathed.
A severed finger, six inches long from nail to knuckle, lay on a bed of straw. The skin was pinkish white, stretched tight over the bones, and marbled with thin, blue veins.
Titus lifted the grisly appendage from the box, wrinkling his nose at the stink of sourmilk. The joints creaked when he bent them. The skin was cold and slick like wet glass. After a few minutes of close examination and cross-referencing what he discovered with Demonologie, he put it back in the box, closed the lid and took a shuddering breath.
He thought of the fight the victim must have put up, the desperate strength shown to actually rip off the finger, and felt saddened to his core. But at least now he knew exactly which demon he had to kill. He had its name.
Titus shuffled to the washstand to clean off the stink. He looked through the water at his hands. They still retained much of their old strength, but there was a tremor in them. Was it fear that caused it, or the weakness that came with age?
Whichever it is, I don’t think I can defeat this enemy alone. Not any more.
His throat was dry. He wanted, needed, a drink. Danger, pain, death – he’d faced them a thousand times without blinking. What scared him was failure. He shrugged on his coat, checked his pistol and jammed his hat over his head.
‘Get a hold of yourself,’ he growled. ‘And do your job.’
Something fluttered through the open window and landed on the bedstead. It was a robin with one lame leg and bright, intelligent eyes.
Titus raised his eyebrows. ‘Well well,’ he said. ‘You must be Thorn.’
‘That is right,’ the little bird chirruped. ‘And you are Titus White, the Witch Finder and friend of Hazel Hooper?’
‘I am, and I warn you, bird, I’m not as trusting as she is. What do you want?’
‘I have a message for you, from Nicolas Murrell.’
Titus’s lip turned into a sneer. ‘Go on.’
‘He agrees with the plan to open the gate at the Pageant, and thanks you for the opportunity to right some of the wrongs he has caused in the past.’
Titus gripped the back of the chair with both hands. They felt steadier now. ‘I’m doing this for Hazel, not for him.’
‘I understand,’ Thorn said, bobbing his head in acknowledgement. ‘Nevertheless, he thanks you. And he wants to know how you are going to obtain the demon blood needed to draw the magic circle.’
‘I’m working on it. In fact, little bird, you can come with me while I track it down.’
‘Very well.’
‘And then you can pass a message on to Hazel at the Tower, because I have a feeling I’m going to need her help to kill it . . .’
36
THE KILLING FLOOR
There exists no corner of civilized Europe that is not
tainted with maleficence and witchcraft.
Archives de la Bastille by François Ravaisson
It was a hot night so Hazel had left the window open while sorting the death certificates into alphabetical order. She had read each name, imagining who they were and the terror they must be feeling at being trapped in the prison hulk awaiting death.
On the stroke of midnight, tired and sick to her stomach, she picked up the last certificate in the pile. She didn’t think it was possible to feel any sadder until she read the name written in bold black letters at the top: ‘David Drake, charged with colluding with witches and known criminals. Sentence: death.’
Beneath was a handwritten note:
General, we have squeezed all the information we can from this boy – he is of no more use. I suggest we rid ourselves of his demon-tainted presence as soon as possible. I have already taken the liberty of transferring him to the hulk in time for the Pageant.
Yours,
Interrogator Bloch
Hazel put the certificate down and rubbed her eyes. ‘Oh, David,’ she sighed. ‘If only you’d stayed with us.’
She had already decided to find a way to rescue the prisoners, and knowing that David was now among them made her all the more determined. But how was she to do it?
A flutter of wings signalled the return of Thorn. ‘I’m glad to find you awake, Hazel Hooper,’ he said. ‘I have a message from Titus White: he’s found the demon’s lair, and he requests your help in killing it . . .’
Fifteen minutes later, with Bramley clinging to her ear, Hazel followed Thorn from the Tower, across the bridge, and into the night-shrouded streets of Southwark. She was glad to be taking action; if what Titus said was right they might be able to get hold of the blood they needed this very night. There was just the small matter of killing a demon first.
Thor
n hopped on to Hazel’s shoulder when they reached a deserted crossroads just off Southwark High Road. ‘Titus awaits you at the end of that alley. Now I must return to Nicolas and give him news of our endeavours. Good luck, Hazel Hooper.’
‘Thank you, Thorn,’ Hazel said. ‘I’ve a feeling we’re going to need it.’
The alley sloped down between shuttered and padlocked buildings. The entire district appeared abandoned, and Hazel realized why when she saw the red crosses on the doors.
‘Plague’s been busy in this neighbourhood,’ Bramley said. ‘I’ll be glad to get out of this city, I can tell you.’
At the end of the alley was a dirty courtyard, fronted by dilapidated warehouses and an embankment dropping down to the river. Dry dung cut through with wagon tracks lay on the cobbles.
‘Titus,’ Hazel hissed. ‘Where are you?’
‘Right behind you.’ The old Witch Finder emerged from a nearby doorway. ‘Not very observant, are you?’
‘Don’t do that,’ Bramley squeaked. ‘My nerves are already shattered.’
Hazel reached up and pushed the hair away from Titus’s face – he looked pale, haggard, ten years older than when she’d last seen him. ‘What on earth has happened to you? You look terrible.’
‘I’m fine,’ he said, waving her away. ‘Now listen to me carefully. Everything depends on what happens here, now, tonight. You must be ready.’
‘Thorn told us you’ve tracked down the demon,’ Hazel whispered, allowing Titus to draw her deeper into the shadows. ‘Is that true?’
Titus knelt next to her and rested his hand on her shoulder. The night cut deep lines into his face. ‘See that warehouse over there? That’s the creature’s lair.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I discovered the identity of the demon we seek, which enabled me to use this.’ Titus took the Entropy Monocle from his pocket. ‘The tracks I found were faint, hard to follow, but as I suspected they led right up to our unfortunate plague doctor’s house.’
‘Why were the tracks so faint?’ Bramley asked.