by Matt Ralphs
‘There’s no right or wrong answer,’ Titus said. ‘What do you think I should do?’
Hazel got up and joined him. ‘I told you before we got to London that I’d be all right on my own. I have Bramley, and my wits.’
‘I can’t let him die in there – he’s just a boy and I’m responsible for him.’ He shook his head. ‘But dammit, girl, I’m responsible for you, too.’
‘No you’re not. I employed your services as a Witch Finder to help me find Ma, remember?’
‘So?’ Titus growled.
‘So, now I release you from our agreement.’ She waved her hand. ‘You are free to go and do as you will.’
Titus scowled at her. ‘That doesn’t help.’
‘I know.’ Hazel smiled. ‘I’m just trying to stop you from bashing yourself over the head and make a decision.’
Titus stood up straight, like an old tree shaking loose years of creeping brambles. ‘I will help David, and all those other poor souls.’
Hazel leaned into him. ‘Good.’
‘But how?’ Titus said, looking at the prison hulk. ‘How can I possibly rescue all those people before tonight?’
‘Ah, well, I’ve been thinking about that,’ Hazel said, walking him back towards the warehouse. ‘And I have an idea.’
‘But as usual, Titus,’ Bramley added, ‘you’re not going to like it.’
39
THE SLAUGHTER ROOM
‘There must be good grounds for the prevailing
belief that witches are evil; otherwise Parliament
would not have legislated against them.’
Lord Edward Coke
Hazel was about to open the slaughter-room door when Titus put his hand on her arm. ‘This is a mistake,’ he said. ‘We should kill her for what she did.’
The angry part of Hazel agreed: revenge would feel good. But the thoughtful part knew it would not make right the past, heal old wounds, or bring back the dead.
‘No, we’re here to talk to her,’ she said. ‘Everyone deserves a chance to explain.’ Titus opened his mouth to protest but Hazel held up her hand. ‘You didn’t just go around shooting people when you were a Witch Finder, did you? You gave them a fair trial, right?’
‘That’s true, but we already know what she did,’ Titus said.
‘Are you forgetting what we talked about outside? We might be able to get her to help us.’
‘Why would she help? She hates us. For pity’s sake, she tried to have you killed.’
‘I know that, but when she learns we’re working with her beloved Murrell she might come round.’
‘Well, whatever you choose to do, for heaven’s sake be careful,’ Bramley squeaked from deep in Hazel’s hair. ‘This is a Frost Witch we’re dealing with.’
‘She has to pay for what she did,’ Titus said.
‘I know, but perhaps she can achieve that by doing some good.’ Hazel put her hand on his arm. ‘Please, let’s just talk to her.’
‘All right,’ Titus growled, undoing the bolt. ‘But should she give me any cause to put a bullet between her eyes you won’t be able to stop me.’
A gust of warm air and animal manure wafted out as he opened the iron-panelled door. They slowly ventured into a low-ceilinged and windowless room. Red-stained gutters ran across the floors to drainage holes in each corner.
In the centre of the room was another magic circle, this one drawn in crude, bold strokes with some sort of black fluid. Tied to a pole in the middle shivered a black-haired woman in a filthy dress. They could not see her face because she was resting her forehead against drawn-up knees, but they recognized her straight away.
‘No more, please,’ Lilith whimpered. ‘Can’t you leave this world in peace?’
‘Bloodybones is dead,’ Hazel said. ‘It’s us you face now.’
Lilith looked up, her eyes wide with shock. ‘Titus? Hazel? But how . . . ?’
‘We tracked your demon here,’ Titus said, shaking with rage. ‘But only after it killed four innocent children.’
The Frost Witch managed to shuffle up the pole and stand on her own two feet. ‘You’ve come to kill me,’ she said, raising her chin. ‘Go ahead. I can’t fight you even if I wanted to – this magic circle negates my magic.’
‘I’d love to kill you,’ Titus said, curling his lip. ‘But my friend here wants to talk to you first. Hazel?’
An image of Bloodybones seared into Hazel’s mind and she thought of the girls who had died at his hand. The control she had over her anger shattered in an instant. Her skin glowed and fire burst around her. Titus staggered away, shielding his face from the baking heat.
Lilith did not flinch. ‘Do it, girl,’ she said. ‘I deserve nothing less for what I did.’
‘Hazel,’ Bramley said, stroking her neck with his tail. ‘Remember what you said about revenge.’
Hazel breathed deeply, sloughing off her hatred like a dead skin and feeling relief from the moment she did so. Her fire faded and retreated back inside, although she felt it burning still in the darkest part of her soul.
‘You know what you did,’ she said quietly to Lilith. ‘You know who paid the price for your actions.’
Lilith nodded. Her voice shook when she spoke. ‘I do. Bloodybones taunted me with their deaths. I couldn’t stop him, or escape, much as I desired to.’
‘You summoned him to kill me?’
‘Yes. And there is nothing in my whole life that I regret more.’
‘I think you’d better tell us what happened,’ Titus said. ‘And remember, your life hangs by a thread, so no lies.’
‘Death is no threat to one in such torment as I,’ Lilith replied. ‘But I will tell you how I ended up here.’
‘We left you tied up in Rivenpike,’ Titus said. ‘What happened when you woke up?’
‘I followed your trail into the forest, but by the time I caught up, the Witch Hunters had arrested Nicolas and you were following them to London – although I couldn’t guess why you would do so.’ She looked at them enquiringly.
‘We’ll tell you later, but only after you finish your sorry tale,’ Titus said. ‘Continue.’
‘I was eaten alive with hatred. You had already killed my demon, Spindle, my most loyal familiar, and now my beloved Nicolas was in the hands of the Order.’ Lilith squeezed her eyes shut. ‘The thought of the torments those monsters would heap on him drove me mad. I knew I couldn’t rescue him, but I could avenge him.’
Hazel crouched down in front of the wretched Wielder, with Bramley perched on her shoulder. ‘And so?’
‘I needed time to prepare so I rushed ahead, cutting through forests, sleeping in ditches, until I arrived in this foul city about a month ago. I found this abandoned place and used all my skills to summon a demon fit to hunt you down.’
‘Bloodybones,’ Titus said.
‘Bloodybones.’ Lilith swiped away a tear. ‘I tried to bind him to my will, to impose control and ensure he hunted you, Hazel, and no one else.’
‘You set a demon loose to kill a child,’ Titus said, his fingers closing over his pistol.
‘I was blinded by grief . . .’
‘There are no excuses for what you did!’
‘I know,’ Lilith said as more tears poured down her face. ‘And I’m sorry.’
‘All right,’ Hazel said, pushing Titus a few paces back. ‘Just tell us what happened next.’
‘Bloodybones shrugged off my magical bonds like an old coat. I knew at once what a terrible mistake I’d made. He drew this circle to imprison me and then did as he pleased. All I could do was wait here and endure my guilt.’
‘How did you survive all this time?’
‘He returned every now and again to give me food and tell unpalatable stories of the horrible acts he had committed on the streets.’ She looked at them with dull eyes. ‘So, what are you going to do with me?’
Hazel and Titus exchanged a glance.
‘That depends,’ Hazel said.
‘On what?’
‘Well, Frost Witch,’ Titus said gravely. ‘It depends on whether you want a chance to atone?’
40
DAY OF DAYS
‘I will stamp out this foul and noisome
heresy under my boot.’
Witch Hunter Captain John Stearne
The bells of St Paul’s chimed seven times as Hazel pelted across London Bridge, dodging early risers and holding her hat on with the flat of her hand.
She and Titus had told Lilith about their desire to rescue the imprisoned witches, and Lilith had needed no convincing to offer her help. Anything, she’d said, to wipe some of the guilt from her conscience.
Then, in private, Hazel and Titus had shared a hurried goodbye. Titus said he’d move heaven and earth to get to the arena in time to travel with her to the Underworld. But Hazel knew it was a vain promise, made by Titus to help him cope with the separation that struck so hard at his heart.
As for her, she’d only just managed to hide her tears from him. She knew it was right for Titus to rescue David and the witches, but leaving him behind was agony. All she could do was vow to find him when she returned from the Underworld with her mother.
‘Hazel, slow down,’ Bramley said from his nest in her hair. ‘I can’t sleep with all this bumping around.’
‘I can’t, I’ll be late for duty,’ she puffed. ‘And I’ve thought of a problem, but also a way to solve it.’
‘What problem?’
Hazel slowed down as she passed through the gate at the north end of the bridge. ‘Ah, I thought I saw one here . . . Good, just what I need.’
‘What’s here? Hazel, explain yourself!’
She stepped into a doorway to catch her breath. ‘I need some ingredients from in there.’
She nodded across the road to a shop with a sign over the door that read: ‘Silvanus Bevan Esq. – Worshipful Society of Apothecaries’. There was movement beyond the stocked window of glass bottles, carafes and fermenters as the owner prepared to open up.
‘I need to make sure that Murrell has enough time to recite the spell before his pyre is ignited, right?’ Hazel continued.
‘Right. He can’t open a demon gate if he’s on fire.’
‘But I also want to spare Anthony the task of putting the torch to the pyre. So, two birds, one stone.’
‘Aha! So you’re going to replace Anthony as the boy who sets the fire, then you can ensure that Murrell has time to say the spell.’
‘Exactly.’
‘But Hopkins is adamant that he wants Anthony to do it, so how are you going to change his mind?’
‘Ah, well, that’s why I need to see the apothecary . . .’
After purchasing what she needed Hazel knocked on Anthony’s bedroom door in the Tower, hoping he had not yet reported for duty. Bramley hid in her hair.
On the second knock the door opened a crack and Anthony, with his hair sticking up as if he’d just crawled out of bed, peered out. ‘Hello, William. Is everything all right?’ His eyes widened with alarm. ‘Am I late? Is the General angry?’
‘No, we’ve a while before we’re due on duty,’ Hazel replied. ‘Can I come in?’
She watched with concern as Anthony perched on the edge of his rumpled bed. He looked distracted and his eyes were red.
Damn Hopkins for putting him through this misery, she thought. Still, at least I can do something about it.
‘I was hoping the night would last forever,’ Anthony said. ‘But it didn’t, and tonight I’ve got to . . .’
‘Listen to me,’ Hazel said. ‘I’ve thought of a way to get you out of lighting the pyre, but –’ she scrunched up her face – ‘it’s a little drastic.’
‘I’ll do anything,’ he said, eyes lighting up. ‘Just tell me.’
‘Well, the only excuse I can think of that Hopkins will accept is if you get sick. Really sick. Sick enough that you have to stay in bed.’
‘But I’m not sick, and I don’t think I can pretend well enough to fool anyone for long.’
‘You won’t have to.’ Hazel took a paper wrap from her pocket. ‘Not if you eat this.’
Anthony leaned closer. ‘What is it?’
Hazel opened the wrap to reveal a few pinches of bitter smelling powder. ‘It’s a mixture of herbs and extracts – I had it made up this morning.’ She smiled when she saw Anthony’s look of surprise. ‘My mother is a herbalist, and she taught me some recipes.’
‘And it will make me sick?’
‘Oh yes, all over the place, but only for a day or two and it won’t do any lasting damage, I promise. I know it’s horrible but it’ll get you out of tonight. And the General can’t very well blame you for being ill, can he?’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Anthony looked thoughtful, then nodded his head. ‘I’ll do it.’
Hazel folded up the wrap and put it in his hand. ‘Mix it into your breakfast porridge and eat it all – you’ll feel the effects quickly. The General’s physician will no doubt send you straight back to bed and you can concentrate on getting better.’ She smiled. ‘But not until after the Pageant, eh?’
Anthony leaped forward and wrapped her in a grateful hug, forcing Bramley to retreat deeper into Hazel’s hair. ‘Thank you, William!’ he cried. ‘Oh, I was so dreading tonight.’
‘That’s all right. I’m just sorry I couldn’t think of a nicer solution,’ Hazel said as Antony let her go. ‘So, what are you going to do after this is over? Do you think you’ll stay working for the General?’
‘I don’t like all the things that happen here, so I think I’ll go back home as soon as I’m able,’ Anthony said with a shake of his head. ‘The General only really wanted me for this one job at the execution, so he won’t care if I go.’
‘I think you’re very wise. We’d better go down to breakfast. I’ll stay with you until the powder takes effect and then go and tell the General.’
‘Sick?’ Hopkins looked up from the paper-strewn desk in his office. ‘What do you mean, sick?’
The Witch Hunter General looked exhausted and Hazel suspected that like her he hadn’t been to bed. Everyone was preparing for the Execution Pageant, and there was an atmosphere of feverish activity throughout the Tower.
‘At breakfast,’ Hazel said. ‘He looked very pale, said he wasn’t feeling well and then, all of a sudden . . .’ She mimed someone throwing up.
‘Well, how bad is it? Will he be fit for tonight?’
‘The physician said no, and that he’d never seen anyone so green.’
Hopkins lowered his head and went very quiet. Hazel braced herself for an explosion, but after a few moments he regained his composure and looked up at her. ‘Will the boy be all right?’
‘I think so. It was probably something he ate.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ Hopkins muttered, getting up and gazing out of the window. ‘Still, it couldn’t have come at a worse time. I had wanted him to set light to Murrell’s pyre, you know. I thought it would send a message to our enemies that even children are fighting for the Order’s cause.’
‘Go on, ask him now,’ Bramley whispered. ‘Ask if you can set the pyre alight.’
But Hazel wanted to pick the right moment. ‘Has there been any news about Lord Cromwell?’ she asked instead.
‘What?’ Hopkins said, turning from the window. ‘Oh, yes. We’ve had a message saying he’s returned to camp. He’d strayed into enemy territory and had to lie low for a while, but he’s quite well. It’s a great relief – his loss would be a bitter blow to our struggle against the witch rebellion. Such things put life’s smaller problems into perspective.’
‘Like Anthony not being able to set light to the pyre tonight,’ Hazel said.
‘Indeed, although we do need to find a suitable replacement to perform that duty.’ Hopkins looked thoughfully at Hazel.
‘General?’ Hazel kept her expression as bland as possible.
‘How about you, William?’ Hopkins said, circling her. ‘Would you like to perform this honourable task
in front of the great and good of London tonight? I think you’d be perfect!’
‘Me? Really?’ Her bland look transformed to one of joy. ‘I would be proud to carry out this duty. Thank you, General, for this great honour.’
‘Good. That’s settled then. Now listen carefully – this is what you’ll need to do . . .’
41
THE EXECUTION ARENA
‘Can I be blamed for my natural state?
Have I been guilty since birth?’
Maret Jonsdotter’s last words before her execution
Titus put the cloth-covered bucket of demon blood on the ground and shook out his aching arm. Tower Hill bustled with people gathering early for the Execution Pageant. That was good – it meant no one was taking any notice of him or Lilith, or the pungent smell of sour milk coming from the bucket.
‘It’s like a goddamned carnival,’ he muttered.
Tower Hill’s grassy slopes were already covered in market stalls and brightly coloured pavilions. Hot food vendors, pint-of-ale sellers, coffee pourers and pamphleteers had all staked claim to prime patches and were busily setting up in time for the evening crowd.
At the crest of the hill stood the execution arena. With its twenty-foot walls, corner towers and double-gates, it looked like a miniature fortress. The timbers were stained an appropriate red, and dozens of the Order’s crossed-hammer banners hung from the battlements.
Lilith, who had been lagging behind with Hazel’s bag of provisions over her shoulder, caught up with Titus and surveyed the activity with a look of disgust on her face. ‘Look at these vultures. All seeking to profit from the death of a great man like Nicolas.’
That morning Titus had brought Lilith a pair of boots, a modest blue dress, a lace cap, and a decent breakfast in a chophouse on London Bridge. Now she looked more like the strong, proud witch who had fought as part of Murrell’s Coven of rebels.
‘Not to mention your fellow witches trapped in the hulk down there,’ Titus said, pointing in the direction they’d come. ‘Look – they’re moving them.’