Poison

by Chris Wooding

  She gripped his gloved hands through the bars. “Bram, you’re a wonder! I’ve never been so glad to see anybody as you right now. How did you know?”

  He flushed to the roots of his great white moustache and harumphed, letting her hands go. “That cursed cat, that’s how. I swear it’s not a natural thing. Anyway, all that’s for later. Let’s see about getting you out of here.” He grabbed the bars and gave them an experimental rattle, peering up at the point where they joined the top of the cage. “Rusted, see? Can’t have done them much good hanging about over that boiling cauldron for ages. Step back.”

  Poison did so, wondering what he had in mind. He answered her question soon enough, by putting his boot into one of the bars with a resounding clang. Another kick, and it broke away from the top of the cage. One more, and it had been bent inward enough to almost come away from the bottom. Bram reached in and wrenched it a few times, and it snapped off, making a gap big enough for Poison to fit her willowy frame through.

  Poison slid out and hugged Bram around his broad chest for the sheer relief of being free. She could almost feel the heat of his blush as he awkwardly patted her back.

  “Thank you,” she said, meaning it as deeply as she had ever meant anything. “I know what it must have taken to come in after me.”

  “Let’s just get out of here,” he said. “I suppose you have a place to hide?”

  Poison was about to reply in the negative, for the Bone Witch had already caught her once that way; but another notion struck her instead. Buoyed by the presence of an ally, she felt a little of the fear that this place engendered fall away.

  “Forget that,” she said. “I need your help. I’ve got an idea.”

  Bram groaned an oath. “I was afraid you’d say something like that.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Poison grinned, and slapped him on the shoulder.

  It was no easy task, to manhandle the clay pots from the shelf above the stove up to the balcony. The stove came up to Bram’s shoulders, and the pots were on a shelf that was another shoulder-height above that; so he had to stand on the stovetop while Poison tipped them gingerly into his grasp, and then repeat the process standing on the floor. After that, the two of them hauled the pots up the stairs and dragged them across the balcony. Each was about the size of a barrel, and packed full. Poison kept half an eye on the corridor, in case either of the dogs should return; and she was careful to take note of the angle of the sun as it sped across the misty sky.

  “So tell me. . .” she panted, “about the cat. . .”

  Bram’s face was red from straining, and he put the pot down for a moment and wiped his brow. “Came last night,” he said. “I was in my camp, and I could hear the voice of that witch-woman on the breeze. I’d half made up my mind to leave – couldn’t stand to hear her any longer – when that cat appeared. I swear it was actually biting my trouser leg and tugging me towards the house. Never seen a cat do that.” He shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t coming anywhere near this place. I guessed it was sent by the witch to snare me in. But then it just let me go and miaowed, and . . . well. Never thought I’d see a cat ask for help, but . . . that thing. I can’t say how I knew, but I knew, just as clear as if it had spoken to me.”

  “Really?” Poison exclaimed, thinking about how Peppercorn had claimed that she could communicate with Andersen.

  Bram grunted. “I came in through the coal chute. Not easy for somebody my size. But I knew I had to get in before sunrise, because that mist was coming down, and I reckoned when it lifted the house would be gone. I hid down in the cellar until morning, waiting until that cat decided it was safe to go. You know, it’s luring the dogs away on purpose. You know that? That’s not any natural cat.”

  “But you came in here to rescue me,” Poison said, catching her breath. “Why? You could have just taken the money you had, and lived out the rest of your life happy.”

  “Couldn’t leave you like that,” he shrugged, turning away to pick up the pot again. “What kind of man would I be then?”

  Poison smiled to herself in amazement at the way he downplayed his decision. He knew as well as she what it meant. Quite aside from anything else, he had trapped himself in this place with her, with the Bone Witch and her dogs, and the next stop was the Realm of Phaerie. Anyone but him would have turned away and kept what they had: she had already made him rich. But not Bram. His selflessness staggered her. She wondered what she had done to deserve a friend like him, and whether she would have done the same if their positions were reversed.

  It took them almost an hour to assemble five pots on the balcony, and by that time the misted sun outside was heading into mid-afternoon. The dogs, mercifully, were nowhere to be seen; only an occasional thump from upstairs reminded Poison and Bram that they were still pursuing Andersen.

  “Do you even know what’s in these?” Bram said, taking off his hat to blot his brow with the back of his glove. The heat of the fire had made the work doubly hard.

  Poison looked down at the pots of powder and herbs at her feet. “She’s a witch,” she said. “I doubt they’re very nice.”

  Bram shrugged. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “No,” Poison said truthfully, and tipped the first of the pots over the balcony, into the bubbling cauldron below. The water – which had been a sludgy yellow-brown – turned pink immediately.

  “I wouldn’t like to drink that,” Bram commented, eyeing the foul hue.

  “That’s the idea,” said Poison, and between them they pushed all the pots into the mix.

  It took them some time to fish out a couple of bones from the cauldron. They found an enormous ladle, and it took two of them to steady it, lying on the balcony and dipping down into the hybrid broth they had created. It was now a putrid brown colour, and the stench was frankly abominable. Their eyes teared as they cast around for bones, until finally they managed to scoop out a pair of big ones and tipped them over the lip of the cauldron and on to the floor.

  Poison was about to sit up when something heavy landed on her back and she shrieked.

  “It’s all right, it’s all right,” Bram said hastily. “It’s just the cat.”

  Andersen had appeared as if from nowhere and obviously thought Poison would make a convenient cushion for jumping down from the skeletal balcony rail. Now it hopped daintily off her and allowed her to get up. Poison scowled at it. It returned her violet gaze amiably.

  “Actually, you’re just who I wanted to see,” she told the cat. “Can you do us a favour? Go find the dogs and lead them here. We have some bones for them.”

  The cat blinked at her. She felt faintly ridiculous for talking to it as if it was a person. Then it turned and sloped away, heading down the stairs.

  “See?” Bram said.

  “I’ll believe it when he comes back with the dogs,” Poison said. “We should get out of sight.”

  The cat did come back. By that time, Poison and Bram were hidden behind the remaining pots that stood on the shelf above the stove, safely out of the dogs’ reach. Andersen came yowling into the room, and behind him came the two enormous dogs, scrambling and barking as they chased after the elusive morsel. The cat scampered around the cauldron and disappeared from sight, and the dogs raced after it . . . emerging moments later with no sign of the cat. Puzzled, they nosed around the edge of the cauldron, investigating the shadows thrown by the fire; but Andersen had outwitted them, and was already sitting on the overhead balcony, washing its paw with its tongue. The dogs looked about for a short while before noticing the bones lying on the floor.

  “That’s it; nice juicy bones,” Poison murmured.

  The broth that the bones had steeped in had left an odd stench that would have been overpowering to a dog’s sensitive nose; but Peppercorn had said that the Bone Witch’s hounds had no sense of smell. Poison watched, holding her breath, as they examined their finds; and
then one of them pinned his catch down with his paws and began to gnaw. The other followed suit, and soon the two of them were chewing and cracking bones and lapping at the marrow within. The cat observed from above with an expression of haughty disgust.

  It did not take long for Poison’s concoction to take effect.

  She had no idea what she had put in the cauldron, but whatever it was, she had given them a huge overdose. The dogs began twitching and spasming almost in unison: first their legs began to tremble and they began to trip whenever they tried to move; then their muscle control deserted them completely and they fell on their sides, wheezing while their legs flailed spastically about and their heads jerked back and forth. Their tongues lolled, and bloody foam bubbled through their teeth. Finally, they collapsed and lay still, their breath rasping in and out until it ceased entirely.

  Bram and Poison looked on, dumbfounded and not a little sickened.

  “I just wanted them to die,” Poison said. “They didn’t have to make such a drama about it.”

  Bram frowned. “At least it worked. Now what?”

  She brushed her hair back from her face. “Now we take care of the Bone Witch.”

  Night fell.

  The mist was still as thick as ever, but a bright and massive moon shone through it, bigger and closer than Poison had ever seen. The house sank into darkness, but the moon cast hard, cold light through the windows and spread rhomboid patches of blue across the shadow. Where it penetrated the cauldron room, it mixed with the firelight and glittered in the wet wash of blood.

  Somewhere upstairs, a door creaked. The Bone Witch was awake.

  Poison and Bram stood in the corridor that ran from the balcony of the cauldron room past the door to Peppercorn’s bedroom. Hearing the noise, they glanced at each other. Poison did not know whether to laugh or feel sick.

  “You’re certain this will work?” Bram asked for the tenth time.

  “I told you, she’s blind and deaf,” Poison said. “But she’ll feel the vibrations if we make a lot of noise. And when she gets here, she only needs to smell us.”

  Bram swallowed and nodded, cinching the skin of the dog tighter around his shoulders. Both of them wore the dog’s hide like hooded cloaks, bloody shrouds that clung stickily to their hair and arms and cheeks. Both of them were plastered in smeared gore. Relieving the dead creatures of their skins had been an unpleasant task, and Bram was not greatly skilled at it. They had used a knife they found by the stove, though it was the size of a sabre and hard to handle. Peppercorn had appeared on the balcony while they were working below, having found Andersen at last; when she saw what they were doing, she gave a little squeak and fainted. Poison dragged her into the corner of the balcony and left her there. Better to have her out of the way; there was no knowing how she might react if she knew of their plan.

  They could hear the Bone Witch creaking about above them now, and her voice drifted down in a sinister singsong.

  “Are you ready, my dear? Ready for Maeb’s pot? Tender, juicy bones.”

  “We can still escape,” Bram reminded her. “It’ll only be a short while till midnight. We can get out through the coal chute.”

  “No,” Poison replied. “We should face her on our terms, not hers. If she catches us hiding, we’ll all be for the pot.”

  Bram listened uncertainly to the witch’s cooing.

  “Besides,” Poison added. “It’s time somebody did something about her.”

  Bram didn’t reply to that.

  “Come on,” she said, and together they readied themselves in front of the door at the end of the corridor. Poison went first; she threw herself shoulder-first against the closed door and bounced off it. Bram did the same, while Poison stamped her boots, and then they both launched themselves at the door again, making it rattle in its frame. It was an odd scene, neither of them speaking, simply clattering about and making as much din as possible.

  “Oh! Did my poor dears get shut downstairs? Mother’s coming, my pets. Don’t fret.”

  They backed off from the door as Maeb approached. Bram was scared out of his wits, his whiskers quivering; but Poison felt strangely unafraid now. She was tired of cringing from that rancid old hag. This time around, it would be different.

  The door was pulled open, and there was the Bone Witch, eleven feet high and twisted as an ancient root. Bram almost fell over in his haste to stumble away, but Poison stood her ground. Maeb paused as soon as she opened the door, and took a sniff of the air with her enormous nose.

  “I smell blood!” she screeched. “And not man blood, either!”

  Poison took that as her cue to flee. Bram had already made a less than heroic retreat, and was several dozen feet away down the corridor.

  “Come back, my pets!” Maeb cried. “Are you hurt? Has somebody hurt you?” She came lunging after them, sniffing the air as she went. “Come back!”

  Poison ran. Having the witch follow her was all part of the plan, but it was no less dangerous for that. Bram was already through the doorway and at the balcony, ushering her frantically. But Maeb had slowed to a halt. Poison looked back over her shoulder, feeling a crawling dread come upon her.

  “You’re not my dogs,” Maeb hissed. “I can feel your footsteps. You smell like them, but you’re not them. Two legs! Two legs!” She sniffed the air and howled suddenly: “What have you done with my dogs?”

  Suddenly she thundered forward with a screech, her wrinkled face in an awful rictus of hate. Her speed took Poison by surprise, and she barely got out of the way of the enormous creature’s grasping hands. As it was, she felt the bloodied dog-hide plucked from her back. Maeb screamed in horror as she dangled the skin of her pet in her hand, then flung it aside and came through the doorway, stamping on to the balcony, a monstrous fury upon her.

  “I’ll grind your bones to powder and bake them in my bread!” she cried. “I’ll snap you up and crunch you down!”

  But as she raced into the room, she stepped on to the fresh slick of blood that had been splashed across the balcony. Her feet slid once, and her arms flailed, but she was going too fast to stop herself. With a shriek, she crashed into the balcony rail, which cracked under her weight with a splintering of bone and pitched her head-first into the cauldron. Boiling broth geysered over the side with a great sizzling hiss, and the fire was extinguished in a wash of searing water; then silence fell.

  Poison and Bram, who had been pressed against the wall next to the door jamb, ventured to the edge of the balcony and peered over. All they could see of Maeb was the grimy soles of her shoes, poking out of the poisonous brown broth and resting against the lip of the cauldron. They were quite still.

  “Hmm,” said Bram.

  Poison laughed explosively, giddy with relief. “Will you take off that dogskin? You look ridiculous.”

  Bram raised an eyebrow at her. She looked like she had bathed in blood. He shucked off the skin and threw it into the cauldron after the Bone Witch.

  “What about her?” Bram said, tipping his head at Peppercorn, who was still out cold in the corner. Andersen was just curling up on her lap, taking advantage of her inactivity.

  “What about her?” Poison replied. “She’s not our concern. Let her do what she wants.”

  Bram harrumphed and stroked his moustache, reddening what whiteness remained there. “That’s not good enough, Poison,” he said. “Can’t just leave her here.”

  “Why not?” Poison challenged.

  “It wouldn’t be right,” he replied simply.

  Poison sighed. She had no dislike for Pepper-corn, but she had the impression that the girl would be nothing but a hindrance and a liability to them. Still, one look at Bram told her that he would not be swayed on this. It piqued her unaccountably. She had felt somehow special when Bram had ventured into the house to save her; but now that Bram’s kindness extended to Peppercorn as well, the fee
ling was spoiled a little.

  “All right then,” she shrugged. She walked over to Peppercorn. Andersen reluctantly gave up his warm spot and circled around behind her, peering past her ankles at his unconscious owner. Poison gave her a shake.

  “Wake up, Peppercorn,” she said. “Time to go.”

  Peppercorn made a soft moan and opened her eyes. She took one look at the blood-drenched apparition before her, screamed, and fainted again.

  Poison threw up her hands in exasperation. “If you want her, you’d better carry her,” she said to Bram.

  But Bram was looking out of the window, for the moonlight had suddenly brightened. “The mist is clearing,” he said. “Midnight is coming. We should go.”

  She gave Bram a long, penetrating stare. “Are you sure about this, Bram? Maybe, if you stay here, the house will go back to where it originally started.”

  “Maybe it will,” Bram said. “And maybe it won’t. It’s phaerie magick. I don’t much want to take the risk.”

  Poison began to argue, but Bram raised one hide-gloved hand.

  “I’m here now,” he said. “Can’t pretend I’m happy about it, but I made my choice. I knew where I’d end up when I came in after you. Now let’s not talk about it any more.”

  And so it was that when the moon was at its zenith, Poison and Bram walked out of the front door of the house of the Bone Witch, with Peppercorn slung over Bram’s broad shoulder and Andersen darting around between their feet. They pushed open the bone gate, and stepped beyond, and from that moment they were in the Realm of Phaerie.

  It was just like the stories.

  Poison could not resist a smile at seeing how perfectly her imagination had matched Fleet’s tales to the land that surrounded her. Of course, he had never pretended to have set foot outside the Realm of Man – Poison would not have believed that for an instant, back in the days before she left Gull – but he professed to know people who had. And then there were his books, that he used to read to Poison until she began to borrow them and read them herself. Between one and the other, Poison had built up a picture in her mind of what this wondrous, fabulous, dangerous realm would look like. And it looked like this.