Chapter 2 #2
That’s when I realized I could not tell him about the rabbits because I had no words for what I’d seen. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a flash of white, like a cap through the trees, but when I looked there was only green. “Yes,” I said eventually.
Roger was amused. “You do have a wild imagination, Fleetwood. You had us thinking you were attacked by a savage in the woods when really a woman had got lost?”
“Yes,” I replied faintly.
“Although now even that isn’t without harm—you may have heard of what happened to John Law the peddler at Colne?”
“I have not.”
“Roger, you don’t need to frighten her with tales of witchcraft—she already has nightmares.”
My mouth fell open and my face grew scarlet. That was the first time Richard had told anyone about The Nightmare, and I would never have believed it of him. But he continued to move ahead of me, the feather in his hat trembling.
“Tell me, Roger.”
“A woman traveling alone is not always as innocent as it seems, as John Law found out and will never forget as long as he lives—and that might not be long, Lord have mercy.” He settled back in his saddle. “Two days ago a man came to Read, name of Abraham Law.”
“I do not know him.”
“Well, you wouldn’t because he is a cloth dyer from Halifax. The lad has done well for himself, considering.”
“And he found a witch?”
“No, listen.”
I sighed and wished I hadn’t come; wished I was sitting in the parlor with my dog.
“John was traveling on the woolpack trail at Colnefield when he came across a young girl. A beggar, he thought. She asked him to give her some pins, and when he said he would not,” he paused for effect.
“She cursed him. He turned his back and next thing, heard her speaking softly behind him, as though she was talking to someone. It sent a shiver up his spine. He thought at first it was the wind, but he turned back, and her dark eyes were fixed on him, and her lips moving. He hurried away, and not thirty yards on, he heard running feet, and then a great thing like a black dog began attacking him, biting him all over, and he fell to the ground.”
“A thing like a black dog?” Richard asked. “You said earlier it was a black dog.”
Roger ignored him. “He held his hands to his face and begged for mercy, and when he opened his eyes the dog had disappeared. Gone.” He held his large hands up.
“And the strange girl with it. Someone found him on the path and helped him to a nearby inn, but he could barely move a limb. Nor could he speak, and one of his eyes stayed shut to the world, and his face was all fallen down on one side. He stayed at the inn, but the next morning the young girl appeared again, bold as brass, and begged his forgiveness. She claims she wasn’t in control of her craft, but that she did curse him. ”
“She admitted to it?” I remembered the girl from yesterday and goose bumps covered my skin. “What did she look like?”
“She certainly looks like a witch. She is very thin and rough-looking, with black hair and a sullen face. My mother says never trust someone with black hair because they usually have a black soul to match.”
“I have black hair.”
“Do you want to hear my story?” My mother always said I was a pain for interrupting, and threatened to sew my mouth as a child. She and Roger’s mother would have plenty to discuss.
“I am sorry,” I said. “Is the man well now?”
“No, and he may never be again,” Roger said gravely. “That is worrying in itself, but there is something that troubles me more—the dog. While it is free to roam Pendle, no one is safe.”
Richard was far ahead by now, keeping up with the hunt.
The thought of the animal did not frighten me—after all, I had a mastiff the size of a mule.
But before I could point that out, Roger began again, “At the inn, a few nights after it happened, John Law woke to the sound of something next to him, breathing over him. The great beast stood over his bed, the size of a wolf, with bared teeth and fiery eyes. He knew it to be a spirit—it was not of this earth. You can understand his terror—a man who is unable to move or speak save for groaning out. Then who should be standing over his bed in its place not a moment later, but the witch herself.”
I felt as though my skin had been brushed with feathers. “So it turned into the woman?”
“No. Fleetwood, have you knowledge of a familiar spirit?” I shook my head.
“Then I will direct you to the gospel according to Leviticus. In short, it’s the devil in disguise.
An instrument, if you will, to enlarge his kingdom.
This witch is a dog, but they can appear as anything—an animal, a child.
It appears to her when she needs it to do her bidding, and she told it last week to lame John Law.
A familiar is the surest sign of a witch. ”
“And you have seen it?”
“Of course not. A creature of the devil is hardly likely to appear to a God-fearing man. Only those of questionable belief might sense its presence. Low morals are its breeding ground.”
“But John Law saw it. You said he was a good man.”
Roger waved me off, impatient. “We have lost Richard. He will not be happy with me for lagging behind indulging you. This is what happens when women come on hunts.”
I did not point out that it was me indulging him—if Roger had a story, he wanted it heard. We set off at a canter, and slowed down again when the hunt came back into view. We were a long way from Gawthorpe now, and I was not in favor of the thought of a full afternoon riding.
“Where is the girl now?” I asked as we fell behind again.
Roger adjusted his grip on the reins. “Her name is Alizon Device. She is in my custody at Read Hall.”
“In your house? Why did you not put her in the jail at Lancaster?”
“She is not dangerous where she is. There is nothing she can do—she would not dare. Besides, she is helping me with some other inquiries.”
“What kind of inquiries?”
“My, my, you are full of questions, Mistress Shuttleworth. Must we talk the quarry to death? Alizon Device is from a family of witches—she told me so herself. Her mother, her grandmother—even her brother all practice magic and sorcery, no more than a few miles from here. They are also accusing their neighbors of murder by witchcraft, one of whom lives on Shuttleworth land. Which is why I thought Master Shuttleworth over there ought to know about it.” He indicated his head at the expanse of greenery before us.
The hounds, Edmund and Richard were again nowhere to be seen.
“But how do you know she is telling the truth? Why would she betray her family? She must know what it means to be a witch—it’s certain death.”
“Your guess why is as good as mine,” Roger said simply, although I detected something below. He could be forceful and bullying when he wanted; I had seen it with his wife, Katherine, who was a tolerant sort of woman. “And the murders she claimed her family are responsible for all happened.”
“They have murdered?”
“Several times. You would not want to cross a Device, as all the people who died did. Do not fear, child. Alizon Device is safe in custody, and I am to question her family tomorrow or the next day. I shall have to notify the king, of course,” he sighed, as though it was an impediment.
“He will be pleased to know it, I’m sure. ”
“What if they escape—how will you find them?”
“They’ll not escape. I have eyes all over Pendle—you know that. Not much gets past a high sheriff.”
“Former high sheriff,” I teased. “How many years has she? The girl with the dog?”
“She does not know, but I would say she is seventeen or so.”
“The same as me.” After a moment of thoughtful silence, I spoke again. “Roger, do you trust Richard?”
He raised a bushy eyebrow. “With my life. Or what’s left of it—I am an old man now, with my family grown and the best days of my work behind me, most regrettably. Why do you ask?”
The doctor’s letter I’d tucked into my pocket deep beneath my riding clothes, and it beat against my ribs like another heart. “No reason.”
THE FAMILIARS by Stacey Halls
Available now from MIRA Books
Copyright ? 2019 by Stacey Halls