Heartfire ttoam-5

by Orson Scott Card

“Heal yourself!” cried Margaret again.

  Calvin stood there, apparently trying something that no one else could see. “I'm getting better by the second,” he said. “Just having my bug back in my body, it's healing me by itself.”

  At that moment, Fishy screamed. Margaret whirled around, and there was Denmark, knife in hand, staggering toward Calvin, brandishing the blade. Fishy leapt onto his back, tugging on the knife arm, and finally toppling the two of them onto the floor.

  In the meantime, Calvin wasn't swaying anymore. He was steady on his feet, and when he turned around to face Denmark, he had the presence of mind to heat the knife so hot that Denmark screamed and flung it from him. “You got into my body!” Denmark screamed at Calvin, but now he was holding his burned hands limply in front of him. “I be wearing your castoff!”

  Calvin seemed not even to notice Denmark. It was Gullah Joe he was looking for. “You lousy bastard, you filthy trap-laying witch!” he cried. “Where are you!”

  At that moment a seagull started fluttering frantically around the room. Before it could find an open window, Calvin pointed at it and it dropped to the floor. In the instant, the bird disappeared and Gullah Joe lay there where it had been. Calvin advanced toward him, and the look of hate and rage on his face was terrible to behold.

  “Calvin, stop it!” cried Margaret. “It was an accident! They caught you in a snare but they had no idea it was you, and when they realized your powers they had no choice but to keep you confined for fear of whatever vengeance you might take.”

  Calvin regarded her in silence for a moment, then turned back to the circle he had been in. He yanked all the charms from the ceiling until the circle didn't exist anymore. Gullah Joe's weeping was the only sound they could hear. But when Calvin walked over to the lesser circle and began pulling down those charms too, Joe began to shout at him. “Leave that alone! I begging you! You turn them loose like that, some of names never find they way home to they body!”

  Calvin paid no attention to him. He tore the charms from the ceiling and then opened the new net, this time by hand, scattering the namestrings all over the attic floor.

  “Don't hurt them,” Gullah Joe pleaded, weeping. “Stop him, Denmark!”

  But Denmark was sitting on the floor, weeping.

  “Tear up the name-strings,” cried Fishy. “Give the slaves back their anger!”

  Calvin looked over at Fishy and smiled nastily. “What good does anger do for anybody?”

  Then, savagely, furiously, with the power of his mind alone he unmade all the knotted strings until they lay in tatters. They all watched the seething pile of name-strings as bits of this and that flew upward from the untangling mass. And then all lay still, the bits and pieces commingled.

  Now that the deed was done, Gullah Joe stopped remonstrating with Calvin. He looked up toward the invisible sky beyond the ceiling that crouched overhead. “Go home to you body, you! All you name go home!” Then he sank to his knees, weeping.

  “What are you crying for,” demanded Calvin. He looked at Denmark, too, who was only just beginning to dry his eyes.

  “You too strong a wind for me,” said Gullah Joe. “Oh, my people, my people, go home!”

  Calvin lurched toward him a couple of steps, then fell to the floor. “I'm dying, Margaret,” he said. “My body's too far gone.”

  “He be dying, that save me the trouble of killing him,” said Denmark. “All we done for our people, he just undid it all.”

  “No!” cried Fishy. “He be setting us free! All our rage tied up in that net, that be the bad jail of all. We be slaves then, right down to the heart. Give up ourself so we can hide? From what? The worst thing already happen, when we give you our name-string.”

  Margaret knelt beside Calvin's body. “You have to heal yourself,” she kept murmuring to him.

  “I don't know where to start,” Calvin whispered. “I'm filled with corruption clear through.”

  “Alvin!” cried Margaret desperately. “Alvin, look! Look at me! See what's happening here!” She rose to her feet and began forming letters in the air. H-E-L-P. C-A-L-V-I-N. H-E-A-L H-I-M! “Look at me and save his life, if you want him to live!”

  “What you do in the air, you?” asked Fishy. “What you waving at?”

  “My husband,” said Margaret. “He doesn't see me.” She turned to Gullah Joe. “Is there something you can do to help all those lost names return home?”

  “Yes,” said Joe.

  “Then take your friend Denmark and go do it.”

  “What are you going to do” asked Denmark sullenly.

  “I'm going to try to get my husband to heal his brother. And if he can't, then I'm going to hold Calvin's hand while he lies dying.”

  Calvin let out a deep moan of despair. “I ain't ready to die!” he said.

  “Ready or not, you'll have to do it sometime,” Margaret reminded him. “Heal yourself, as best you can,” she told him. “You're supposed to be a Maker, aren't you?”

  Calvin laughed. Weak and bitter, the sound of that laughter. “I spend my whole life trying to get out from under Alvin. Now the one time I need him, it's the only time he isn't right there under foot.”

  In the ensuing silence, Gullah Joe's voice came, soft and low. “They do it, them,” he said. “They finding the way back.”

  “Then you'd better go out into the street and spread the word through the city,” said Margaret. “They're filled with rage long pent up. You have to keep them from rising up in a fruitless rebellion as soon as all their strong passions come back.” They did nothing. “Go!” she shouted. “I'll take care of Calvin here.”

  Gullah Joe and Denmark staggered out into the street, going from house to house. Already the sound of moaning and singing could be heard all over the city. In Blacktown, they collared every black person they could find and explained it to them as best they could, then sent them out with the warning: Contain your anger. Harm no one. They'll destroy us if we don't keep to that. The taker of names says so. We're not ready yet. We're not ready yet.

  Inside the warehouse attic, Margaret and Fishy were reduced to mopping Calvin's brow as he lay delirious in his fever-racked stupor. Body and soul were together again, but only, it seemed, in time to die.

  After a while a third pair of hands joined them. A Black woman who moved slowly, hesitantly. Her speech was slurred when she asked a question or two; it was hard to understand her. Margaret knew at once who she was. She laid her hand on the Black woman's hand; on the other side of her, Fishy did the same. “You don't gots to work today,” said Fishy. “We take care of him.”

  But the woman acted as if she didn't understand. She kept on helping them take care of Calvin as if she had some personal stake in keeping him alive. Or maybe she was simply loving her neighbor as herself.

  Chapter 13 – Judgment Day

  John Adams didn't even bother to seat himself comfortably on the bench. It was supposed to be routine. Quill would read out the charge. The young lawyer for the defense would plead his client guilty or not. They'd be back out the door in a few minutes.

  It started right. Quill read the charge. It was the normal collection of allegations of dealings with Satan, and as it became clear it was more a peroration than a simple reading of charges, John gaveled him down. “I think we've heard all the charges and you've moved on to opening arguments, Mr. Quill.”

  “For a full understanding of the charges, Your Honor, I–”

  “I have a full understanding of the charge, as does the defendant,” said John. “We'll hear your elaboration of the particulars at a later time, I'm sure. How does the defendant answer to the charges?”

  Verily Cooper rose from his chair, his movement smooth, a perfect gentleman. By contrast, the lanky smith seemed to unfold himself, to come out of the chair like a turtle out of its shell. His chains clanked noisily.

  “Alvin Smith, how do you plead?” asked John.

  “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

  Alvin sat back down, a
nd John started to announce the schedule for tomorrow, when the trial would begin. Then he noticed that Cooper was still standing.

  “What is it, Mr. Cooper?”

  “I believe it is customary to hear motions.”

  “Peremptory motions to dismiss are never granted in witch trials,” John reminded him.

  Cooper just stood there, waiting.

  “All right, let's have your motion.”

  Cooper approached the bench with several petitions written out in an elegant hand.

  “What is all this?” demanded Quill.

  “It seems,” said John, “that the defendant has some interesting requests. All right, Mr. Cooper. Relieve Mr. Quill's curiosity and read out your motions.”

  “First, the defense requests that since the prosecution intends to prosecute a witness named in the records of the parish as Purity Orphan on the same evidence as my client, the trials be joined.”

  “That's ridiculous,” said Quill. “Purity is our prime witness and the defense knows it.”

  John was amused by Cooper's maneuver, and he enjoyed seeing Quill's outrage. “Are you saying, Mr. Quill, that you are not planning to try Mistress Purity on the basis of the same evidence?”

  “I'm saying it's irrelevant to this trial.”

  “I believe that Mistress Purity should have the rights of a defendant in this courtroom,” said Cooper, “since the evidence she gives here should not then be able to be turned against her in her own trial.”

  Before Quill could answer, John asked him sharply, “Mr. Quill, I'm inclined to grant this motion, unless you are prepared to grant an irrevocable dismissal of all charges against Mistress Purity that might arise from her testimony in this trial.”

  Quill was speechless, but only for a moment. It was easy to guess what he was thinking during his hesitation: Was it more important to keep the trials separate, or to be able to try Purity at all? “I have no intention of dismissing on a confessed witch.”

  John banged his gavel. “Motion granted. Is Mistress Purity in the court?”

  A timid, weary-looking young woman rose from her place behind the prosecutor's bench.

  “Mistress Purity,” said John, “do you consent to a joint trial? And, if you do, do you consent to having Mr. Verily Cooper represent you and Alvin Smith together?”

  Quill objected. “Her interests are different from those of Alvin Smith!”

  “No, they're not,” said Purity. Her voice was surprisingly bold. “I consent to both, sir.”

  “Take your place at the defense table,” said John.

  They waited while she seated herself on the other side of Verily Cooper. John gave them a moment or two to whisper together. It was Quill who broke the silence. “Your Honor, I feel I must protest this irregular procedure.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that you feel that way. Let me know if the feeling becomes irresistible.”

  Quill frowned. “Very well, Your Honor, I do protest.”

  “Protest noted. Note also, however, that the court takes exception to the practice of deceiving a witness into testifying in someone else's trial, only to find his own testimony used against him in his own trial. I believe this is standard in witch trials.”

  “It is a practice justified by the difficulty of obtaining evidence of the doings of Satan.”

  “Yes,” said John. “That well-known difficulty. So much depends upon it, don't you think? Next motion, Mr. Cooper.”

  “I move that because Mr. Quill has openly and publicly violated the laws against extracting testimony under torture, all evidence obtained from interrogation of either of my clients during and after that torture be barred from these proceedings.”

  Quill bounded to his feet. “No physical pain was inflicted on either defendant, Your Honor! Nor was there threat of such pain! The law was strictly adhered to!”

  Quill was right, John knew, according to more than a century of precedents since the anti-torture law was adopted after the Salem debacle. The witchers all made sure they didn't cross the line.

  “Your Honor,” said Cooper, “I submit that the practice of running an accused person until a state of utter exhaustion is reached is, in fact, torture, and that it is well known to be such and falls under the same strictures as the forms of torture specifically banned by the statute.”

  “The statute says what it says!” retorted Quill.

  “Watch your temper, Mr. Quill,” said John. “Mr. Cooper, the language of the statute is clear.”

  Cooper then read off a string of citations from contract law dealing with attempts to skirt the letter of a contract by devising practices that were not specifically banned but that clearly defied the fair intent of the contract. “The principle is that when a practice is engaged in solely in order to circumvent a legal obligation, the practice is deemed to be a violation.”

  “That is contract law,” said Quill. “It has no bearing.”

  “On the contrary,” said Cooper. “The anti-torture law is a contract between the government and the people, guaranteeing the innocent that they will not be forced by torture into giving false testimony against themselves or others. It is the common practice of witchers to use methods of torture invented after the writing of the law and therefore not enumerated in it, but having all the same pernicious effects as the prohibited practice. In other words, the common practice of running a witness in a witch trial is designed to have precisely the same effect as the tortures specifically prohibited: to extract testimony of witchcraft regardless of whether such testimony is supported by other evidence.”

  Quill ranted for quite a while after that, and John let him have his say, while the court reporter scribbled furiously. Nothing that Quill was saying would make the slightest difference. John knew that in terms of truth and righteousness, Cooper's position was true and righteous. John also knew that the legal issue was nowhere near as clear. To drag precedents from contract law into witchery law, which was a branch of ecclesiastical law, would expose John to charges that he had wilfully sown confusion, for where would such a practice stop? All the legal traditions would be hopelessly commingled, and then who could possibly learn enough law to practice in any court? It would be an outrageously radical step. Not that John worried about being criticized or censured. He was old, and if people chose not to follow his precedent, so be it. No, the real question was whether it was right to risk damaging the entire system of law in order to effect a righteous outcome in witchery cases.

  When Quill wound down, John hadn't yet made up his mind. “The court will take this motion under advisement and announce a decision at a later point, if it isn't mooted by one of the other motions.”

  Cooper was clearly disappointed; Quill was not much relieved. “Your Honor, even to consider this motion is–”

  John gaveled him to silence. “Next motion, Mr. Cooper.”

  Cooper arose and began a string of citations of obscure cases in English courts. John, having the advantage of the written motion in front of him, enjoyed watching Quill come to realize what Cooper was setting up. “Your Honor,” Quill finally said, interrupting Cooper. “Is counsel for the defense seriously suggesting that the interrogator be barred from giving testimony?”

  “Let's hear him out and see,” said John.

  “Therefore, Your Honor,” said Cooper, “the interrogators in witch trials, being without exception professionals whose employment depends, not on finding truth, but on obtaining guilty verdicts, are interested parties in the action. There is no record of a witcher in the last hundred years ever finding, upon interrogation, that a person charged with witchcraft was not guilty. Furthermore, there is a consistent pattern of witchers expanding upon testimony; there are only two cases in which charges of Satanic involvement were present in the original testimony, and both those cases were found to be deliberate falsifications. The pattern is clear: All legitimate witch trials begin with no evidence of anything beyond the use of a knack. Testimony concerning Satan only shows up when the interrogator arr
ives, and then comes into court in only two ways: through the interrogator's own testimony contradicting a witness or defendant who denies that Satan was involved, or through testimony from witnesses who confess to Satanic involvement as part of a confession that is taken as repentance, following which charges are dismissed. In short, your Honor, the historical record is clear. Evidence of Satanic involvement in all witch trials in New England is produced by the witchers themselves and those who, in fear of death, bend to their will and produce the only kind of confession that the witchers will accept.”

  “He's asking this court to deny the very basis of witchcraft law!” cried Quill. “He's asking this court to contradict the clear intent of Parliament and the Massachusetts assembly!”

  John almost laughed aloud. Cooper was audacious in the extreme. He wasn't just trying to get this case thrown out without a trial, he was demanding that John rule in such a way as to make it almost impossible to hold a witch trial ever again. If, that is, John's decision was accepted as a valid precedent.

  It came down to this thought: He's giving me a chance to do something brilliant in the last years of my life.

  “Your charge is of serious malfeasance on the part of Mr. Quill,” said John. “If I were to sustain this motion, I would have no choice but to revoke Mr. Quill's license and institute charges of perjury against him, just to start with.”

  “I have acted according to the best traditions of my profession!” cried Quill. “This is an outrage!”

  “Nevertheless,” said John, “these charges are of so grave a nature as to call into question the entire proceeding against Mr. Smith and Mistress Purity. For I have a feeling that if I were to grant either of these two motions, your next motion would be for a strict reading of the witchcraft laws.”

  “It would, Your Honor,” said Cooper.

  “Strict reading is what I'm asking for!” cried Quill.

  “You're asking for a strict reading of the anti-torture law,” said John. “The courts have long been aware that a strict reading of the witchcraft law requires that for a conviction there must be evidence not only of the use of hidden powers, but also that such powers originate from the influence and power of Satan.”