“Here,” she said, all in a rush. “Let’s get this done.” Immediately the rod began to twitch. Samona breathed a sigh of relief; it would work, then. An irresistible tugging drew her forward, the men and their lanterns following behind her. The pull was so strong, she broke into a slow run. Brown hollered at her to slow down. Samona ignored him; it was all she could do to hold the rod in her hands. Then suddenly the dowsing rod twisted abruptly and flew off in a sideways direction.
“What’s wrong, then?” panted Churcher, catching up. “I—I don’t know,” said Samona. “My rod’s never done that before.” She found it in a thicket and took it in both hands again. Again it flew off, this time in the opposite direction. “I don’t think it’s leading me anymore,” she said. “There must be something about this treasure my dowsing won’t find.”
“Well, snatch it up, boy!” cried Markham. “Dammit, men. And didn’t we know that a voodoo curse was liable to fly back on us? Didn’t Peggity Hank hisself warn us? Blast that Jimbo for the wild rogue he is. A treasure’s no good if’n you can’t claim it back!”
“Oh! Oh!” Samona began to moan. This was worse than she’d imagined. “You were pirates with Peggity Hank Barlo, weren’t you? This is your own treasure we’re hunting, isn’t it?”
“Aye, we’d have had to tell you soon enough,” growled Brown. “There’s a pot full of coins and gold all right. We buried it here and had Jimbo put his voodoo curse on the pot to protect it. But something’s come along that we never invited and keeps moving the blasted thing around. Jimbo can’t even tell us what it is—”
“I told you; it’s a duppy,” said King James. Even in the lantern light, Samona could see the sweat standing out on his forehead. “You got a demon spirit and he’s taken over that pot. Can’t do nothing with him ’less I know his loa.”
“Well, we got you to dowse and Jimbo to drive them nails in, so this time we got us a chance of catching it, whatever it is,” said Brown. “Go on; get your rod.”
Samona put the rod inside her shirt, where it continued to twitch and quiver against her skin. “No, I—I can’t—” she began. Then she saw the shadows on the faces of the three men and wondered how she ever thought them merchants. They were murderers; it was plain to see now. She could only try to give them what they wanted and hope they let her live. “I’ll have to try it without my rod,” she said. As she squinted her eyes and held out her arms palms first, the men stepped away from her.
Yes, she felt that tickling in her hands, the thrill of something moving up her arms. It was strong and she was easily able to follow the pull. She didn’t need to run this time, however, and led the men steadily into the thickets and trees.
The ground around them began to change. Samona saw strange piles of what looked like sand and cornmeal, nubs of yellow candles around strange designs sprinkled with something dark. They passed by stones piled in odd, unnatural rings. These too seemed to be marked with something dark and wet. Finally they came to a barren patch of ground, open to the sky. In the middle of this circle was a hideous gnarled tree, with branches that looked like arms flung up to the sky in agony, an arrangement of holes on the trunk resembling eyes and a shrieking mouth. White chips of rock lay scattered about it.
Samona’s tingling hands and arms led her straight toward the tree. Now she wanted to stop, pirate escort or no, but she couldn’t. The pull of the tree was too strong; she couldn’t fight it. She heard the muffled curses of the men behind her, and could tell by the abrupt darkness that they and their lanterns had hung back. Still she stumbled toward the tree, seeing, even in the dim light now, that the white chips weren’t rock at all but dozens and dozens of small bones.
“Get the bloodstone!” she heard King James cry in an agonized voice. “Quick, Sammie, save yourself!”
But she couldn’t move her arms at all; they were locked rigid in front of her. And all in a moment she was standing before the tree, a tree so tall it would loom over King James. And now she saw that the branches really were arms and the hole in the bark really was a mouth.
And the earth goblin looked at Samona with satisfaction in its fearsome face and wrapped its hard, twisted arms around her and pulled her deep into the ground.
* * *
Samona dreamed that she slept too near the fire. She shrugged and turned over, but found the other side of the hearth cold and wet. She shrugged and turned over again. . . .
“What is it turning itself for? asks I,” growled a voice in her ear. “Like a grub in the ground, it is. Tasty grub worm.”
With a gasp, Samona came awake. Inches away was the most hideous face she’d ever seen. Bulging forehead, huge yellow eyes, gaping mouth with dozens and dozens of sharp teeth. “O Abiding Grace, King of Glory, God Whose Name is Love,” she began to chatter, certain here was Hell and this was Old Nick himself. “Protect this sinner in the hour of her need—”
“Oh, now it prays.” The thing reached out a long and ropy arm. It took Samona roughly by the chin. “Listen, children, how it babbles. Listen and learn.”
Samona jerked her head away and saw she was in a tiny cave, barely big enough for two. The light she saw by came from some glowing moss that crept along the cracks of the rock wall. Small patches of the same stuff shone from the folds and fissures in the creature’s face and body. Now that she’d pulled away, Samona could see the thing had legs as well as arms. Its feet were huge and twisted, with toenails like claws. Its naked torso was dominated by a distended belly.
A goblin, Samona decided, remembering some drawings in Amer’s books. “I thought—I thought there was a tree—” she said.
The goblin cackled. “ ’Tis my own fine glamour it saw. Big tree, just a tree. Then along comes yon fat fox, up runs juicy squirrel, and it’s snap, snap, snap with my teeth I does.”
Samona’s jaw trembled so, she could hardly ask, “Are—are you going to eat me, then?” Oh, Amer, I love you truly, she thought. I wish I’d been sure of your love before I died.
“It?” The thing prodded Samona’s arm. “Plump thing. Maybe tasty? Nay, I took it for one of them rousty men come to steal me babies’ gold. Now that it’s in me den, I smell it true and know a certain thing about it so it never could be meal for me.” The goblin spread its big hand across Samona’s belly in a most familiar way. “Babies of its own soon, I warrant.”
Samona blinked. Even Amer didn’t know yet she was pregnant; she’d not known how to tell him. “Yes, I—I am with child,” she said. She saw the goblin holding its other hand on its own round stomach. “And you’re a mother, too? Babies soon for you?”
“Aye, babies soon for me.” The creature ducked its head in a coy gesture. “Fine, strong babies there will be. Soon, very soon. A good mother am I, finding such a lovely pot of ore for my children. And with such a smell about it! Iron pot, silver coins, goldy bars—all with tasty magic laid upon it. Such lucky children to have such fare to feed upon and grow strong.”
“You—you are an excellent mother,” said Samona. She licked her lips and shifted away a little in the dirt. She placed her hand in what felt like mud, and pulled back, disgusted. Yet nothing, she found, was clinging to her hand. “So the treasure makes your babies strong? Do they eat it?”
The goblin rested both arms on its knees and leaned forward. “Aye, a baby of the earthfolk must have pure ore for its first meal, the purer the better for its nourishment. Me mam fed me first on a vein of copper so sweet me teeth still taste it.” It smacked its lips.
Samona moved a little farther away, then jumped aside with a gasp. This time she would have sworn she sat in a fire, but she saw no flame on the dark, loose earth of the cave floor. “What is this dirt? First it’s wet, then it’s burning—”
The goblin nodded. “Brought it with me, for me babies, I did. ’Twill be a comfort to them in their first hours. True Earth, it is, with all the powers together, afore it settles into fire and air and s
uchlike. A good floor for me den, too.”
Samona scooped up a handful of the stuff, feeling it wet yet dry, hot yet chill, heavy yet light, all at once. It seemed like dark earth, except for the glimmers of color shining from the blackness. So Amer’s theories were true; there was such a thing as Chaos. Would she ever get to tell him?
“I—I’ve been preparing for my baby, too,” she said. “Back in my own home, far away from here. A wee cradle, some swaddling clothes, things like that. I’ll need to get back home before it’s born.”
“Oh, aye. I’ll let it go, then.” The goblin patted Samona’s abdomen again. It took a moment before Samona realized it wasn’t patting her belly this time, but something higher up. “And it has its own ore for its child, doesn’t it? Lovely quicksilver for a lucky babe.”
With a start, Samona remembered her dowsing rod and brought it out of her shirt. “This? Do you like it?” The goblin nodded, its huge yellow eyes looking yearningly at the hazel branch. Samona’s brain whirled. Nearby was that pot of treasure; surely the goblin’s babies didn’t need it all. And if Samona brought back, oh, even a pocketful or two of silver pistoles or gold bullion, that would be enough to keep them secure when the baby came. She’d just opened her mouth to suggest the trade, when she felt the damp/dry ground against her calf. And before she knew what she did, Samona blurted out, “I’ll trade you the tasty quicksilver inside this rod for a little of this True Earth.”
The goblin inhaled between its sharp teeth with a long hiss. It took the dowsing rod from Samona almost reverently. “Trade done, says I. And what a fine baby ’twill be that eats its first meal of quicksilver!”
Samona unrolled the rough scarf she’d used as a man’s cravat, piled some of the earth in it, tied the ends up, and put it under her belt. Her hands shook as she did so, and her brain screamed that she was a fool, asking for dirt with all that treasure nearby. But her heart guided her now and it said to trust Amer, so she did this for him.
The goblin had pried out the wood plug in the hazel rod. It sniffed the mercury and grunted in satisfaction. Then suddenly it curled in on itself and gave a groan.
“Are you all right?” Samona put her hand on its shoulder.
“Birthing time soon,” it said. “Best be going now. Reach a hand up through yon crack and feel the tree root. It’ll lead up to the surface.” The goblin turned on its side, stretched out its great hands and burrowed through the cave wall, the rock seeming to slide around its body. Within a moment, it was gone.
Samona sat in the small cave, dazed and bewildered. Finally she began to feel around the cracks and crevices in the rocky ceiling. Sure enough, one hole was larger than the others, big enough for her to put her head and shoulders into. She felt a long, gnarled thing and recognized a root. Taking a deep breath, she crawled up inside the hole, following the root through pitch blackness and chill rock until she felt loose dirt powdering down on top of her head. She pushed the dirt away and broke through a tangle of young roots and turf to the surface.
It wasn’t until she was all the way out that she heard the shouting. Glimmers of light came through the trees not too far away, so Samona slid from shadow to shadow to see what was happening.
There in the illumination of the three lanterns, she saw Caleb Brown and Seth Markham tying her husband’s wrists together. King James sat on a log nearby, his head in his hands.
“Amer!” Samona barely breathed, shocked beyond comprehension. As if he heard her, Amer’s head came up. Samona saw twigs in his hair and a trickle of blood running down one temple.
“. . . don’t think to ever see Sammie again,” Caleb was saying. “Right sprightly for such a young ’un, but he didn’t have the power to protect hisself. Nay, Goodman Crafter, we’ll depend on you to overcome that demon tree.”
Amer’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “My brother-in-law, you say? Eaten by a demon tree?”
“How—?” Samona breathed again, still stunned at the turn of events. A hand clamped her shoulder and spun her around. Frederick Churcher goggled at her for a moment with eyes only slightly smaller than the goblin’s, then let out a bellow.
“Hark! Young Sammie’s back! Here ’tis!” He took Samona by the shoulder, and thrust her into the circle of illumination. Brown and Markham looked at her as if they’d seen a ghost. Amer’s look of overriding relief was replaced by one of confusion as he noticed her clothes. “Found him lurking in the bushes,” said Churcher.
“Good now!” said Brown. “With Sammie to guide us again, the pot’s as good as ourn. Did ye parley with that demon, then, Sammie? You onto its tricks?”
“Forget the treasure. I was lucky to escape the one time,” said Samona, trying for a masterful tone. “And I must needs hear how my—my sister’s husband came to find me.”
“Oh, he’s a clever one,” said Markham, tiny eyes shining.
“Said he remembered which river, then dowsed for ye using something powerful you’d left behind. From some law of magic, he said—”
“The Law of Contagion, Sammie,” said Amer in an even tone. “From the item you left wrapped in the chest drawer.” Samona’s hand went automatically to what remained of her chopped-off braid. “I was confused over your message and worried for you. I wore out three horses getting here.”
“Oh, Amer.” Samona couldn’t throw her arms around his neck in front of these men, but she hoped her face spoke the words she could not.
Caleb Brown watched her reaction, then pulled a flintlock pistol from beneath his coat. “Look at the true brotherly affection ’atween ’ern, boys. Pity to shoot a musket ball into Goodman Crafter, all because of you not helping where help’s needed, Sammie. Don’t hang a leg, then. Find us that treasure pot and use your wiles to trick it away from that demon.”
Amer set his jaw and shook his head ever so slightly.
Samona tried for a rebellious retort to Brown, but no words came. Then she heard a mighty groan that seemed to rise out of the ground itself. She started and looked down, but none of the others reacted, not even Amer. King James’s face was wreathed in a smile, so obviously happy over Samona’s rescue that nothing else mattered.
“Go on, now.” Markham gave Samona a rough push. More groans seemed to shake the ground, but still no one else heard them. Samona looked deep into Amer’s eyes. He was a good actor, but she could tell he truly had no knowledge of the sounds. Imagine that, she thought, I hear something Amer doesn’t. She shrugged. “I can point the treasure out again, certainly. And I’ve left the demon in a much distracted state. But you must promise to release my brother-in-law and me once I’ve helped you.” She gave them one last chance to deal fairly with her.
“Call us speckle-shirted dogs if we don’t, and that’s a promise,” said Brown. Samona saw him leer at Churcher. She would waste no more pity on them.
“Come along, then.” Samona paced until she found the center of the moans and cries, which she’d identified as the female sounds of birth. “Put your pegs around this circle, King James,” she called. At the most, the nails would provide some goblin baby with a nourishing meal of iron. “This is where you must dig, and soon, boys. The demon won’t be busy in my little trap for long.
“Leave the cunning man tied to that tree,” ordered Brown.
“Jimbo, after you drive in the nails, you commence with those yellow candles and sand pictures of yo’rn. Don’t you run off, young Sammie, until we get the pot out nice ’n’ proper.” They waited a moment for King James’s ritual, then began to dig with zeal. Samona stood biting her lip, hearing the moans get louder and faster. Every now and then, Brown would flourish his pistol at her and at Amer, just to intimidate them.
Then, finally, came a musical clang as a shovel hit metal.
The three men bellowed in victory, flinging dirt even faster. The lid of a huge black cauldron was uncovered. Brown put down his pistol and slid down into the hole. He grasped th
e knob and heaved, grunting. The lid came up and he tossed it aside. Then he looked down and began to howl with glee.
“It’s here! It’s here! It’s a beauty thing, boys, just like we remembered. Here’s good times, hot rum and a good fling, all for the asking!” Markham and Churcher jumped down into the hole also, shrieking and grabbing at the coins and bullion.
Samona felt a pang when she saw the treasure pot. So much silver and gold! How close she’d come to having some of her own. Then she realized the goblin’s groans had stopped. Samona cocked her head and heard instead a sort of satisfied crooning hum.
King James was performing his ablutions on the far side of the circle. Samona sidled slowly around until she stood close enough to catch his eye. “You have a knife, King James?” she said softly. He nodded and pulled a small dagger from his belt. “Then hie you over to my brother there and cut his ropes. And get ready to run fast as you ever have. I’ll make sure you earn your freedom for this, King.”
Caleb Brown’s flintlock pistol lay a few feet away. Samona judged the distance, looking for some sort of telltale movement in the dirt. She thought she saw something stir along the walls of the hole. Quick as a rabbit, she dashed over and grabbed the gun, then ran back to the trees.
Caleb saw her movement and looked around. “Not thinking o’ tramping, are ye, Master Sammie? Seth, take out your pistol and show Sammie here how we fire it.” Markham gave an evil grin and reached inside his coat.
At that moment, the ground around the hole came alive with clawed hands and feet. Bulging heads with yellow eyes crested the dirt, swarming around the treasure pot and its contents. Samona saw jaws crunch the silver coin and gold nuggets, then turn to the men in the hole as if seeking a fleshier meal.
Brown, Markham, and Churcher began to scream in pain and fear, but claws wrapped around their legs kept them from escaping. A goblin bit Markham on the shoulder before he could finish drawing his gun. Drops of blood began to spatter the sand, and more blood dripped on the contents of the treasure pot, which were now half gone.
The Crafters Book One Page 6