Wicca

by James Follett

  At 4:00pm by her watch, Cathy decided to risk a cautious exploration of the loft. She rearranged her keys in her shoulderbag so that they wouldn't jingle, and moved carefully along the collar-beams while holding onto roof trusses. After a drink of water from the header tank she flashed the torch around and found an old horsehair mattress that had escaped target practice by the bat colony. She positioned it near the hatch and stretched out. Sleep was out of the question, of course. She was too keyed up and there was the constant muffled rattle of typewriters, the clatter of horses and wagons from the square, and the hammering of the carpenters in the quadrangle at work on their grisly structure.

  It was the silence that woke her. The typewriters and hammering had ceased. The strips of light under the eaves now faint glows through which the bats wheeled and dived for another night's frenzied feeding. Cathy sat up and listened intently. She could hear voices from within the building. She edged around a mountain of guano towards the gable ends of the roof that fronted Market Square, where the voices were loudest. As near as she could judge, she was now over Prescott's office. Two men, one of them definitely Prescott's booming voice; the other had a rich, deeply resonate quality. The third voice sounded like Diana Sheldon but she couldn't be sure.

  Cathy remembered seeing a short offcut of plastic drain pipe. She found it and applied one end to the lath and plaster ceiling between the collar-beams, and her ear to the other. The mystery male voice was instantly recognizable as Adrian Roscoe because she had heard him preaching his strange gospel around the town on a number of occasions. She could not help a little shiver of fear when she recalled his wide-eyed proclamations about the evils within Pentworth and how God would ensure that the Wall would remain in place until such abominations had been cauterised from society by society. After the extraordinary events of the last few days, perhaps there was a grain of truth in his crazy accusations. Certainly more people were beginning to believe him. Two of Cathy's neighbours had urged her to hear him speak. They were an ordinary, level-headed couple who were now fervently convinced that terrible evils must be at work within Pentworth for the Lord to take such a drastic step.

  Roscoe's compelling voice was not raised now but even with the aid of the pipe she was unable to make out what they saying other than to catch the odd word here and there.

  Chapter 21.

  `IT SEEMS TO ME to be a very sensible idea, town clerk,' said Prescott, treating Diana to an Edsel radiator smile. `Father Adrian has already shouldered a considerable burden as it is by providing the security staff for Government House at no charge to the taxpayer. And just look at the string of cases his estate court has already dealt with: fines for just about every misdemeanour under the sun. Bound to happen when you've got over 50 workers on your patch.'

  Diana had to lean forward to study the list of cases that Adrian Roscoe's unofficial court had "tried" -- Prescott's desk lamp was the only light in the office. A 50 Euro fine for leaving the milking shed unattended was the heaviest sentence. `So all these fines have been imposed voluntarily?' she asked.

  `They have to be,' Roscoe replied. `The manorial court as it stands has no powers of arrest and prosecution. It's like a club imposing fines on its members for petty infringements of the rules. But we've had some serious offences recently. Offences that warrant immediate arrest.'

  `How serious, father?'

  `Yesterday a baker's assistant was caught smoking some homegrown stuff near a methane tank breather valve. There could have been a major explosion. The bakery could've been destroyed.'

  `In which case he or she should be tried in the magistrates' court here,' Diana pointed out.

  `True. But we have to find a way of cutting out all the bureaucratic rigmarole, town clerk,' Prescott replied, maintaining a bland smile that cloaked his mounting irritation at the way his usually compliant chief executive was behaving. `The food control officer is complaining that cases are not being properly prepared. All the adjournments are creating a backlog so that her proper job is suffering. So, what I want you to do, town clerk, is go home and burn some midnight oil to word an emergency regulation to reintroduce the powers of arrest and prosecution that Pentworth manorial court used to have so that they can deal with cases on a proper footing.'

  `Such powers would have to be confined to within the curtilage of the Pentworth estate,' said Diana cautiously.

  `Yes. Yes.'

  `If there had been an explosion, a case of criminal negligence would have to be heard in a higher court than a manorial court or even the magistrates' court.'

  `We have a Crown court set up under Judge Hooper, town clerk,' said Prescott acidly. `It's already dealt admirable with a murder case. I see no harm and many benefits in putting the old powers of the Mesne Lord of the Manor of the Pentworth Estate on a proper legal footing. All the documents you need are in those deeds.'

  Diana could see much harm and no benefits in such a move. It simply made no sense -- it would easier to appoint a solicitor as a public prosecutor as and when needed, but she sensed the danger in raising further objections. Perhaps a quiet word with Judge Hooper... She stood, gathered up the box file and its contents. `I'll do my best, Mr Chairman.'

  Prescott beamed magnanimously. `Thank you, town clerk. Where would we be without you? Perhaps you'd like me to call in on you later this evening? See how it's coming along?' Diana flushed and smiled for the first time since the strange meeting. `Yes -- thank you, Mr Chairman. I'd be pleased to see you.'

  Roscoe chuckled when he and Prescott were alone. `You seem adept at keeping her sweet, Asquith.'

  `I'm getting a little tired of keeping her sweet,' Prescott growled. `Since Judge Hooper's ruling gave me the green light to do almost anything I choose in the interests of the community, I think she senses that she's no longer so important. She was a virgin, you know. 55 years old and still a virgin. Can you credit that?'

  Roscoe steepled his bony fingers. `So I get powers of arrest and prosecution. But only within the curtilage of the estate. That's not what I want, Asquith, and you know it's not. It doesn't address the problem of that abomination of Satan's daughter we're nurturing to our breast.'

  Prescott grinned and snapped his briefcase open. `I didn't give the town clerk all the documents I found in the deeds. Take a look at this.' He unfolded a half imperial vellum that bore the coat of arms of King James I. It was headed in bold, cursive script:

  An Acte against conjuration witchcrafte and dealinge with evill and Wicked Spirits

  `The King James' Witchcraft Act,' Roscoe commented. `It became law in 1604 and is no longer on the statue books. What use is it to me?'

  `Damned useful if I use my democratically-bestowed and legally-backed powers to allow the Act back onto the statute books.'

  `On what grounds?' Roscoe inquired.

  `In the interests of preserving religious harmony in the community following a spate of outrageous acts of desecration committed against the Anglican church, the Catholics and Methodists etcetera. There was a case was only last year, you recall -- chickens sacrificed in St Mary's churchyard. Big uproar. These things happen from time to time and they cause a lot of upset and unrest. People still take such things seriously. I would be failing in my duty if I didn't take steps to outlaw such vile practices if they got out of hand.'

  The whole thing was beginning to sound bizarre beyond belief, even to Roscoe's warped mind.

  Prescott smiled smugly at his visitor's expression. `And you, my dear Adrian, have a Parliamentary order demanding that such measures are taken.' He removed another document from his briefcase and placed it in front of Roscoe. It was handwritten. `Please be careful with it.'

  Like the Witchcraft Act, the letter was written on vellum. Roscoe read it without touching it. It was addressed to the Lord of Pentworth Manor, dated 12th December 1646. The 17th Century spelling and handwriting conventions made reading the letter difficult but its overall message was unequivocal: the writer called upon the Church, the Lord of Manor of Pentworth, a
nd the good people of Pentworth, to exercise vigilance in the hunting down of witches and other such evils, and bringing them to face the justice of God and the King.

  Roscoe came to the signature and looked up at Prescott, his compulsive blue eyes alight with suppressed excitement. `Matthew Hopkins -- Witch-finder!' he breathed. `This is fantastic, Asquith!'

  `I thought you'd be pleased. Note the seal. There's no doubt that it's genuine. This town is awash with former antique dealers. If the document is challenged, a whole string of expert witnesses could be produced to testify as to its authenticity.'

  Roscoe had reservations. `A conviction of witchcraft carries the death penalty -- that means the case would have to be heard before Judge Hooper?'

  `Of course...'

  `Witnesses giving evidence under oath. There is a massive weight of evidence against that woman that she is a witch and that she must hang, but I have no evidence that she has pursued her vile craft on my land. Therefore I cannot see how I can bring a prosecution.' His eyes burned into Prescott. His voice rose to the beginnings of that maniacal rave that could hold an audience entranced. `There can be no question of perjury! No lying under oath before the Almighty! No using the tools of Satan to defeat Satan!'

  `Calm down, Adrian. No one is suggesting that you do anything of the sort.' Prescott searched the papers in his briefcase to produce another rabbit in the form of an indian ink and water colour map that was coming apart along its creases. He positioned it carefully on his desk.

  `These old documents are quite fascinating,' Prescott continued. `Pentworth House estate was double its present size in the 17th Century. No doubt the transfer of the land documents are in the original deeds -- but they'd be held by the National Trust. They're not in Pentworth. As these deeds stand, a goodly chunk of Pentworth, including North Street and Ellen Duncan's herbal shop and flat, come within the boundaries of Pentworth House.'

  Roscoe studied the map and the enlarged Pentworth Estate highlighted in pink watercolour. There was a fanatical light shining in his eyes when he looked up. `This means we've got her,' he breathed. `We've got the daughter of Satan! She's ours!'

  `Yours -- if you can make your charges stick,' said Prescott carefully. `Much depends, of course, on the incidence of sacrilegious acts against churches that force the government into bringing in legislation to deal with witchcraft. If you follow me.' He chuckled at his deviousness in using this madman's insanity to his own ends without risk to himself. `I think this calls for a little celebratory drink in the Crown, Adrian.'

  Chapter 22.

  CATHY WAITED 10 MINUTES after she heard the two men leave the office to be certain that they were unlikely to return. She dropped from her hiding place into the women's toilets and used the light from the torch to wash her face, dust herself down as best she could, and have a drink. She was too scared to feel hunger. She listened carefully at the door. The radio station was on the same floor and it now operated around the clock.

  The corridor was dimly lit by emergency lights as was Diana Sheldon's office. Thankfully Prescott's office was not locked; she guessed that security relied on lockable filing cabinets and the presence of the blackshirts. The air-conditioning unit startled her by coming on with a soft humming when she entered Prescott's office -- probably controlled by an infra-red body heat sensor to save electricity but she didn't have time to hunt for it. Getting the Mac up and running was her first and only priority. She positioned her torch, switched the system on and was immensely relieved when the monitor's LEDs glowed and she heard the muted whir of the server's hard disk cranking up to speed.

  Cathy started work, unaware that four floors below, her unwitting triggering of the air-conditioning unit had been noted.

  The night security blackshirt sitting behind the front reception desk looked at the slave ammeter in annoyance. At night the needle normally hovered just under 10 amperes -- the average load needed to run the corridor and lobby lights, and the radio station, but it had suddenly jumped to indicate a 20 ampere drain on the uninterruptable power supply batteries in the basement.

  `Look at that,' he moaned to Nelson Faraday. `Our beloved chairman's air-con is on the blink again. It's supposed to switch off and stay off when his office is empty.'

  Faraday was standing in the entrance, talking to the two blackshirts guarding the front door while keeping an eye on Prescott and Roscoe who were drinking at a table outside the Crown. Prescott's two armed blackshirt bodyguards stood at a discreet distance. By the flickering light from the candles on each table Faraday could see that Prescott and Roscoe were looking pleased with themselves, and wondered why. He turned and looked inquiringly at his colleague manning the desk. `How do you know it's the air-con unit?'

  `10 amps over norm. Nothing in the building pulls that sort of load. The air-con played up last week when you were off duty. I went up and tried to fix it and it wouldn't go off. It flattened the UPS batteries. Our chairman went ballistic in the morning. So did Supplies because we needed the big jenny for a recharge when it wasn't booked to us.'

  Faraday grinned and looked at his watch. `So long as there's enough juice for the telly and video recorder in the muster room. It's a good 'un tonight. Pity you're on duty.'

  `The UPS batteries will run flat just as it gets interesting,' said the blackshirt cheerfully. `The chairman's been in all day so they've taken a caning.'

  Faraday scowled and left the building. Prescott and Roscoe had finished their drinks and were standing, shaking hands. They broke off at his approach.

  `Mr Chairman,' said Faraday respectfully. `I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but the duty officer thinks that your office air-con unit has come on.'

  `Just so long as you haven't tried to switch it off,' said Prescott testily.

  `No, sir.'

  `Just as well. Damned temperamental thing. I suppose I'd better go up and take a look at it.'

  `I'll do it if you like, sir.'

  `You'll do no such thing. I seem to be the only one that understands it. Anyway, there're some papers I want to collect.'

  `You'll be in touch, Asquith?' said Roscoe, moving off.

  `Just as soon the town clerk has done the necessary,' Prescott replied.

  The two men exchanged final goodnights. Prescott entered Government House, nodded to the blackshirts, and started up the stairs. He turned and looked speculatively at Nelson Faraday.

  `How about that extra responsibility you've been given. Nelson? Any problems?'

  Faraday gave a confident grin. `All the gen I needed was in the library, Mr Chairman. It'll all go smooth as clockwork. The carpenters will be finished tomorrow. I ordered knock-down construction -- in case it's needed again.'

  `Sensible, but let's hope it won't be.' Prescott glanced at his watch. `You'll be late for the video, Nelson.'

  `I'm on duty tonight, sir,' Faraday replied, wondering who was leaking information to the old bastard.

  `Since when has that ever stopped you?' Prescott smiled smugly, pleased to have put one over on his security chief, and headed up the stairs without waiting for a reply.

  Chapter 23.

  DELETING THE WEBSITE QUICKCAM photographs was easy. Cathy merely had to click on the appropriate icon and navigate through the verification messages warning her that such actions would delete all the files in the directory and did she really want to do that?

  But the ten shameful photographs that Josh had taken required a different approach. To ensure that they were properly erased meant zeroing the tracks on the hard disk that the images had occupied. This would prevent a knowledgeable computer buff such as Vernon Kelly from using the Mac's data recovery utilities to rebuild the files. It was a slow but totally data-destructive process.

  With the ninth image zapped, she loaded the tenth, and, as with the others, she avoided looking at it while she steered the mouse pointer along the tool bar. Why had she given in to Josh? It wasn't as if she had enjoyed it, and it had hurt despite his assurances.

  Her whole body we
nt rigid with terror when she heard footsteps outside the office. She had barely enough self control to blank the screen and switch off the torch just the door was thrown open and Prescott entered the office. He snapped on the ceiling lights and strode across the office to the air-conditioning unit. He dropped the inspection flap, tinkered with the controls, and swore when he could find nothing wrong.

  Perhaps it was the mythical sixth sense that told him that something was not right about the room for he straightened and turned slowly to meet Cathy's terrified gaze. They stared at each other for timeless seconds.

  `What the hell are you doing here?'

  Cathy's lips moved but no sound came out at first until Prescott had advanced across the office and was towering over her. `Sir...' She struggled to form a sentence. `This... This is my computer--'

  Prescott spun the swivel chair to face him and planted a hand on each armrest, trapping her. His face was twisted with rage. `Was your computer!'

  `Was my computer,' Cathy mumbled, unable to tear her eyes away from Prescott's hard stare.

  `So why are you here?'

  In her panic she could think of nothing other than to blurt out the truth. `There are some private files on it that I wanted to delete.'

  `Liar! You thought you'd print some money or food coupons!'

  `No, sir--'

  The stinging blow across the cheek rocked Cathy back, knocking her hand against the keyboard. Any keystroke was enough to knock out the screen blanker. The monitor glitched and burst into life to a full-screen display of the last of the dreadful pictures -- pin-sharp in over 70,000 livid colours.