Wicca

by James Follett

  Nelson Faraday at an upstairs window in Government House focussed his binoculars on Vikki as she cycled along the opposite side of the square, her golden mane tangling provocatively around her face; sunlight catching the fine hairs on her slender legs, a short skirt riding up, lifting off bronzed thighs in the breeze. A foul cocktail of lust and hatred surged and heaved in him like a backing-up sewer. So many scores to settle with that cock-teasing little bitch and her friend, Sarah Gale, who had kneed him in the groin during the Mayday celebrations. The Gale girl was a slut, but he reckoned that pretty little Vikki Taylor was still a virgin. He reckoned he could tell -- breasts still pert, arse tight and clenched.

  Not a virgin for much longer, bitch! And when I've smashed away your tightness, I'll turn you over and start again -- show you what real pain is.

  The finale was him staring into those green eyes, wide with terror, as he fitted the noose around her neck. She was 16 now which meant that as from midnight, when the new law had come into force, she could be hanged. Which side for the knot? People's bodies were slightly asymmetrical -- heavier on one side than the other, particularly women. One breast was always larger than the other. The knot went on the opposite side so that the imbalance helped with a good, clean break of the vertebra at the knot. Get it wrong and they danced, usually pissing and crapping themselves, making it necessary to grab them around the thighs, lift and jerk down hard to break the neck. With Ruth Ellis old Albert Pierrepoint had used a spy hole to watch her taking a bath in her cell at Holloway Prison. No need to spy on Vikki fucking Taylor -- he would know where the knot should go. Or maybe he would deliberately botch it? A drop too short for her weight so that she strangled to death? Yeah --why not?

  He checked that his Handie-Com's selective calling tones were correctly set and pressed the PTT key.

  `Go ahead,' said Roscoe.

  `She's arrived for work.'

  `Excellent. I'll get busy.'

  Yes, thought Faraday, returning the radio to his pocket. She would most assuredly hang.

  Vikki turned into North Street. The high wall of Pentworth House on one side of the narrow street and the shoulder-to-shoulder houses and shops on the opposite side stirred a sense of foreboding in her. The atmosphere in North Street was always dank, even on sunny days like today, but now it seemed even colder and the gloom more oppressive. The stares of passers-by were hard and unfriendly.

  `Country scum!' a passing carter sneered as she was wheeling her bicycle into Ellen's shop. She had learned to ignore such insults although it was worrying that perfect strangers seemed to know who was country and who wasn't. The town had become worryingly clannish.

  `Good morning, Vikki,' said Ellen brightly. `Tea's ready. Today I'm going to show you how to use the pill press Tony Selby made me.'

  The girl was astonished by the transformation in her boss. Ellen's hair brushed and shining, a freshly-ironed white coat, some make-up, and she was actually smiling -- something Vikki hadn't seen for several days. `Has Thomas come back?' she asked, glancing around the workroom as she pulled on a pair of plastic gloves. She had been so concerned about the missing cat that she had put a card in the window.

  `Oh -- he'll turn up when it suits him,' said Ellen dismissively. `He's done it before. I've decided that there's no point in worrying about him.'

  `Probably taken up with someone else,' said Vikki, matching Ellen's mood. `We've got a cat like that. Fickle as a February freckle, my mum says.'

  `Let's hope she doesn't teach anyone else to say it.'

  `She didn't want me to come in today.'

  `Because of the hanging?'

  Vikki nodded. `Mind you, it was no more than that Brad Jackson deserved. Everyone says so.'

  `Everyone does not say so,' said Ellen severely. `I don't say so, for one. And there're a lot of people that agree with me. I was going to take part in the vigil in Market Square tonight.'

  Vikki sipped her tea. `But I thought all the townies were in favour, Miss Duncan? Brad Jackson being country.'

  `Yes -- well I'm not a so-called townie anymore than you're so-called country. God -- I loathe this moiety that's evolved. We're a tiny community facing a massive crisis -- the last of humanity for all we know -- and yet we're turning against one another.'

  `We're not the last of humanity,' said Vikki with uncharacteristic conviction that took Ellen by surprise.

  `And what makes you so sure, young lady?'

  Vikki seemed to regret having spoken so emphatically. Ellen repeated her question. The girl made no reply but stared into her mug. Ellen started wheedling. She was a tenacious wheedler.

  `Because I was told!' Vikki blurted in exasperation.

  `By whom?'

  `The visitors.'

  Ellen opened her mouth to speak and fell silent. She could see that the girl was distressed. She pulled a chair close to her and put an arm around her shoulders. `Do you want to tell me about it?'

  As it happened Vikki had been aching to talk about her strange summons to the lake by the visitors. Sarah had been understanding but Vikki wanted an adult to talk to. Mother would've worried about her daughter having religious visions. Ellen was always a sympathetic listener but Vikki was no longer confident of a friendly hearing from the older woman.

  `You'd think I was lying, Miss Duncan.'

  `That I know you could never do, Vikki. You always tell the truth as you see it. So tell me in your own time. There's no hurry.'

  The story of Vikki's nocturnal summons by the visitors to Pentworth Lake came out. A little disjointed -- Ellen had to ask her to go over some points until the account was complete. There was one omission: Vikki could not bring herself to tell Ellen about her regenerated left hand.

  Chapter 33.

  `FOR GOD'S SAKE, Adrian. Can't it wait? Does it have to be today of all days?'

  Prescott was more than deeply concerned, he was scared, but he did his best to conceal this from Roscoe. That morning he had received two death threats. The crude letter that had been sneaked into the lobby didn't worry him too much, but the phone call from a public telephone box did. The caller knew the codeword for the operator to put the call straight through to his office, and had disappeared by the time two blackshirts had raced to the kiosk.

  The cobalt blue eyes regarded Prescott steadily. `It is for God's sake that it has to be today,' he said coldly. He held out a sheaf of papers across Prescott's desk. `I want this arrest warrant signed and I want seven men to execute it. My men, Asquith. Let us not forget that. I'm not leaving without them or without your signature on this warrant.'

  `You don't realize what a powder keg we're sitting on,' Prescott protested. `This coming right after the hanging--'

  `The situation is of your making,' Roscoe replied curtly. `The hanging was nothing to do with me. The Witchcraft Act came into force at midnight. I will have to account to God for every minute I delay in bringing that whore daughter of Satan to justice.'

  `This will all blow over in a week. Surely God will understand a delay?'

  Roscoe's gaze hardened. `I do not presume to second guess the Almighty. As your new regulations stand, this warrant has to be signed by you. You drafted the regulations, Asquith.'

  Prescott inwardly cursed Diana Sheldon and Judge Hooper, wishing that he'd spent more time going over the wording of the order. The judge's advice had been that warrants dealing with serious matters had to issued by the elected government. The town clerk had drafted the legislation accordingly. It all seemed sensible and logical at the time. The trouble was that he hadn't thought through the consequences. Those consequences were now a white-gowned figure, arms folded, intense blue staring down at him, waiting for him to speak.

  `I can't sign your arrest warrant just yet, Adrian. Maybe by next Tuesday or Wednesday--'

  `I will not tolerate any delay!' Roscoe snapped. `It has to be now! We have a deal. I've provided you with a trained force and used my influence and powers of oratory to support you all the way! I even risked my life and the l
ife of several brethren sentinels to stop that foolish attempt on the Wall of God!'

  `It'll mean keeping her in custody over the weekend. She's not going to go anywhere. So, please, Adrian--'

  `I will not be thwarted in my duty to God!' Roscoe's voice came close to a scream of rage. He pulled a Handie-Com from a gown pocket. He raised the radio to his mouth, his finger resting on the PTT key. `Very well then, Asquith. If you can't stick to a deal, then neither can I. I will order the closure of the Pentworth House bakery.'

  Prescott was trapped. The whole community depended on Roscoe's bakery. Not only were the methane gas-fired bread ovens non-polluting and kept going around the clock by three shifts of Roscoe's now skilled bakers, but most of Pentworth's stock of EU grain had been moved to Pentworth House's silos, behind Pentworth House's high walls. If the unthinkable happened and the bread stopped, he would be facing trouble from the town and the country, and he couldn't count on the loyalty of the blackshirts in a showdown because Roscoe had stepped up their entertainment facilities in Pentworth House.

  He thought fast, groping desperately for options but there were none. He was beaten. There was nothing for it but to hold out his hand for the warrant.

  `You'll have to sign each copy individually,' said Roscoe, handing him the papers. `This new paper's too thick to use carbon paper.'

  Prescott thumbed through the documents one by one, not reading them, signing and stamping each copy in turn at the bottom. `Seems a lot of copies,' he muttered.

  Roscoe shrugged. `Don't blame me for your creaky bureaucracy, Asquith.' He took the papers and smiled thinly. `Thank you. This puts our relationship back on an even keel and you can be assured of my continuing support in the trials that lie ahead. Following God's path is never easy. Good day to you, Asquith.'

  He turned and left, sweeping imperiously through Diana Sheldon's office, ignoring everyone until he met Nelson Faraday halfway down the stairs. The blackshirt chief was looking resplendent in his favoured head to toe black garb, his crimson-lined black leather cloak fastened at his throat by a gold chain, his cavalier boots gleaming.

  `Get your men ready, Nelson.'

  `He signed, father?'

  `Both warrants. We have the witch's infernal acolyte as well.'

  The sudden gleam in Faraday's eyes matched his boots.

  Chapter 34.

  `MR MALONE,' WELCOMED Dennis Davies. `You received my note?'

  Malone propped himself against the library counter. He had been on duty for 11 hours and was exhausted. `I did indeed, Mr Davies.'

  `I have the book right here. I knew I'd seen it. I came across it quite by chance when going through the crates.' The librarian placed a well-used book on the counter. Its plain buckram binding was worn, the end boards hanging by threads. `The End of the Witches Farrow Press, 1924. It must be quite valuable. Please be careful with it.'

  `With respect, Mr Davies, but this isn't the book I was after.'

  `I've had to put the History of Witchcraft in England on the lost books list. Probably stolen by whoever's been carrying out these atrocities. I hear they sprayed runes or something on the gates of Pentworth House last night. Shocking when you think of the trouble Father Roscoe goes to keep us supplied with his delicious bread and milk. But this book contains a great deal of source material on witchcraft trials that was used in the missing book. It seems appropriate in view of the Witchcraft Act that's just been promulgated. I thought it might be of interest to you.'

  Malone was puzzled. `Witchcraft Act? What Witchcraft Act?'

  `Why, the James 1st Witchcraft Act that's been resurrected to deal with all these despicable acts of desecration. The proposal has been on our Government Notices board for some days now. Quite fascinating, really. James 1st was a strange man. Before his time. Anti-smoking, you know...'

  But Malone didn't listen to the librarian's views on James 1st. His tiredness forgotten, he strode to the notice board, so crowded with overlapping government announcements and information leaflets as to render it useless, and hunted through the dozens of documents. `Where is it?' he demanded.

  Dennis joined him. `It must be here somewhere. I remember reading it before it was pinned up. Ah, yes -- well hidden.'

  Thumb tacks scattered on the floor as Malone yanked the stapled sheaf of close-typed sheets off the board and started reading. The mass of sections and clauses made little sense but the preamble said enough to cause his pulse to quicken in alarm.

  `Good God,' he said at length. `There's been nothing about this on the radio.'

  Dennis rescued the thumb tacks. They were an important part of his life. `There are so many government orders and notices issued these days. I suppose reading them out would--'

  `When does it come into force?'

  `It's already in force. It came in at midnight... Mr Malone -- don't forget your book.'

  But Malone had gone.

  Chapter 35.

  ELLEN WAS AT A LOSS when Vikki finished her account. A dream. It had to be. But a sleepwalking dream? Was it possible to sleepwalk three kilometres across country at night in a dream? Yet it had to be so because Vikki would not have invented the incident about her being picked up and taken home by a morris police patrol.

  `You do believe me, don't you, Miss Duncan?'

  Ellen patted the girl's knee. `Yes -- I believe you, Vikki. No one would go wandering that distance at night without good cause or coercion.' She looked quizzically at the girl. `Did they say why they've come here, of all places?'

  `Sort of. But I didn't understand what they meant.'

  `What concerns me is what the visitors said about sending a man.'

  `They didn't say so in so many words. As I said: pictures kept sort of forming in my mind. But it was a man.'

  `Did you see his face?'

  Vikki struggled to remember and shook her head. `Sort of. All mushy and vague. I think I would recognise him if I saw him but I couldn't draw him or describe him.'

  `And they implied that he was some sort of saviour?'

  Vikki's forehead creased. `Well -- not as such. It was just an impression I got. But what was clear was that he wasn't ready. That's what they said -- he wasn't ready.' She looked steadily at Ellen. `But he will come. That I do know.'

  Both women jumped at that moment at the loud crash from the shop as the front door burst open. Boots on the hardwood floor. Voices. Vikki jumped up in alarm when Nelson Faraday marched into the workroom followed by blackshirts in riot gear, carrying batons. The security chief was dressed as he had been on the night of the Pentworth House party when he had tried to rape her.

  `What's the meaning of this!' Ellen demanded furiously, thrusting herself between Faraday and Vikki. `What the hell gives you the right to come storming into my shop like this? Get out!'

  `These give me the right,' Faraday replied, waving the warrants. `Eleanor Rose Duncan and Victoria Taylor. You are both under arrest and will be taken from this place to another place where you will be charged with being witches engaged in the making of potions, spells, and the uttering of blasphemies and other evil deeds to summons the devil and his disciples from hell. Contrary to the Witchcraft Act of 1603. Okay -- take them.'

  Vikki gave a scream of terror when two blackshirts grabbed her and pinioned her arms behind her back. Ellen's response was to snatch up her black-handled herb knife but Faraday was too quick for her. He grabbed her wrist and twisted savagely, causing her to whimper in pain and the knife to clatter to the floor. He picked it up and pressed its point under Ellen's chin while two blackshirts held her and a third seized her around the thighs to prevent her kicking.

  Faraday increased the pressure under Ellen's chin with the knife point. He yanked Vikki closer to him by her hair with his other hand and smiled at the look of abject terror in the young girl's green eyes. `Now, Miss Duncan. You can either come with us and not give us any bother, or you can watch while we take it turns to fuck and bugger this pretty little bitch to within a centimetre of her life. Which is it to be
?'

  Despite the knife point, Ellen's aim was good. The glob of saliva caught Faraday full in the face. He released Vikki and wiped it away, following through with a savage swipe across Ellen's cheek that drew blood. Her head went back but she didn't utter a sound. Faraday glanced around the workroom and pulled a cork from a bottle. He jammed the cork on the tip of the knife and held it in the glowing embers of the charcoal burner until the pungent fumes of burnt cork filled the workroom. The blackshirts looked on with interest. Their boss was remarkably inventive as they and Cathy Price had learned.

  Faraday turned to Vikki and tore her blouse open, pulling it down hard so that it was wrapped around her arms at the elbows. Ellen had imbued her with courage for she made not a sound, not even when Faraday used the knife to cut through her bra and rip it away. He paid no attention to her exposed breasts but turned his attention to Ellen. Ripping her lab coat open all the way down took more effort. Buttons bounced and skittered across the floor. All she was wearing underneath were thin cotton panties. The blackshirts stared lustfully at her breasts and the shadow of her pubic hair as Faraday jerked the coat down around her arms. He used the burnt cork to draw a large, bold cross on his victims' chests, nipple to nipple, throat to navel. He stepped back to admire his handiwork and grinned at them in turn.

  `You'll need all the protection you can get. Okay. Enough messing about. We'd better round up some evidence and get going. Mustn't keep the magistrate waiting.'

  A small crowd of gaping onlookers was forming along North Street as the unlikely procession set off with Faraday leading the way, blackshirts flanking Ellen and Vikki, stumbling along with prods from behind. Vikki's head was bowed, tears splashing onto the road, but Ellen was steadfastly upright, returning the accusing stares of onlookers, willing them to avert their gaze which many did.