Speaks the Nightbird (Matthew Corbett #1)

Speaks the Nightbird (Matthew Corbett #1) Page 11

a SMaLL BUT IMPORTaNT MIRaCLE greeted Matthew as he awakened, responding to the insistent fist of Robert Bidwell upon his chamber door: the sun had appeared.

It was a weak sun, yes, and in imminent danger of being clouded over by the jealous sky, but there it was all the same. The early light, a misty golden sheen, had brought forth Fount Royal's roosters in fine trumpeting form. as Matthew shaved and dressed, he listened to the orchestra of cocks vying for vocal dominance. His gaze kept slipping down to where the Spanish coin had been resting atop the dresser, and he couldn't help but wonder whose boots had crossed the floor to steal it. But today another matter was supreme. He would have to forswear his mind from the subject of the coin and the spy and concentrate fully on his task - which was, after all, his raison d'etre.

a breakfast of eggs, fried potatoes, and corncakes filled Matthew's belly, all washed down with a cup of sturdy dark brown tea. Woodward was late to the table, his eyes swollen and his breathing harsh; he appeared to have either slept not at all for the remainder of the night or suffered dreams that prevented rest. Before Matthew could speak, Woodward lifted a hand and said in a croaking voice, "I promised I would visit Dr. Shields today, and I shall. as soon as we have interviewed Mr. Buckner."

"Surely you're going to interview more than one witness today, aren't youi as tomorrow is the Sabbath, I mean." Bidwell was sitting at the head of the table, his breakfast platter already scraped clean. Though he'd been severely tried by the recent events, he was clean-shaven, freshly washed, and dressed in a tan-colored suit. The ringlets of his lavish wig cascaded down around his shoulders.

"I will interview Mr. Buckner this morning." Woodward seated himself on the bench across the table from Matthew. "Then I'm going to visit Dr. Shields. If I am up to the task, I will interview Mr. Garrick in the afternoon."

"all right, then. Just so there is some movement, I should be satisfied."

"I, too, should be satisfied with a movement," Woodward said. "My system has been clogged by these country meals." He pushed aside his breakfast dish, which had been loaded with food by a servant girl in preparation for his arrival. Instead he reached for the green ceramic teapot and poured a cup, which he drank down with several noisy swallows.

"You'll be feeling better before long," Bidwell assured him. "The sun cures all ills."

"Thank you, sir, but I do not desire platitudes. Will we have the proper furnishings on hand when we reach the gaoli"

"I've arranged for Mr. Winston and Mr. Green to take care of what you need. and I must say, there's no reason to be snappish. This is a great day, sir, for the history of Fount Royal."

"No day is great when murder is involved." Woodward poured a second cup of tea and that, too, went down his hatch.

It came time to leave. Bidwell announced that Goode was already waiting in front with the carriage, and he wished them both - as he put it - "good hunting." Woodward felt positively feeble as he left the house, his bones heated and flesh clammy, his throat paved by Hell's burning brimstone. It was all he could do to suck in a breath, as his nostrils were so constricted. But he would have to carry on, and hopefully Dr. Shields could relieve his discomfort later in the day.

Clouds had moved in, obscuring the blessed sun, as Goode flicked the reins and the carriage wheels began to turn. But as they passed the spring - where two women were already drawing water into buckets - the sun's rays slipped their bondage and shone down upon the surface. Matthew saw the spring suddenly glow golden with a marvelously beautiful light. around the water, the green tops of oak trees were cast with the same gilded lumination, and for a moment Matthew realized the power that Fount Royal held over its citizens: a place carved from the wild, fenced and tamed, baptized in sweat and tears, made useful by sheer human will and muscle. It was a dream and a damnation too, this desiring to control the wilderness, to shape it with axe-blade and shovel. Many had perished in the building of this town; many more would die before it was a harbor city. But who could deny the temptation and challenge of the landi

In some old Latin tome on philosophy he'd read, Matthew recalled that the author had assigned all reflection, peace, and piety to God; to the Devil had been assigned the need of man to go forth and conquer, to break asunder and rework, to question and reach beyond all hope of grasping.

It seemed to him, then, that according to that philosophy the Devil was indeed at work in Fount Royal. and the Devil was indeed at work in him, because the question of why was rooted in the tree of forbidden fruit. But what would this land - this world - be without such a questioni and where would it be without those instincts and needs - seeds from the Devil, some might say - that caused men to wish for more than God had given themi

The clouds shifted, and suddenly yet again the sun had vanished. Matthew looked up and saw patches of blue amid the gray, but they were becoming slimmer and smaller. In another moment, the gray clouds held dominion once more.

"So much for the healing properties of the sun," Woodward said.

Smoke was still drifting from the charred ruins of what had yesterday been a farmhouse. along Truth Street the acrid odor of burning remained strong. Presently Goode bade the horses slow and reined them in before the gaol. The giant red-haired and red-bearded Mr. Green was waiting outside for them, along with Edward Winston.

"Your wishes have been met," Winston said, eager to please. "I've even donated my own desk and Bible to the cause."

Green took them all inside. Matthew was relieved to see that Noles had been released and had fled his coop. The roof hatch was open, allowing in the hazy gray light, and Green had lit several lanterns and hung them from wallhooks. Back in the last cell, the woman was huddled in the straw, her sackcloth clothing bundled about her.

"This is where you'll be," Green rumbled, opening the door of the cage opposite the one in which Noles had been confined. Clean straw had been laid down. In a corner had been placed two buckets, one empty and the other brimmed with fresh water. at the center of the cell stood a desk and chair, a leatherbound Bible (suitable for swearing truth upon) atop the desk, and the chair holding a comfortable-looking blue cushion. Before the desk was a stool for the witness. To the right of the magistrate's position was a second, smaller combination desk and chair - removed from the schoolhouse, Matthew presumed - and atop it another blotter and a rectangular wooden box. Matthew's first act upon entering the cell was to lift the box's lid; he found within it a thick sheaf of rather yellowed paper, a well of black ink, three quills, a small brush, and a square of coarse brown cloth with which to clean clots of ink from the writing instruments.

"Is everything satisfactoryi" Winston asked, waiting at the cell's threshold as Matthew inspected his tools and the magistrate tested the firmness of the cushion with the palm of his hand.

"I believe it is," Woodward decided. "One request, though: I'd like a pot of tea."

"Yes sir, I'll see to it."

"a large pot, please. With three cups."

"Certainly. Mr. Paine has gone to fetch Jeremiah Buckner, and should be returning presently."

"Very good." Woodward was loath to sit down yet, as he didn't fancy these surroundings. In his career there'd never been an equal to this set of circumstances. He heard the rustling of straw, and both he and Matthew saw Rachel Howarth rise up from her repose. She stood at the middle of her cage, her head and face hooded by her garment.

"Not to be alarmed, madam," Winston told her. "Your court is about to convene." She was silent, but Matthew sensed she was well aware of what was in preparation.

"There'll be no disruptions from you, heari" Green warned. "Mr. Bidwell's given me the authority to bind and gag you if I must!"

She made a sound that might have been a bitter laugh. She said, "aren't you feared to touch mei I might conjure you into a frog and stomp you flat!"

"Did you heari" Green's eyes had widened; he looked from Woodward to Winston and back again. "She's threatenin' me!"

"Steady," Woodward said. "She's talking, nothing more." He raised his voice to address the woman. "Madam, I would suggest to you that such claims of ability are not helpful to your position."

"My positioni What positioni" Now she reached up, pulled back her hood, and her fiercely beautiful face was fully exposed, her black hair dirty and wild, her amber eyes aflame. "My position is already hopeless! What lesser depth can there bei"

"Mind that tongue!" Green shouted, but it seemed to Matthew that he was trying to make up in volume for what he might be lacking elsewhere.

"No, it's all right." The magistrate walked to the bars and peered through them into the woman's face. "You may speak your mind in my court. Within reason of course."

"There is no reason here! and this is not a court!"

"It is a court, because I have decreed it so. and as for the matter of reason, I am here to find it. I am going to be questioning witnesses who have some knowledge of your activities, and it will be for your benefit if you don't attempt to make a mockery of the proceedings."

"a mockery," she repeated, and she laughed again. Some of her fire, however, had been extinguished by the magistrate's calmness of tone. "Why don't you go ahead and pronounce me guiltyi Put me to the rope or the stake, or whatever. I can't receive a fair trial in this town."

"On the contrary. I am sworn before the law to make certain you do receive a fair trial. We are holding court here because my clerk has been sentenced to three days - "

"Ohi" Her gaze fixed on Matthew. "Have they pronounced you a warlocki"

"Three days," Woodward repeated, shifting his position so that he stood between the woman and his clerk, "for a crime that does not concern you. If I were not interested in the fairness of your trial, I should have you taken to some other location and kept confined. But I wish for you to be present and hear the accusations, under the tenets of English law. That does not mean, however" - and here he lifted a finger for emphasis - "that you will be suffered to speak during the questioning." He had to pause for a moment, to clear his ravaged throat of what felt like a slow, thick stream of phlegm. He was going to need the acidity of the tea to get through this day. "Your time to speak will come, and you shall have all the opportunity you need to refute, explain, or otherwise defend yourself. If you choose the path of disruption, you shall be bound and gagged. If, when the opportunity of your speaking arrives, you choose silence as the cornerstone of your defense, that is your privilege. Now: do we have an understandingi"

She stared at him, saying nothing. Then, "are you really a magistratei"

"Yes, I really am."

"From wherei" Her eyes narrowed, like those of a suspicious cat.

"Charles Town. But I originally served the bench in London for many years."

"You have experience in witch trialsi"

"No, I do not. I do, however, have much experience in murder trials." He offered a faint smile. "all the jurists I know who have experience in witchcraft trials are either writing books or selling lectures."

"Is that what you hope to doi"

"Madam, I hope to find the truth," Woodward said. "That is my profit."

"and where's Bidwell, theni Isn't he attendingi"

"No. I've instructed him to keep his distance." She cocked her head to one side. Her eyes were still slightly narrowed, but Woodward could tell that this last bit of information had cooled her coals.

"If you pleasei" Winston said, desiring the magistrate's attention. "I'll go fetch your tea now. as I said, Nicholas should be here shortly with Mr. Buckner. Three cups, did you sayi"

"Three. For me, my clerk, and the witness. Wait. Make that four. a cup for Madam Howarth as well."

"This is a gaol!" Green protested. "It ain't no social club!"

"Today it's a court," Woodward said. "My court, and I'll preside over it as I please. at the end of the day, it will be a gaol again. Four cups, Mr. Winston."

Winston left without another word, but Green shook his red-maned head and grumbled his disapproval. The magistrate paid him no further heed, and sat down in the desk's chair. Likewise, Matthew situated himself at his clerk's station. He took a sheet of paper from the box, set it before him, and then shook the inkwell to mix the pigments and opened it. He chose a quill, dipped the nib, and made some circles so as to get the feel of the instrument; all quills might look similar, he'd learned, but some were far more suited for the task of writing than others. This one, he found directly, was a wretched tool. Its nib was much too broad, and unevenly split so that the ink came out in spots and dollops rather than a smooth flow. He snapped it in two, dropped it to the floor, and chose a second quill. This one was better; it was a neater point and the ink flowed sufficiently well, but its shape was so crooked that the hand would be paralyzed before an hour's work was finished.

"Horrible," Matthew said, but he decided not to break the second one before he tested the third. His regular quills - the ones carried in a leather holder that had been lost back at Shawcombe's tavern - were precision instruments that, not unlike fine horses, required only the lightest of touches to perform their task. He longed for them now, as he tried the third quill and found it to be the sorriest of the batch, with a crack down its center that caused ink to bleed into the feathers. He broke it at once, and therefore was wed to the handkiller.

"are the tools unsuitablei" Woodward asked as Matthew practised writing a few lines of Latin, French, and English on the rough-skinned paper.

"I'd best accept what I've got." He was leaving blotches of ink on the paper, and so he further lightened his pressure. "This will do, once I've tamed it."

Within a few moments Nicholas Paine entered the gaol with the first witness. Jeremiah Buckner walked slowly and unsteadily even with the use of a cane. His beard, far more white than gray, trailed down his chest, and what remained of his snowy hair hung about his frail shoulders. He wore loose-fitting brown breeches and a faded red-checked shirt. Both Woodward and Matthew stood as a show of respect for the aged as Paine helped the old man across the threshold. Buckner's watery brown eyes marked the presence of Rachel Howarth, and he seemed to draw back a bit but allowed Paine to aid him in sitting on the stool.

"I'm all right," he said; it was more of a gasp than speech.

"Yes sir," Paine said. "Magistrate Woodward will protect you from harm. I'll be waiting just outside to take you home when you are done here."

"I'm all right." The old man nodded, but his eyes kept returning to the figure in the next cage.

"Where do you want me, Magistratei" Green inquired, with more than a little sarcasm in his voice.

"You may also wait outside. I'll ask you to return if it's necessary."

The two men left, and Buckner positioned his cane so as to give himself balance on the stool. He swallowed nervously, his knotty fingers working together, his face gaunt and blotched with the dark spots of advanced age.

"are we ready to begini" Woodward asked of Matthew, and the clerk dipped his quill and nodded. The firsr thing was for Woodward to stand and offer the Bible to Buckner, instructing him to place his right hand upon it and swear before God that he would tell the truth. Buckner did, and Woodward put the Good Book aside and settled himself back in his chair.

"Your full name and age, please, for the record."

"Jeremiah Buckner. I shall be sixty-and-eight year come august."

"Thank you. Mr. Buckner, how long have you been a citizen of Fount Royali"

"Ever since it begun. Five year, I reckon."

"You're a farmer, is that correcti"

"Was. My son brung Patience and me here to live with 'em. He did some farmin'. Wasn't no good at it, though. Two year ago, he an' Lizabeth lit out, took the boys. Gonna come back an' fetch us, once they's settled."

"Yes, sir, thank you," Woodward said. "So you and your wife occupy a farmi On which streeti"

"Industry."

"and what is your source of incomei"

Buckner wet his lips with his tongue. "Patience an' me get by on the lovin' kindness of our fellows, sir. Our farm ain't worth nothin'. Just got a roof o'er our heads, that's all. But when Ezra comes to get us, everythin'll be paid back. I'll swear that on the Lord's Book, too. He writ me a letter, come by the post rider from Charles Town. Said he was lookin' for some good land up Virginia way."

"I see. Now I presume you have an accusation to make concerning Madam Howarthi"

"Well ..." Buckner glanced quickly through the bars into the next cell.

"Siri" Woodward said sternly. "Look at me, please, not at anyone else. If you have an accusation to make, now is the proper time."

Matthew waited in the silence that fell, his quill poised. On the paper was written every utterance up to the moment, penned in the code of shortened words, abbreviations, and alphabetic memory-devices of his own creation.

Buckner stared at the floor. a blue vein at his temple throbbed. With an obvious effort he opened his mouth and spoke. "She . . . the witch . . . she come to me. In the night. She come to me . . . naked, she was. Wearin' a . . . serpent 'round her neck. a black serpent, with yella eyes. Like hers. She come to me, stood right at the foot of my bed, and Patience sleepin' a'side me."

"You're referring to Rachel Howarthi"

"She's the one."

"You have that downi" Woodward asked his clerk, but he needn't have because he knew Matthew's ability. Matthew just nodded grimly and dipped his quill once more.

"May I speaki" Rachel asked sharply.

"No, you may not!" The answer was delivered with an even-sharper point. "I told you, I'll have no disruptions in my court!"

"I would just like to say that I - "

"Madam!" Woodward shouted, and his raw throat paid the price for it. "One more word and the gag shall be delivered!"

Matthew had been scribing all this down as well. Now he stared at her, his quill's nib resting at the end of a letter, and he said quietly, "It would be wise not to speak further. Believe me."

Her mouth had already begun to open to test the magistrate's will. Now, however, she paused in her intent. Woodward waited, his fists clenched in his lap and his teeth gritted behind his lips. Slowly Rachel Howarth closed her mouth and then seated herself on the bench.

Woodward returned his full attention to Buckner. "When did this event occuri Was it before or after the murder of Daniel Howarthi"

"after. I believe Daniel had been laid down a week or two, so I reckon it was early February."

"all right. Tell me then, as clearly as you recall, exactly what happened."

"Yes sir." Buckner spent a moment putting it together in his mind, his head lowered. "Well ... I don't recollect so good as I used to, but that kinda thing you don't forget. Me and Patience went to bed just like usual that night. She put out the lamp. Then ... I don't know how long it was ... I heard my name spoke. I opened my eyes. Everythin' was dark, and silent. I waited, a'lis-tenin'. Just silent, like there was nothin' else in the whole world makin' a sound but my breathin'. Then ... I heard my name spoke again, and I looked at the foot of the bed and seen her."

"By what light, if there was nonei" Woodward asked.

"Well, I've put my mind to that but I can't answer it. The winda's were shuttered, 'cause it was might cold outside, so there wasn't no moonlight. But she was there, all right. I seen her, clear as I see you."

"You're positive it was Rachel Howarthi"

"I am."

Woodward nodded, staring at his hands spread out on the desktop before him. "and what else transpiredi"

"I was scairt half out of my wits," Buckner said. "any man would've been. I started to wake up Patience, but then that woman - the witch - said I wasn't to. She said if I woke up Patience I would be sorry for it."

"But your wife wasn't roused by Madam Howarth's voicei"

"No sir. I've puzzled on that, too, but I can't make no sense out of it. Patience slept deep as usual. Only thing I figure is that the witch put a conjure on her."

Matthew heard the woman give a muffled grunt of frustration; he was tempted to lift his head to glance at her, but the quill demanded his absolute concentration.

"all right. Then what occurredi"

"The witch . . . said I was to keep her visit a secret. Said if I spoke it to anyone, they would be killed on the spot. Said I was to meet her two nights hence, in the orchard behind my house. Just said be there betwixt midnight and two, she would find me."

"Madam Howarth was nude, you sayi"

"Yes sir, she wore not a stitch."

"But she had a serpent around her necki"

"Yes sir. Black, it was. With yella eyes."

"Had you latched your doors and windows before retiring to bedi"

Buckner nodded. "We had. Never used to, but . . . with somebody a'killin' Reverend Grove and then Daniel like that . . . Patience felt easier with the latches throwed after dark."

"Therefore in your estimation there was no possible earthly way for Rachel Howarth to have entered your housei"

"Well sir . . . after she was gone, I lit the lantern and checked them latches. They was all still throwed. Patience woke up and asked me what I was doin'. I had to tell her a lie, say a barkin' dog stirred me up. She went on back to sleep, but I couldn't near close my eyes."

"I can understand," Woodward said. "Tell me this, then: exactly how did Madam Howarth leave your housei"

"I don't know, sir."

"Ohi You didn't see her leavei"

"Soon as she told me where to meet her . . . she was just gone. Didn't fade nor nothin', like you might think a phantasm would. She was there and then not."

"and you immediately lit the lanterni"

"I think so. Maybe it was a minute or two. It was kinda hazy what I did just after she left. I believe I was still conjured, myself."

"Uh . . . Magistratei" The voice made Matthew jump, the quill scrawling across two neat lines above it before he could rein it in.

"Yesi" Woodward snapped, looking toward the gaol's entrance. "What is iti"

"I've brought your tea, sir." Winston carried a wicker basket with a lid. He came into the cell, put the basket down upon the magistrate's desk, and opened it, revealing a white clay teapot and four cups, three of the same white clay but the fourth a dark reddish-brown. "Compliments of Mrs. Lucretia Vaughan," Winston said. "She sells pies, cakes, and tea from her home, just up Harmony Street, but she graciously offered to brew the pot free of charge. I felt it my duty, however, to inform her that the witch would be drinking as well, therefore Mrs. Vaughan asks that Madam Howarth use the dark cup so that it may be broken into pieces."

"Yes, of course. Thank you."

"Is there anything else I might do for youi Mr. Bidwell has put me at your disposal."

"No, nothing else. You may go, and thank you for your assistance."

"Yes sir. Oh . . . one more thing: Mrs. Vaughan would like Madam Howarth herself to break the cup, and then she asks that you gather the pieces and return them to her."

Woodward frowned. "May I ask whyi"

"I don't know, sir, but it was her request."

"Very well, then." Woodward waited for the other man to leave, and then he removed the teapot from the basket and poured himself a cup. He drank almost all of it immediately, to soothe his throat. "Teai" he offered Buckner, but the farmer declined. Matthew took a cup, taking care not to spill any upon his papers. "Madam Howarthi" Woodward called. "I should be lacking in manners if I failed to offer you a cup of tea."

"Lucretia Vaughan brewed iti" she asked sullenly. "I wonder if it's not poisoned."

"I have drunk some that I would swear was tainted, but this is quite good. I'd daresay it's been a while since you've had a taste." He poured some into the dark cup and handed it to Matthew. "Put this through the bars, please."

Matthew stood up to do so, and the woman rose from her bench and approached. In a moment Matthew found himself face-to-face with her, the compelling amber eyes staring fixedly at him. Curls of her thick ebony hair had fallen across her forehead, and Matthew was aware of tiny beads of sweat glistening on her upper lip, due to the gaol's damp heat. He saw her pulse beating in the valley of her throat.

He pushed the cup through; it was a tight fit, but it did scrape between the bars. She reached to accept it, and her fingers pressed across his. The sensation of her body heat was like a wildfire that burned through his flesh and flamed along the nerves of his hand. He let go of the cup and jerked his arm back, and he didn't know what his expression had revealed but the woman was looking at him with curious interest. He abruprly turned his back to her and resumed his place.

"Let us continue," Woodward said, when his clerk was once more situated. "Matthew, read back to me the last question and answer, please."

"The question was: and you immediately lit the lanterni Mr. Buckner's reply was: I think so. Maybe it was a minute or two. It was kind of hazy what I did just after she left. I believe I was still conjured, myself."

"all right. Mr. Buckner, did you later that day inform your wife of what had occurredi"

"No sir, I did not. I was a'feared that if I told her, the witch's curse might kill her on the spot. I didn't tell nobody."

"Two nights hence, did you go to the orchard at the prescribed timei"

"I did. Betwixt midnight and two, just as the witch commanded. I got out of bed slow and quiet as I could. I didn't want Patience hearin' and wakin' up."

"and when you went to the orchard, what transpiredi" Woodward sipped at a fresh cup of tea and waited for the man to respond.

This question obviously troubled Jeremiah Buckner, as the farmer shifted uneasily on his stool and chewed at his lower lip. "Siri" he at last said. "I'd . . . beg not relare it."

"If it has to do with Madam Howarth, I must insist that you relate it." again, Buckner shifted and chewed but no words were forthcoming. "I would remind you that you have taken an oath on the Bible," Woodward said. "also, that this is a station of the law just as much as any courthouse in Charles Town. If you're fearful of your safety, let me assure you that these bars are solid and Madam Howarth cannot reach you."

"The walls of my house are solid, too," Buckner muttered. "She got through 'em, didn't shei"

"You came here to testify of your own free will, did you noti"

"Yes sir, I did."

"Then you will leave here with your testimony incomplete if you fail to respond to my questions. I need to know what occurred in the orchard."

"Oh Lord," Buckner said softly; it was a supplication for strength. He bowed his head, staring at the floor, and when he lifted it again the lamplight sparkled from the sheen of sweat on his face. "I walked into the orchard," he began. "It was a cold night, and silent. I walked in, and directly I heard ... a woman laughin', and another noise too. Somethin' that sounded . . . sounded like a beast, a'gruntin'." He was quiet, his head once again lowered.

"Go on," Woodward said.

"Well... I followed them sounds. Followed 'em, deeper in. I 'member I stopped to look back at my house. It seemed such an awful long way off. Then I took to walkin' again, tryin' to find the woman. Wasn't a few minutes passed 'fore I did." Buckner paused and took a deep breath, as if fortifying himself for the rest of it. "She was a'layin' on her back, under one of them apple trees. She was a'layin' with her legs spread wide, 'bout to split her down the middle. and on top a'her was . . . that thing I seen. It was goin' at her, like the drivin' of a spike. It was a'gruntin' ever'time it come down, and she had her eyes closed and was laughin'."

"a thingi" Woodward said. "What kind of thingi"

Buckner looked directly into the magistrate's eyes, his jaw slack and the sweat gleaming on his forehead. "It was somethin' that . . . kinda 'sembled a man, but ... it had a black hide, and leathery. I couldn't see its face ... I didn't want to. But it was big. a beast the likes I'd never set eye on before. It just kept poundin' her. That woman's legs open wide, and that beast comin' down a'top her. I saw its back movin' ... it had some kinda spines or the like up and down its backbone. Then all a'sudden it whipped its head side to side and let out an awful moan, and the woman gave a cry too. It got up off her . . . must'a been seven, eight feet tall. I could see . . ." Buckner hesitated, his eyes glazed with the memory of it. "I could see the woman was all bloody, there in her private parts. The beast moved away, and then . . . then somethin' else come out of the orchard, and it got down on its knees a'side her."

"What was iti" Woodward had gripped his teacup in his hand, his palm damp.

"I don't know. It had white hair and a child's face. But it was a dwarf-thing, its skin all gray and shrivelled like a dead fish. It got down on its knees a'side her. It leaned its head down, and then . . . then a terrible long tongue slid out of its mouth, and ..." He stopped, squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "Can't say," he gasped. "Can't say."

Woodward took a drink of tea and put the cup down. He restrained himself from casting a glance in Rachel Howarth's direction. He could feel Matthew tensed and ready to resume his scrivening. Woodward spoke quietly, "You must say."

Buckner released a noise that sounded like a sob. His chest was trembling. He said painfully, "I'll be damned to Hell for these pi'tures in my head!"

"You are acting as a proper Christian, sir. You were an observer to these sins, not a participant. I would ask you again to continue."

Buckner ran a hand across his mouth, the fingers palsied. The hue of his flesh had become pasty, and dark hollows had taken form beneath his eyes. He said, "That dwarf-thing . . . looked like a child. White hair. a failed angel, is what I thought. all shrunk up when it was cast in the Pit. I saw it. . . saw that tongue come out . . . saw it wet and shiny, like raw beef. Then . . . that tongue went up in the woman. In her bloody parts. She took to thrashin' and cryin' out, and the tongue was a'movin' inside her. I wanted to hide my face, but I couldn't near move my arms. I had to stand there and watch it. It was like . . . somebody was a'makin'

me watch it, when I wanted to hide my face and call to God to take them sights away." His voice cracked, and for a moment Woodward feared the old man would collapse into sobbing. But then Buckner said, "When that thing . . . slid its tongue back out again . . . there was blood all over it. Drippin' blood, it was. and that woman grinned like she was a new bride."

"Matthewi" Woodward's throat felt so constricted that clear speaking had become an effort of will. "are you getting all thisi"

"If I weren't," Matthew answered tersely, "I would have to be deaf."

"Yes. Of course. This represents a new threshold in your experience of clerking, I am sure." Woodward used his sleeve to mop the moisture from his face. "It certainly opens a new door for me, one that I might wish had remained latched."

"Then there was the third one," Buckner said. "The one that was man and woman both."

Neither Woodward nor Matthew moved nor spoke. In the silence they heard Buckner's hoarse breathing. Through the open roof-hatch came the sound of a crow cawing in the far distance. Matthew dipped his quill into the inkwell and waited.

"Let us not say," spoke the magistrate, "that in our interview we failed to turn over all rocks, regardless of what might be coiled underneath them. Tell us of the third creature, Mr. Buckner."