Half-Witch

by John Schoffstall

  All right, maybe it wasn’t a man after all.

  He smiled, displaying a multitude of fine white teeth in a large mouth. His tongue, as round and pink as his tail, nervously groomed the fur on his face. “Silly me,” he said. “As you can see, I’ve stumbled into the most absurd predicament. Thank goodness you two arrived, just in the nick of time. I seem to have gotten myself trapped in this cantankerous device.” He shook his wrists in the stocks, making the hardware rattle. “You’re probably asking yourself how such a thing could have happened?”

  “Actually,” said Strix, “I have a pretty good idea.”

  “What is this?” Lizbet said.

  “It’s a Common Lesser Furry Devil,” Strix said. “What’s your name, bunky?”

  “They call me Toadwipe,” said the devil. He grinned toothily again. “Obviously you are a young lady of uncommon perception and learning. It’s a delight and an honor to make your acquaintance, Miss—?”

  “Strix.”

  “What a lovely name. The perfect decoration for a witch maid as charming as yourself. And your mortal companion would be?”

  “Lizbet,” Lizbet said.

  “What a cute sobriquet! But it’s surely a nickname?” He winked. “I’ll wager your real name is a hundred times more lovely. I’ll perish of curiosity if you don’t immediately tell me what it is?”

  “Don’t tell him,” Strix said quickly.

  Toadwipe sighed deeply and dramatically. “Isn’t it sad that we all can’t be more trusting with each other? These are suspicious days. Everything is at sixes and sevens. God Himself is absent from His throne, the stars and planets are topsy-turvy. Here I am, the harmless boulevardier, just minding my own business, and look what happens.

  “See, I was having my customary postprandial stroll to aid the digestion, when I set eyes upon this contraption. I said to myself, ‘This is a scientific device for improving the physique.’ I want you to know, I am a fanatic for physical culture. Strength. Fitness. Vitality. Mens sana in corpore sano. I imagined this was a device for the muscular development of the neck and shoulders. I resolved to give it a spin. But I had barely touched it when the tricky thing sprang closed, and la! I find myself trapped.”

  “And this?” Strix said. A brass padlock secured the two halves of the stocks. Strix rocked it back and forth with her finger. “I suppose you managed to slip the shackle through the hasp and close the lock accidentally too?”

  “What a fine mind you have!” Toadwipe exclaimed. “You instantly seize upon the heart of the problem. What’s wrong with locks is that they’re too hard to open. What we need is a file. Or a mallet and chisel. But best of all would be a key. And do you know, I know just where we might find one.”

  Strix crossed her arms. “You don’t say.”

  “And the moment I’m free, we’ll be off, the three of us, jolly companions on fantastical adventures beyond the imagination! We’ll ride across the sky on white stallions. We’ll visit far kingdoms over the mountains and the seas. I know a pair of brave, gentle, and handsome young men who would fall in love with you if they but laid eyes on you. Princes, both, who will lay their hearts at your feet.” Toadwipe’s eyes twinkled. His tongue licked eagerly at the fur on his cheeks and ears.

  “I don’t think I would want a prince’s heart at my feet,” Lizbet said. “Ew.”

  “So! Not for you the mawkish insincerities of a decayed and foppish aristocracy? I knew you were made of better stuff the moment I set eyes on you. What then, lovely Lizbet, is your heart’s desire?”

  “Lizbet,” Strix said, “don’t even—”

  “He’s the first person we’ve run across,” Lizbet said. “It can’t hurt just to ask.”

  Strix groaned.

  “I’m looking for a book,” Lizbet said. “It belongs to Margrave Hengest Wolftrow of Abalia. He lost it, here, someplace, on this side of the Montagnes du Monde. Have you heard anything about it?”

  “What a happy coincidence!” Toadwipe said. “I know of exactly the book you mean.”

  “You do!” Lizbet’s heart turned over and went thump!

  “I used to read it all the time when I was a boy. Wonderful stories and pictures it had. Free me now, and I shall fly like the wind and fetch it in a trice.”

  Lizbet was suddenly doubtful. “Are you sure? I don’t think it’s likely to be a picture book. More like a book of magic.”

  “Yes, that was it, it was chock-full of magic, no stories or pictures at all,” Toadwipe said with great decisiveness.

  “And it had a bright red cover,” Strix said.

  “It did?” Lizbet said. “How do you—”

  “Yes, red!” Toadwipe said.

  “No, wait,” Strix said. She propped her chin on her fist. “I think it was green.”

  “Perfectly green,” Toadwipe said. “Not red at all.”

  “Or perhaps yellow.”

  “Now that you mention it, it was yellow as a daffydill,” Toadwipe said. “Only release me, and I will fetch it at once!”

  “Maybe he’s colorblind,” Lizbet said hopefully.

  “Maybe he can’t tell the difference between the truth and his bare butt,” said Strix.

  “He has a bare butt?” Lizbet looked behind Toadwipe. “My goodness, he does.” Toadwipe’s bottom was as pink and naked as that of a Barbary baboon. Except where it was covered with red welts.

  “He must have accidentally backed into a bailiff with a whip too,” Strix said. “I’m wondering about the story behind this. I’ve never heard of mortals capturing a devil.”

  “They surprised me while I was sleeping,” Toadwipe said. “A simple case of mistaken identity.”

  “A moment ago you were saying this was all an accident,” Lizbet said.

  “It’s the heat of the midday sun,” Toadwipe said. “It addles the brains. I hardly know what I’m saying. I fear my health may be in danger. Free me now, so that I may seek respite in the shade. Oh, the fierceness of the sun!”

  Lizbet had an idea. “Toadwipe, how would you like something to drink to slake your thirst?”

  Strix said, “Why play pothouse wench to this hellmouse?”

  “Yes, yes,” Toadwipe said. “Bring me the cooling draught, lest I shrivel with thirst. If I die, it will be on your conscience!”

  Chapter 12

  The first building abutting the square that they looked into proved to be a grocery, with bins of shabby root vegetables and a regiment of doubtful-looking sausages dangling in rows from the ceiling. The next was a draper’s, piled high with bolts of coarse cloth printed in ugly patterns. With the third building, though, Lizbet struck paydirt: a brewery.

  The kegs of beer were heavy, but Lizbet and Strix were able to manhandle one out the door and, with much grunting and straining, roll it across the town square to the stocks. It sloshed noisily as it rolled.

  Strix broke open one end with a paving stone, dipped their jug inside, and lifted it to Toadwipe’s rubbery lips. He drained it in one continuous gurgling swallow. “Ah!” he said, sputtering beer foam from his lips. “By Hell, that hits me where I live! My shrunken tissues are restored.” He tried to peer into the keg. “Almost . . .”

  “More?” Strix said.

  “I am positive that just a trifle more would make a new devil of me.”

  Another jug of beer was forthcoming.

  “My former good health is all but renewed,” Toadwipe declared. “Just one more sip should do it.”

  Another jug followed. And another, and another, and another. And several more after that.

  What Lizbet had remembered was Mrs. Woodcot’s advice that it was helpful to get seraphim and incubi drunk when entering into negotiations with them. Toadwipe wasn’t a seraphim or incubus, exactly, but—

  Before long, the keg was empty. Toadwipe’s head hung limply from the stocks. A string of d
rool slowly dripped from his mouth to the street.

  “Toadwipe.”

  “Yuh?” Toadwipe’s eyelids slowly lifted. His bloodshot eyes took a while to focus on Lizbet’s face. He pointed at her with a curled black fingernail. “You’re cute, you are.”

  “Toadwipe.” Lizbet grabbed one of his floppy ears and shook it. “Pay attention.”

  “Whazzat? Leggo my ear.”

  “If I release you from the stocks, will you fetch the Margrave’s book for me?”

  “The who what?”

  “The book. That the Margrave lost. You said you read it when you were a boy. If I let you go, will you get it for me?”

  “An’thing f’r a cutie like you. Where’s it at?”

  Strix burst out laughing.

  “I don’t know where it is!” Lizbet yelled. “You said you did!”

  “I dunno any books. Hate books. Hate readin’. Hate ever’thing.” He paused. “’Cept beer. Beer good.” A hopeful note came into Toadwipe’s voice. “More beer?”

  “Beer gone. I mean, the beer is gone. The keg is empty. Oh, Toadwipe, you are worthless,” Lizbet said, shaking her head. “Do you know what?” she said to Strix. “It’s awful to say, but he reminds me of my father.”

  “Your father . . . ,” Toadwipe mumbled.

  “He means well, Toadwipe, but he makes too many promises he can’t keep, and that gets him into trouble. He’s in prison right now.” She rattled the stocks. “Sort of like you are.”

  “Prison? Oh, the poor devil.” Toadwipe began to bawl. Tears gushed from his eyes, and transparent phlegm poured out of his snout.

  “He’s a mortal, not a devil. But thank you for your expression of sympathy.” Lizbet patted Toadwipe’s furry hand, still trapped in the stocks.

  It was a little past noon. The sun was high and bright. The surrounding stone buildings radiated heat. “Strix,” Lizbet said, “I want to let Toadwipe go.”

  “What?”

  “I feel sorry for him. Toadwipe will die of starvation and thirst if no one comes back for him.”

  “Devils can’t die,” Strix said. “They’re spirit, not matter. Toadwipe, stop that drooling, it’s disgusting.”

  “But what if this town is really deserted? He’ll be trapped here until the stocks rot apart. That might be years.”

  “The worst that will happen to him is boredom.”

  “There’s such a thing as mercy. And Christian charity.”

  “Mere human weaknesses,” Strix said. “Fables that the guilty concoct to exploit the innocent.”

  “They are not!” Lizbet said. “Strix, we’re all sometimes guilty. And sometimes we’re all innocent. We all need each other’s love. Even Toadwipe.”

  Strix’s eyes narrowed. “Is this another game of pretend?”

  “No,” Lizbet said. “This is real as anything. And, and . . .” There was something tormenting her that she had to say. “. . . and I’m no longer pretending you’re my friend either.”

  Strix’s face fell. “Really? I was just getting used to it. Sort of.”

  “I want to be your friend for real,” Lizbet said. She swallowed hard. She grabbed Strix’s shoulders and squeezed them. “As long as you want me to be. We’ve been through too much not to be friends. Is that okay?”

  Strix nodded. “It’s okay. Being with someone who isn’t going to beat you, and who you can’t beat either, it’s different, and strange. But . . . I’ve gotten used to it.” Her lips formed a small, awkward smile, the smile of someone who hasn’t had much practice at smiling. “I . . . kind of like it, in fact.”

  “Thas ver’ sweet,” Toadwipe said. “Thas nice. Nice girls ’r’ fren’s. Now I wan’ more beer. Beer is my fren’.”

  “Shut up!” Lizbet said.

  “You keep out of this!” Strix said.

  “Uhhhh. No yellin’.”

  Lizbet lifted one of Toadwipe’s hairy ears and yelled directly into it. “Toadwipe! TOADWIPE!”

  Toadwipe jerked. “Wha!”

  “The key,” Lizbet said. “You said you knew where the padlock key was?”

  “Uh,” Toadwipe mumbled. “In there.” He jerked his head backward. Lizbet looked.

  Behind him, a teetery-tottery granite building abutted the square. A shield, sloppily painted with an unrecognizable beast rampant and unreadable words, hung beside the door. Lizbet said, “In that building?”

  “Uh-huh,” Toadwipe said, and again lapsed into a stupor.

  The building’s door hung open. Lizbet couldn’t see into the dark room beyond. She took a deep breath. She said, “I’m going in there, then.”

  “Be careful,” Strix said. She frowned. “Is that right?”

  “Perfect,” Lizbet said. “Exactly what a friend would say.”

  She scaled the tumble down stone steps and peered into the doorway. Tables, chairs, in poor repair. Trash littered the floor. Bones, gnawed clean of flesh, piled in the corners.

  She stepped into the room. Tools hung from pegs on the walls: whips, manacles, knives, axes. Oh dear. What sort of a place was this? Lizbet did not want to go any deeper into this building.

  But she had promised herself she would. She had resolved to free Toadwipe, and she was not the sort of person who could go back on a resolution once she had made it. Lizbet had crossed the Montagnes because she had promised herself that she would free her father. She had been feeling more and more dismayed that despite all her struggle and hardship, she seemed no closer to her goal. Freeing Toadwipe was a toy version of freeing her father, practice for her larger task still unfinished.

  She searched the room, but the padlock key was nowhere to be found. A dark hallway opened through an archway on the room’s far side. Steeling herself, Lizbet crossed the floor and tiptoed down the hall as quietly as she was able.

  Portraits in crude wooden frames lined the walls. Smoke and dust begrimed the portraits, and in the dimness—the only light came through the outside door—Lizbet could barely make out the faces. Bug eyes, saggy jowls, mouths like buckets. The faces in the portraits were as ugly as goblins.

  The hall ended in a wooden door. From behind it came a faint cacophony of wheezing and buzzing noises. Lizbet hesitated. Fear battled with curiosity.

  Duty won. She turned the doorknob as gently as she could, and eased the door open.

  In the room beyond, a bright glint in the dimness. The glint rose and fell, with a tinkling sound. Yes! It was a ring of brass and iron keys that shimmered in the faint light.

  It hung from the belt of the biggest goblin Lizbet had ever seen.

  The goblin was as big as a man, or bigger. It tilted back in a chair, asleep, its three-toed splay feet up on the table in front of it, its forepaws clasped over its belly. The goblin snored loudly. With each wracking, bubbling snort, its immense round belly moved in and out. The ring of keys rose and fell, and jingled.

  A dozen other goblins lay sleeping on the floor. They slept in piles, like piglets, goblin piled on top of goblin. Their snoring made the air shudder.

  So that was why the town was deserted. It was a goblin town. Of course, goblins slept during the day. Come evening, they’d be out and about and making trouble. But all the goblins Lizbet had ever heard of slept in basements and sewers. They didn’t have towns. Goblins didn’t wear clothing, and these goblins had belts and trousers. One wore a slouch hat. The goblin with the keys wore a blue coat with brass buttons like a constable.

  The snoring continued uninterrupted. Lizbet tried to calm herself. She had promised to release Toadwipe. She had promised.

  She strained her eyes to see in the near darkness. The keyring hung from the goblin constable’s belt, secured by a leather strap that fastened around the belt with a big wooden button. Could Lizbet undo it? Without waking the constable? Doubt assailed her.

  She retreated up the hallway to th
e first room, where weapons hung on the wall. By standing on tiptoes and reaching up as high as she could, Lizbet just managed to shove a big black knife off its wall peg. She grabbed for the handle as it fell. For a terrifying second, it eluded her grip, and she juggled to grab it, fearful it would fall and wake the goblins.

  She caught it at last. Taking a deep breath, and willing her racing heart to be still, Lizbet crept down the dark hallway again and into the goblin common room.

  In the dimness, goblins surrounded her. Hairy, stinking, floppy piebald flesh, in heaps and piles. All Lizbet’s nightmares of falling into a goblin sewer came back to her. She wanted to scream and run.

  Instead, she inched forward. The knife grip in her hand was slippery with her sweat.

  She crouched by the goblin constable’s chair, only inches from his sleeping body. His stink was in her nostrils, and she fought not to sneeze. Her trembling fingers explored the button. Gripping the knife, she sawed at the stitches that secured the button, over and over.

  At last, the button popped free. It struck the floor with a loud click! “Huh, duh,” one of the sleeping goblins moaned. It stirred, and turned over.

  Lizbet crouched down as low as she could. She held her breath.

  Minutes passed before she dared raise her head and peer around the room again. The goblin had gone back to sleep.

  She eased the strap out from beneath the goblin constable’s belt, a fraction of an inch at a time. Remembering what had happened to the button, she supported the keys with her other hand while she worked.

  It took ages, but she was scared to work any faster.

  At last the strap came free. The ring of keys was hers! Relief washed over over her. Now to get out, release Toadwipe, and hightail it out of this goblin town before sundown, when all the goblins would—

  “Lizbet!”

  Oh no.

  Careless, noisy footsteps coming down the hall. “Lizbet, where are you?” Strix yelled. “Are you okay? I got tired of waiting, so I picked the lock with a hairpin.”