I looked up at that curtain hanging across the doorway. Something inside me balked and protested, wanting to leave well enough alone, but curiosity drew me on. Had to be curiosity, right? Couldn't have been anything else.
I pushed the curtain aside and looked in. The smell got a lot worse, and I wrinkled my nose. I couldn't pretend it was just rotting food any more. It was the stench that goes with sickness, bad sickness. Angelique had been right, though—there was no one there, certainly not in the bed. It wasn't made, though, and the dishes were piled up on the table. This was where the toll-witch lived... but where was she now?
I went back out, shaking my head. "You called it, Angelique. No one home."
Frisson clapped his hands with a smile of delight. "Most excellent! Let us go on past!"
"Yeah," I said slowly, "let's."
But it nagged at me, as we went by the tollhouse. I didn't like unsolved puzzles, and I liked even less the idea that somebody might be lying around sick with nobody to take care of him. However, there was every chance that the duty-witch had been taken in for an overhaul, and that her replacement just hadn't arrived yet, so I pushed my misgivings aside and followed Gilbert into the woods.
Then I heard the moan from the other side of the trail.
CHAPTER TEN
It was hard to say whether that moan was of pain or terror... or maybe both. But I couldn't ignore it. I stopped. That meant Frisson and Gruesome had to stop, too, or bump into me—but they had stopped already and were frowning into the shadows under the leaves.
"What moves, Master Saul?" Frisson asked.
"Probably nothing," I answered. "From the sound, I'd say whatever made it is too sick to do more than lie there."
Gilbert heard and looked back. He stopped, frowning. " 'Tis not our affair, Master Saul."
"Anybody hurt is my affair," I snapped. " 'No man is an island.' I thought you were a Christian, Gilbert."
"I am indeed!" he cried, offended.
"Then remember the parable of the Good Samaritan."
"The Samaritan," Frisson said nervously, "was in no peril."
"He speaks wisely, Master Saul." Angelique's voice seemed to come from thin air. "There may be danger."
"Can't let a little thing like that stop us." I stepped into the shadows, pushing the branches aside with my quarterstaff—and just incidentally keeping it near the guard position. "Let's see what we'll find."
Leaves rustled as we moved in. Then Angelique recoiled. "Evil!"
I could smell it, too—or maybe it was just the aroma of illness. I reminded myself that this massive hallucination included a guardian angel, and kept going.
The underbrush opened out, and there, hovering near a sheer rock face, were two of the ugliest creatures I had ever seen, with multiple fangs and tusks sticking out of their snouts, under baleful yellow eyes set in red, leathery skin that turned into black as it stretched out into bat wings. Their fingernails were claws, and their feet were cloven hooves. I froze; the mere sight of them struck fear through my vitals—or maybe it was their sulfurous smell, or the aura of evil that hung about them.
They were chuckling and gibbering, jabbing long-nailed fingers at the poor bundle of rags and quivering flesh that huddled against the rock face. I took a deep breath, reminding myself that they were just hallucinations.
The deep breath was a bad idea, though; I caught a whiff of her stench and was almost glad the demons' sulfur smell drowned it out—but it was definitely the same as the trace lingering in the back room of the toll cabin.
She saw me and stretched out a hand in supplication. "Aid! Good traveler, aid!"
The devils turned in instant suspicion, saw me, and dove for me, howling.
Terror damn near immobilized me, but trained reflexes made me leap aside and slam a kick at the nearest one. I yelped; he was hard! And hot; pain seared through my toes. My boot was charred.
The devil snarled and turned, gloating—but Gilbert leapt in front of it, holding his sword up like a cross and crying, "Avaunt! Leave off, in the name of the Christ!"
They actually hesitated, and I knew with a sick certainty that the only thing that protected Gilbert right then was his total, idiotic purity and the massiveness of his unquestioning faith. If I had tried it, they'd have torn me limb from limb.
Even Gruesome was cowering back, and Frisson was hiding behind him. But Angelique's ghost drifted to Gilbert, glowing with righteous indignation and purity. "Get thee hence, in the holy name! Avaunt, and begone!"
Now the devils did cower back—but they didn't go. I figured they'd work up their nerve eventually; this was their prey, after all.
Which reminded me about the sick one.
I stepped over to the whimpering bundle. "What's the matter?"
A claw pulled the hood open enough so that two rheumy eyes blinked out at me. "Oh, the pain!" She pressed one hand to her belly. "It tears me apart from within! I have cast spells against it, but it eats through even that power! I die!"
The devils surged forward, cackling with glee.
"Avaunt!" Gilbert shoved his cross-hilt in their faces, and I swear he didn't show the slightest trace of fear. Angelique glowed with wrath behind him, and the devils bellowed with anger, but retreated.
"They will take me," the old woman whimpered. "They will haul me to Hell!"
Sympathetic fear wracked me, but I hung on to my composure and said, "No they're not! Not according to the rules! All you have to do is repent! I remember that, because it always seemed like such a cheat to me, that a man could live his whole life making other people miserable and still go to Heaven if he just repented at the last second!"
"With eons in Purgatory," the witch moaned, "but even as thou sayest... The tortures would end, someday..."
The devils howled with rage and sprang, vaulting around Gilbert and Angelique in two jumps.
One of them slammed me back into the dirt, and pain tore through me where his huge hand pressed. His monstrous face was an inch from mine as his jaws gaped wide, and terror jellied my insides—but I heard the old witch scream in horror, and the sound galvanized me.
"Angel!" I cried. "I'm trying to do your work now! It's in your own interest! Get rid of these monsters!"
Thunder cracked, and searing light filled the little clearing. "Even so!" the angel's voice snapped, echoing all about me. "I am entreated by a mortal who seeks to do God's work! Begone, loathsome fiends!" The light shrank in on itself just enough to be an anthropoid form, and glowing hands reached out to yank the two devils aside. " 'Tis the power of God that flows through me to brand you! Get hence, in His name!"
The two demons howled; the angel hurled them away, and they shrank, diminishing, until they were just two black dots that disappeared with a double pop.
I stared, awed, and muttered, "Dealer wins all draws."
The shining form waved a hand at me. "Let thy pain be gone! Now aid the woman!"
And he disappeared. Just like that.
Gilbert looked up at me, awed. "What manner of man are you, Wizard, that even angels will come when you call?"
"A do-gooder busybody," I snapped. I was too busy being amazed to be polite; the burning pain in my chest was gone. I took a quick peek down inside my shirt and didn't see the slightest scar, just a bright pinkness in the shape of a huge clawed hand. It was enough to give me a bad case of the shakes, until the poor lump of rags moaned.
I turned to it, trying to remember that this "poor thing" had probably burned peasants and gloated at their pain, in her time, and practiced the rest of the catalog of medieval minor witchcraft, such as making cows go dry and women barren. But I couldn't resist trying to help when she looked so pitiful. "Apologize," I advised. "You know you're going to die... but if you repent, the devils can't have you. Maybe a long, long time in Purgatory, as you said, but not Hell."
"I dare not," the old woman whispered. "The pain is held at bay only by the spells I've cast—and even with their aid, 'tis like to drive me from my senses
!"
"And if you repent, you lose your magic powers, so the pain will rip you apart? But remember..." I tried to recall the rules, as I'd learned them from Dante. "If you suffer the agony patiently here on Earth for the few days you have left, it will take centuries off your tortures in Purgatory."
"I fear the pain too much," she gasped in despair. "I am too far sunk in cowardice!"
I bit back the urge to tell her she deserved what she was getting, then—I'm sure it wouldn't have seemed that way to me, if I'd been the one that was in agony. I frowned; what to do? If she couldn't repent because she was in pain, but the only thing that made her want to repent was that same pain...
No, it wasn't. It was fear of eternal pain, in Hell.
"If I can make the pain go away," I asked her, "would you still want to repent?"
"Aye, assuredly!" she gasped. "Anything to save me from an eternity of agonies as I've felt now!"
"Probably worse," I reminded her. "Well, let's see what we can do. What kind of pain?"
"A gnawing, a hideous gnawing!" She pointed to her belly. "Here!"
"Not a burning pain, like a hot coal?"
"Nay! 'Tis as if something did eat me from the inside, with terribly sharp teeth!"
Not appendicitis, I guessed, but it did sound like abdominal cancer, and she was sure old enough.
I sat back on my heels, frowning. How do you use magic to cure cancer?
Then I remembered that "cancer" is Latin for "crab," and that the disease was named that way because it felt as if a crab were digging you out inside with its pincers.
So how do you fight an inside crab?
Obviously, bring it outside.
"Gilbert," I called, "come over here with your sword."
"Nay!" the witch shrieked.
"Oh, it's not for you," I said impatiently. "No mercy killing—I'm not about to end your mortal agony by sending you to everlasting torture."
Gilbert came up, sword ready, frowning. "What moves, wizard?"
"A crab," I told him. "I'm expecting a giant crab, or something very much like it. If it shows up, stab it. Frisson?"
"Aye, Master Saul." The poet edged up, trembling.
"See if you can't cook up a verse for killing shellfish. Okay, folks." I took a deep breath, tried to ignore the gnawing in my own middle, and reached out for the scrap of parchment Frisson handed me. I read it, chanting:
"Get you gone up-channel
With the sea crust on your plates,
And get out of that body
With the burden of your freights!"
Nothing happened.
Frisson's face stretched so long I thought it was rubber. "I have failed!"
"No, I don't think it was you." The rules again. "She's in the power of evil now, and our spells are based on goodness, so they can't touch her." Except for spells inducing remorse, apparently—I'd found that out with Sobaka.
I wondered if I would have to use them again. "Woman! I cannot cure you unless you repent! You have to open your soul to God's grace, or all the good will in the world can't touch you!"
She was still a moment, rigid. Then she convulsed around the agony in her middle again, screaming and crying out, "I repent me! Aiiee, even if I die in agony, I will not suffer thus for eternity! I forsake Satan and all his lies!"
Then she screamed, as the king of all pains racked her body again—a souvenir from her boss, no doubt. But the woman had amazing grit; she held on, and when the spasm passed, she went right on where she'd left off, though in a husky whisper. "May God forgive my sins! I forswear my pact with the Devil!"
Then she screamed again.
I started chanting on the instant, repeating the verse:
"Come forth from salty bloodstream
With your pain that cramps and grates!
Get you gone up-channel
With the sea crust on your plates,
And get out of that body
With the burden of your freights!"
The witch gave one last shriek, then fell silent, panting hoarsely as, between Gilbert, Gruesome, myself, and the huddled witch, the air seemed to thicken, growing darker and darker. Then, all of a sudden, it snapped into sharp, clear detail—and a crab three feet wide, with yard-long claws a foot thick, was scuttling straight toward me, its pincers aiming for my throat.
I yelled and jumped back, just as Gilbert shouted, "For Saint Moncaire and for right!" and leapt in, stabbing down. His sword skewered right through the whole crab, pinning it to the forest floor, and he had the sense to jump back. A high-pitched keening pierced my ears, and I fell away, hands pressed over them. Gilbert was staggering, too, fingers in his ears, while the crab scuttled, thrashing about—until it pulled the sword free from the earth and came straight at the squire.
With a bellow that shook the trees, Gruesome leapt.
He landed on the monster with both feet; its shell gave with a sickening crunch. Pincers waved wildly, snaking back to snip at Gruesome's feet, but he reached down, catching the claws in huge hands, and straightened up, wrenching them loose. The monster screamed—I heard it even through my hands—then went limp.
The clearing was very quiet.
I looked around and saw Frisson, over at the base of a tree trunk, his lips moving silently.
I sat up, dazed, taking my hands away from my ears, but keeping them close, just in case.
The only sound I heard was the roar of triumph as Gruesome jumped up and down on the shell, then tore open the claw and thrust it toward his mouth...
"Gruesome, no!" I shouted.
His fangs clashed together but held back, as if he'd just bitten down on a spare auto fender. Then he held off on the claw, looking down at me resentfully. "Hungry!"
"And you certainly deserve a ten-course banquet," I said quickly, stumbling over to him. "I'll conjure one up for you, as soon as we're done helping this poor old lady! But not that meat, Gruesome! Bad for you! Shellfish has parasites! Very bad! Especially since the pieces of this one might pull themselves together inside you and start trying to eat their way out!"
Gruesome stared at the claw as if he'd never seen it before.
" 'Tis well spoken," Angelique said. "The monster weakened outside a host's body, and quickly—but would it not regain strength, once within?"
Gruesome hurled the claw away with a howl of frustration, but even as he did, it was fading, fading... and was gone. So was the huge plastron he was standing on, and all the little legs, and the other big claw. Gruesome stared down, dismayed; the lower edge of his huge lipless mouth quivered.
"Shellfish never did stay with me long," I sighed. "Always hungry again in an hour. Don't worry about it, big fella. We'll get you a whole steer, in just a few minutes."
"The witch," Gilbert said softly.
Something in his tone reminded me that without the lash of pain, our witch might not be feeling so remorseful. In fact, there was no guarantee that she wouldn't go back on her repentance.
She was sitting up, staring down at her midriff wide-eyed, pressing experimentally here and there. " 'Tis... 'tis gone! I am well! No more hurt!"
"I'd still take it easy for a while, if I were you," I said. "Just because we've got it licked for the time being, doesn't mean it won't come back."
"Nay, it will not, for I saw it torn apart by your huge troll! Amazing, most amazing! Who would have thought there was a crab within? Who would have thought to have conjured it out to fight it with steel?"
"It faded away," I reminded her. "It could reappear inside you—or another one just like it."
"Even if it does not, I may find myself beset by another illness, right quickly." The old woman looked up with tears in her eyes. "Alas! How comes it, good stranger, that you would help me, who have been so cruel to so many and torn the life from no few?"
"I can't resist a call for help," I said, with some self-disgust. "I know that makes me a chump, but—"
"Then a 'chump' must be a most excellent thing! Oh, I will sing your praises
wherever I go!"
"Mayhap," Gilbert put in, "it would become you more to sing God's praises."
"Aye, indeed!" The witch sank down on her knees, clasped hands upraised. "I repent me of all my sins! I would that I could atone for each and every wrong I have done! Dear Father, forgive me!"
Nothing happened, no thunderclap... but a look of peace swept over her face, and her eyes widened in surprise. "Why... is it thus?" she whispered.
"The peace of God." Gilbert nodded. "Yet you must seek out a priest, poor woman, as quickly as you may, that your sins may be shriven."
"Even so! That I shall!" The ex-witch pushed herself to her feet, gathering the rags of her robes about her. "And I must go quickly, for if the queen should discover my betrayal, I shall die quite quickly!"
"And in agony," Gilbert nodded. "Therefore tarry not."
The old woman shrugged. "The agony matters naught; I deserve far worse than ever she could wreak upon me, for all the wrongs I've done. Nay, almost would I welcome it now, that it might ease my burden of guilt. Yet I would not have it for eternity, and therefore will I go hotfoot." She whirled to me, hands upraised in gratitude. "Oh, stranger, I cannot thank you enough for your pity and aid! You have behaved as a true Christian, nay, as a saint would have! May you be blessed forever!"
"Glad I could help," I said, uncomfortably aware of everyone's eyes on me. "Now go your way and try to help others as I've helped you."
"I shall! Oh, I shall! And shall praise your name every night, in my prayers! Farewell!" She turned and hobbled into the woods, and was gone from sight.
"You have wrought well for God this day, Master Saul," Gilbert said softly.
I shrugged impatiently. "I did something good for a human being, out of entirely selfish motives."
"Selfish?" Gilbert frowned. "How so?"
"Because it made me feel good inside." I raised my voice. "Hear that, angel? I'm grateful for your help—but I had it coming, because what I wanted to do was also what you wanted done! I'm not on your side! But I'm not on their side either! Got that?"
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