Speaks the Nightbird

'Might I ask a question?' Matthew proposed, and Bidwell nodded. 'What offense has this man committed?'

'He whipped his wife bloody with a carpet-beater,' Bidwell said. 'Dr. Shields had to attend to her. As it was Noles's second offense, I ordered him here.'

'And what was his first offense?'

'The same,' Bidwell said.

'She's a liar and a nag!' Noles spoke up adamantly. 'That woman don't know when to shut her mouth! I swear, even a saint would pick up an ax and cleave her head when she starts that damn prattlin'!' The man's attention fixed on Bidwell once more. 'Will you let me out then, to save my life?'

'Well—' He looked to Woodward for aid in this question. 'Richard Noles is a good Christian fellow. I shouldn't want to leave him to the mercy of the witch. What do you propose I do, sir?'

'Has his wife recovered?'

'She is abed at Dr. Shields's infirmary. Her arm was broken during the incident, and her back much bruised. But . . . after all, sir . . . she is his property, by the writ of marriage.'

'I have a suggestion,' Matthew said, which relieved Woodward of a difficult decision. 'Since Mr. Noles last night defeated the Devil with a handful of hay, surely he can hold off the demons of Hell with a carpet-beater. Why not bring him one with which he might defend himself.'

Bidwell slowly blinked. 'Are you joking, young man?'

'No, sir. He seems to be proficient with such a weapon, doesn't he?'

'What kind of damned horseshit is this?' Noles said, almost hollering again. 'I want out of here, right now!'

'I won't have this man's blood on my hands, if the witch strikes him dead tonight.' Bidwell nodded at Green. 'Let him loose.'

'Sir?' Matthew said, as the gaol-keeper found the proper key from his ring. 'If the witch strikes Mr. Noles dead tonight, I don't believe there'll be need to interview the other witnesses.'

'He's right,' said Paine, standing behind Matthew. 'It would put the rope around the witch's neck, pure and simple!'

'Hold.' Bidwell grasped Green's arm before the key could be inserted in its lock.

'Have you lost your damned minds?' Noles bellowed. 'She'll kill me tonight if you don't let me out!'

Matthew said, 'I don't think she will. It would be against her interests.'

'You!' Noles stared at Matthew, his eyes hot. 'I don't know who you are, but you'd best beware me when I get out!'

'That loose tongue might earn you a further sentence,' Woodward warned. 'I'm a magistrate, and the young man is my clerk.'

Bidwell added, 'Constrain your speech, Noles! That is, if you value your freedom come morning!'

'Damn you all, then!' the prisoner shouted. Turning, he picked up from the floor a bucket above which several flies of the non-demonic variety were circling. His face purple with anger, Noles braced his body to fling the bucket's contents at his tormentors.

'Noles!' Green's voice seemed to shake the gaol's walls. 'Your teeth in trade!'

The bucket hung poised on the edge of being thrown. Even in his rage, Noles realized it was a bad bargain. He paused, shaking, his face contorted in a sneer that might have cracked a mirror. He lowered the bucket to his side and finally let it drop into the hay.

'Tomorrow morning you shall be free,' Bidwell said. 'If you so wish, I'll . . . have brought to you a carpet- beater, with which you might—'

Noles laughed harshly. 'Give it to that skinny whelp and he can stick it up his arse! Go on, I've nothin' more to say to you!' He sat down on the bench and turned his face toward the wall.

'All right.' Bidwell motioned Green on. 'Let's see to Madam Howarth.'

They moved along the corridor, to the final cell on the left-hand side. From the occupant of this cage there was no outburst of noise or apparent movement. A hooded figure wrapped in coarse gray clothing lay huddled in the hay.

Bidwell's voice was tight when he spoke. 'Open it.'

Green used the second key on the leather cord, which evidently unlocked all the cells. The key turned, the lock clinked, and the gaol-keeper pulled the barred door open.

'Madam?' Bidwell said. 'Stand up.' The figure did not move. 'Do you hear me? I said, stand up!' Still, there was no response.

'She tests me,' Bidwell muttered, grim-lipped. Then, louder, 'Will you stand up, madam, or will Mr. Green pull you to your feet?'

At last there was a movement, but slow and deliberate. Woodward thought it was as dangerously graceful as the uncoiling of a serpent. The figure stood up and remained standing against the far wall, head fully cloaked and arms and legs shrouded by the gray sackcloth.

'I've brought visitors,' Bidwell announced. 'This is Magistrate Isaac Woodward and his clerk, Matthew Corbett. The magistrate desires to ask you some questions.'

Again there was no reaction. 'Go ahead, sir,' Bidwell said.

Woodward stepped forward, into the cage's doorway. He took note of the cell's furnishings: a refuse bucket, the same as afforded Noles; another smaller bucket that held water; a bench, and upon it a wooden tray with some scraps of bread and what appeared to be chicken bones. 'Madam Howarth?' Woodward said. 'I am here to ascertain the facts concerning your situation. Do I have your compliance?'

Nothing, from the hooded woman.

Woodward glanced quickly at Bidwell, who nodded for him to continue. The magistrate was aware that Green and Paine were flanking him, presumably to catch the woman should she fling herself at him. Matthew watched with acute interest, his hands clenching the bars. Woodward said, 'Madam Howarth, would you please speak the Lord's Prayer?'

Again, nothing. Not a word, not a nod, not even a curse.

'Do you know the Lord's Prayer?'

'Of course she does!' Paine said. 'But speaking it would scorch her tongue!'

'Please.' Woodward held up a hand to beg the man's silence. 'Madam, on these matters I do need your response. Your unwillingness to repeat the Lord's Prayer can be taken as your inability to speak it. Do you not understand how important this is?'

'She'll understand the noose, all right!' Bidwell said.

Woodward paused, putting his thoughts in order. 'Silence is guilt, madam,' he continued. 'I want you to listen well to what I say. There is much talk here of nooses and hangings. You know of what you stand accused. Many witches in these colonies have met their deaths by hanging . . . but since you stand accused of murdering your husband, to whom by law you owed obedience, this is also a case of what is called 'petty treason.' The punishment for such treason is not the rope, but death by fire at the stake. Therefore it does you no good whatsoever to remain mute to my questions.'

He may as well have been speaking to a gray-gowned statue. 'This is absurd!' he protested to Bidwell. 'It's all useless, if she refuses to speak! '

'Then we ought to get a stake ready, yes?'

'Sir?' Matthew said. 'May I pose her a question?'

'Yes, go ahead!' Woodward answered, disgusted with the whole thing.

'Madam Howarth?' Matthew kept his voice as quiet and un-threatening as possible, though his heart was beating very hard. 'Are you a witch?'

Bidwell gave an abrupt, nervous laugh that sounded like an ill-tuned trumpet. 'That's a damned foolish question, boy! Of course she's a witch! None of this would be necessary if she wasn't!'

'Mr. Bidwell?' Matthew speared the man with a cold gaze. 'It was a question I posed to the woman, not to you. I'd appreciate if you would not presume to answer for her.'