“I would rather use the time to take some air,” I told him. “Please inform him that he will find me outside.” So saying I turned to step through the open door. A sudden swooshing and the passing of a swift shadow made me halt in my steps. I waited, realizing that the sun had been made to blink by the passing of the great sails of the mill. It was difficult to tell, without having seen the building from the outside, how low the swirling arms reach.
“Fear not, mistress!” the man called after me. “You may step outside without risk of injury.” Even then I could hear the laughter in his voice.
I nodded rather curtly, not wishing to give away how rattled I was. I stepped forward with more confidence than I felt. The day was warm and bright, and the air wonderfully fresh after the gritty atmosphere inside. I looked up, shielding my eyes against the sun. The building towered above me, much taller than I had first realized, with windows suggesting at least two more floors above the one in which I had found myself. The lower portion was constructed of red brick, while the upper part was wooden. There appeared to be a manner of cap that sat on the top in place of a more common roof, and it was to this that the sails were attached. There were four of them, each about twenty feet long and six wide. They moved gracefully, quietly, save for a small amount of creaking now and again, and a soft swooshing as they scythed through the air.
The windmill was situated at the top of a low hill, surrounded by fields and approached by a broad track that was well worn by cartwheels. I could see an expanse of woodland below. The countryside looked familiar. It could have been the area near Batchcombe, but I could not be certain. It might have been any corner of rural England. And what of the date? If I had truly journeyed back through time, what were the chances of my emerging at the precise time Tegan now inhabited? Did I even, in truth, know when that was? I had only the vaguest information to go on. The uniforms of the Parliamentarian soldiers had been a common sight for more than a decade. I had little chance of finding Tegan if I had arrived late, and none at all had I arrived early. The thought of her, of what she might be enduring, of her being Gideon’s prisoner, caused my heart to ache. I reminded myself that she was a brave, resourceful woman and an accomplished witch. She would not be helpless. And she must know that I would follow. That I would never give up my search for her. If only she could endure, could withstand Gideon and whatever purpose he had for her, until I could find her.
I was just wondering how long my host would keep me waiting when a voice behind me made me start.
“I see you are enjoying the view. It is charming enough in its rustic way, I grant you.”
I turned to find the miller standing behind me. He had washed the flour from his face, though his unkempt, shoulder-length hair was still dusty with it, and he now wore a jacket of dark tweed with a scarlet spotted kerchief knotted at his neck. So revealed, he was younger than I had first thought, with pale grey eyes that crinkled when he smiled, which he did frequently.
He dipped a swift bow, then stuck out his hand. “Erasmus Balmoral. Exceptionally pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said. “Though, of course, we have already met, albeit without introduction. I apologize for the somewhat intimate nature of our interactions so far. I often feel it is a poor way to encounter someone for the first time, something of a leap over the usual order of things, but there we are. Time Stepping is an inexact science. More an art, in truth. And as such, I suppose, we must forgive it the occasional impropriety.”
I stared at him. “You are the Time Stepper?”
“For my sins. I trust you have not suffered any ill effects? Some find a ringing in the ears persists, or a giddiness. Headaches, perhaps?”
“I am quite well, thank you. But, I confess, I wasn’t expecting…” I hesitated. This was not how I had pictured a Time Stepper. They were bookish people, exceedingly clever, committed to their calling, having spent years studying their singular craft. This man was roughly hewn, shabby-looking, dishevelled, and engaged in manual labor.
“… a miller? No, I don’t suppose you were.” He grinned, waving his arm at the windmill behind him. “It is rather splendid, though, don’t you agree? True, the living quarters are a little basic, but I believe I have made them acceptably comfortable. Why don’t we go in, and I’ll prepare a light luncheon? You must be hungry, after all, you haven’t eaten in centuries!” He laughed loudly at his own joke and offered me his arm. I took it and allowed him to lead me briskly back into the mill house. It seemed he did everything at some speed. He released my arm to bound up the stairs ahead of me to the chamber in which I had awoken. He hastened to throw open all the shutters, clearly a man given to energetic movements, and I saw that there was a simple stove on the far side of the room, with a water bowl, jug, and shelves and cooking utensils about the place. I sat at the small table and watched as he took bread and cheese from a slatted cupboard and placed them before me, snatching up a jar of pickles and a pat of butter, too.
“Please, help yourself,” he said, taking a stone jar of ale from the highest shelf and using his sleeve to wipe dust off two earthenware beakers. “The cheese is unremarkable, but the bread is delicious, if I say so myself. I baked it yesterday. One of the advantages of my newfound trade; a miller is never short of flour. “’Tis only cheat bread, but fortunately I am a more accomplished baker than I am a miller. Come along, tuck in, I’ll have no guest of mine die starving of manners.”
He sat opposite me and began carving generous chunks from the loaf with the same bone-handled knife I had seen him use on the sacks earlier. Even slicing bread was a task he tackled with alarming speed, the blade glinting in the summer sunshine, yet more flour rising up from the crust of the loaf.
“I am a little confused,” I told him.
“No doubt. Everyone always is. Lots of questions, naturally. Ask away!”
“I had anticipated some manner of communication between us before … before we were to travel.”
“I heard your call, loud and clear. Very good it was, very…” he paused, motionless for the briefest of moments, eyes raised to the high ceiling as he searched for the appropriate word. “… forceful,” he said at last, before resuming piling food onto his wooden platter.
“But, how did you know where … when I wanted to go to? I had given you but the scantest details.”
“English Civil War,” he spoke as he chewed. “Batchcombe Hall.” He used his knife to point over his left shoulder, evidently indicating the location of the great house. “Plenty to be going on with.”
“As I recall, this country was engaged in sporadic war for over fifteen years. I only mentioned summer, and some details regarding the uniforms. You may have brought me to the right place, but what of the time? We could be years adrift from the date Gideon disappeared to.”
“Possible,” he conceded, washing down his bread and cheese with a long gulp of ale, “but unlikely.”
His relaxed attitude began to grate upon me. “Mr. Balmoral…”
“Oh, call me Erasmus, I implore you!”
“… I do not think you are fully aware of the gravity of the situation.”
“Am I not?”
“I am not here on some flight of fancy. I did not undertake Time Stepping lightly. I understand it is not without risk. I have come here because I must, because someone dear to me, someone who depends upon my help, is in great danger. I must find her, and I must find her quickly. To be successful it is imperative I have arrived at the right time. I cannot afford to let the trail go cold. Tegan’s very life depends on my finding her before … well, the point is, there is no time to be wasted. I have neither the patience nor the wish to observe the niceties of being a guest, or to take in the view, or to sit here while a violent, evil man holds an innocent young woman captive.”
Erasmus finished his mouthful, dabbed at his lips with a floury kerchief, which he then dropped onto his plate, before leaning back in his chair. He studied me, his head tilted, and when he spoke his voice was, for the first time, l
evel and serious.
“Madam, trust me when I tell you no one engages in the potentially perilous business of Time Stepping without a compelling reason to do so. Aside from the individual’s own wishes, no Time Stepper would agree to be of service to them for, as you so quaintly put it, a ‘flight of fancy.’ What is more, whilst you yourself are by all accounts a highly able and much respected witch, and a near immortal one at that, kindly allow that I am an expert in my own field. I would never, never, Step blindly. I always know precisely where and when I am to travel to, with whom, and to what end. You informed me whom we were in pursuit of, and this information enabled me to pinpoint their chosen time.”
“But, Gideon is adept at cloaking his location,” I protested, shaking my head. “I cannot see him. Even with the assistance of the Goddess and the help of my sister witches I was unable to stir a vision of him. Had I not had the help of the wood faeries I would not know what little I do of his whereabouts. How is it, then, that you believe you have traced him? How are your powers of divination in such an instance more effective than my own?”
“In all probability, they are not. So it is as well that I had another avenue of exploration open to me. As you say, this warlock is able to cover his tracks extremely well. Whatever cloaking spells he uses are complex and not easily broken. However, he is not a Time Stepper. Though he is immortal, he does not have the ability to jump from one era to another, back and fore, as his will dictates. No, that skill is denied him. He was not born to it, and he will never be given it. Such a man would be forever excluded from our ranks. So, it follows that to journey as he has done he would have to have employed the services of one such as myself.”
“Another Time Stepper? Would they have agreed to help him?”
“It is possible they had no choice. Few would attempt to coerce one of my society to work for them, but I fear Gideon Masters is one of those few. Whatever his methods of persuasion, it seems he found a Time Stepper unable to refuse his request.” He waited for me to take in this information and then clarified further. “Your warlock I could not follow, but another Time Stepper leaves a trail as clear to me as footprints in the snow.”
“Then we are arrived at the right moment, it is certain?” When he nodded I rushed on. “And have you found him, this other Time Stepper? Have you been able to question him further? It might be that he can shed some light on where Gideon is hiding Tegan. He might have valuable information for us.”
“Alas, if he did he took it with him to his grave.”
I was shocked but not surprised. “I’m sorry,” I said, seeing Erasmus’s sorrow at the death of one of his own, a shadow passing over his naturally cheerful face. “Gideon’s ruthlessness knows no bounds. Which is why I must begin my search as soon as possible. We do at least know that he and Tegan are here somewhere?”
“We do.” He paused and then asked, “Are you confident you are a match for your opponent when we find him?”
The baldness of the query took me by surprise. It was a fair question, and one I asked of myself often, but it was as if I were facing it anew hearing it spoken aloud by someone else.
“I will have to be,” I told him. “There is no one else to help Tegan. She is in danger because of me. It is up to me to save her.”
“Laudable sentiments, but ones that may get us both killed, judging by the fate of my fellow Stepper.”
“I had not thought to put you in peril, beyond the Stepping, that is.”
“What am I here to do if not to see that your journey is safe and successful? Of course I shall assist you in any way I can, and to do that, I need to know more about our adversary. What can you tell me of him that may be of use?”
It was hard to know where to begin; how to give a clear and accurate summary of such a man as Gideon Masters.
“He is single-minded, without pity, unable or unwilling to consider the value of another unless it is someone who matters to him. And even then he can turn from obsessive love to murderous hatred with breathtaking ease.”
“You sound as if you were once the recipient of these … affections.”
“I was. Indeed, he hates me still, and I believe he is using Tegan to punish me, even after all these long years.”
“It seems an extreme course of action, I mean to say, extreme for a snubbed lover or ally or whatever. Forgive me, I am not implying that you might not inspire such … passion, only that, well, if the man is as clever and as skilled in magic as you claim him to be, such sustained fury seems out of proportion to a bruised heart and dented pride.”
“I can only tell you how he has behaved in the past. I admit I don’t know if he has a new motivation, a new goal. If he does, I have yet to discover it.”
Erasmus shrugged and grinned. “Until he reveals it, then, we will consider him a spurned lover, harboring a centuries-long grudge, furious at having had his liberty taken from him for five years, bent on paying you back for the wrongs he believes you have done to him…”
“… and prepared to kill anyone in order to do so,” I added.
“So it would seem,” he agreed. “A warlock, you said in your summoning. Given to using aliases, then?”
“Indeed he has used many variations on his name…” I stopped speaking as, at that moment, a movement caught my eye. Aloysius had been tempted from his hiding place by the smell of fresh bread and pungent cheese. He scampered across the table. With startling speed my host drew back his knife and threw it. I had not time to shout, but instinctively released a protective pulse of magic that reached the mouse a fraction of a second before the blade, deflecting the knife and sending it crashing to the floor. It was not a spell as such, not a considered act. It was a witch responding faster than reason when someone close to her is threatened.
“Good lord!” Erasmus exclaimed.
“This is Aloysius. He is accompanying me on my quest,” I explained, breaking off a morsel of cheese and feeding it to the mouse, who was utterly unperturbed.
“I don’t know which surprises me more,” Erasmus said, retrieving his knife, “that your skill is so impressive, or that you choose to bring a rodent with you.”
“He belongs to Tegan. He may be of assistance.” When this remark was met with raised eyebrows, I went on, “He is no ordinary mouse.”
Erasmus laughed loudly at this. “I fear his singularity may be lost on the family of cats that patrol the mill!”
“We will be on our guard for predators,” I assured him. “And we would appreciate your not using him for target practice.”
“Forgive me … Aloysius, was it?” He made a solemn bow to the mouse. “I rarely fling knives at my guests. I promise not to do it again. You are most welcome here.” He poured us both a little more ale. “Now, to matters of business,” he said, leaning forward in his seat. “I have to tell you there are certain conventions concerning Time Stepping which will be required of you.”
“I had expected as much.”
“First, you cannot discuss how you come to be here with anyone. Our work is protected by secrecy, you would quite probably be thought a lunatic, and, given the year…”
“If anyone did believe me I would likely be accused of witchcraft. Trust me, that is a charge over my very long life I have become adept at avoiding.”
He looked at me thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said, “I imagine it must be. Good. Second, and this goes with the first, on no account is the Time Stepper to impart knowledge of the future, whether it be events, developments, discoveries, or expertise in any guise whatsoever. Which is to say, no telling someone something about things from beyond their possible lifetime, no writing it down, painting a picture of it, nothing of that sort.”
“Of course.”
“And third, you must have a name and a position fitting for the society and time to which you have journeyed. In your particular case we must be particularly careful. As I understand it you were born and raised in the area and lived here into your teens. There is a chance you may be recognized.”
“And, as I left fleeing the local gaol under charge of being a witch, I certainly don’t wish to remind anyone of who I am or why I disappeared.”
“Precisely so. You need to have a new name. I am unknown here, and so can use my own, and as such I have already established my identity as a cousin of the miller whom I have replaced.”
“Can I ask what happened to him?”
“Do not concern yourself on his account. I do not function under the same ethics as the somewhat single-minded Mr. Masters. He was approached by a Time Stepper already resident in this time and paid for his temporary absence and permanent silence.”
“You must have to be very certain of the loyalty of a string of people whom you do not know well.”
“Our continued existence is testimony to the belief that every man has his price, Mistress…? Well, what am I to call you?”
“Carmichael,” I said, “Mistress Carmichael.” The name brought a familiar tightening to my chest even after so many years. I had loved deeply only once in my life. If there had ever been anyone’s name I would have happily taken, it would have been dear Archie’s. At least now, for a short time, I could remember him this way. We had met in the midst of another war. While death marched across the battle-scarred land and Archie led his men from the trenches and I nursed the wounded, we found each other. And for the briefest of times I allowed myself to love. Yet again, it was not I who paid the price for that. A price that Gideon exacted.
“Excellent!” Erasmus brought me back from my memories. “You are my widowed sister, come to visit. I must caution you to be on your guard. What age were you when you fled, and in what year?”
“I was sixteen. The year was 1628.”
“Nineteen years before this date. In the natural order of things you would be … let me see … thirty-five years old.” He looked at me anew, calculating, wondering, and then nodded and shrugged. “Yes, it’s plausible.”
The Return of the Witch Page 6