Speaks the Nightbird

did she need to; it was obvious the rodents had been visiting. 'All right, we can't have you eaten up in your sleep. I'll have Linch catch the bastards. Put your clothes back on.' He walked away from her and immediately she bent down, picked up her sackcloth, and covered herself. Then, shrouded once more, she huddled in the hay as she'd been at the beginning.

'There you have it!' Bidwell announced. 'She cannot speak the Lord's Prayer, she created those poppets to enchant her victims, and she has the marks. For some unholy reason known only to herself and her master, she murdered or caused the murder of Burlton Grove and Daniel Howarth. She and her hellish kin are responsible for the fires we've been lately enduring. She conjures phantasms and demons and I believe she's cursed our orchards and fields as well.' He placed his hands on his hips, his chest bellowing out. 'It is her plan to destroy Fount Royal, and on that account she has made great and terrible progress! What more remains to be said?'

'One question,' Matthew said, and he saw Bidwell visibly flinch. 'If indeed this woman commands such awesome and unholy powers—'

'She does!' Bidwell asserted, and behind him Paine nodded.

'—then why,' Matthew went on, 'can she not strike mere rodents dead with a touch?'

'What?'

'The rats, sir. Why is she bitten?'

'A good point,' Woodward agreed. 'Why would she allow herself to be bitten by common rats, if she's joined with such a demonic league?'

'Because . . . because . . .' Bidwell looked for help from Green and Paine.

The militia captain came to his rescue. 'Because,' Paine said forcefully, 'it's a trick. Would you not think it more peculiar that Noles was attacked by the rodents, but the witch was spared? Oh, she knows what she's doing, gentlemen!' He looked directly at Matthew. 'She is attempting to blind you, young man. Her evil is well planned. If she has the bites of rodents on her flesh, it was done by her will and blasphemous blessing.'

Woodward nodded. 'Yes, that sounds reasonable.'

'Then there's no disagreement of the fact that she is a witch?' Bidwell prompted.

Matthew said, 'Sir, this is a matter for careful consideration.'

'What damned consideration? Who else has poisoned my town but her? Who else murdered her husband and the reverend? Boy, the facts are there to be seen!'

'Not facts. Contentions.'

'You push me, boy! Remember, I'm your host here!'

'Would you take my clothes and turn me out into the forest if I refuse to view contentions as facts?'

'Please, please!' the magistrate said. 'Nothing is being accomplished by this.'

'My point exactly!' Bidwell steamed. 'Your clerk seems determined to blunt the weapon you were brought here to wield!'

'And what weapon might that be, sir?' Woodward's raw throat and this dank gaol had combined to inflame his nerves. He felt his self-control slipping.

Bidwell's face might have been a pickled beet. 'The law, of course!'

'Listen well to me.' The magistrate's voice was calm but strained, and the power of it seized Bidwell like a hand around the scruff of a cur. 'My clerk and I have come to this place to discover the truth, not to use the privilege of law as a battering ram.' Bidwell glowered at him but didn't speak. 'You may be the master of Fount Royal, but I am the master of a larger realm. I will decide whether Madam Howarth is a witch or not, and I will determine her fate. And no man shall rush or shove me to judgment. You may take that as a fact. If you have some problem with it, Matthew and I will be glad to find other lodgings.'

'Let me understand this fully, then!' Bidwell said. 'Who is the magistrate and who is the clerk?'

Woodward clenched his teeth to restrain what he'd really like to say. 'I need some air,' he told Matthew. 'Will you join me in walking back to Mr. Bidwell's house?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Is that all?' Paine asked. 'Aren't you going to interview the witch further?'

'Not today.' Woodward motioned toward the woman's crumpled form. 'I don't believe she's in a communicative mood, and I'm damned certain I'm not! Matthew, come along!' He turned away and started for the exit.

'She needs a hot iron to loosen her tongue, is what she needs!' Bidwell shouted after them as they went along the corridor between the cages. Noles gave a snort and a spit as they passed. His senses still shaken by his introduction to Rachel Howarth, Matthew knew he would win no contests of popularity hereabouts, and especially that he should beware making further enemies in the uncertain days to come.

 eight

OUTSIDE THE GAOL, the humid air and clouded light seemed the breath and glow of paradise. Woodward disdained the carriage, where Goode sat on the driver's seat whittling a piece of wood with a small blade, and began walking in the direction of the spring. Matthew followed close behind.

'That man galls me!' Woodward said. 'I may be a servant of the law, but I'm not his slave and neither are you!'

'No, sir. I mean, yes, sir.' Matthew got beside him and kept pace. 'As much as his manner grates, however, I can understand his anxiety.'

'Well, aren't you the generous soul!'

'I might be as eager for an execution if I'd put so much money into Fount Royal, and now saw my investment near ruin.'

'To the Devil with his investment!'

'Yes, sir,' Matthew said. 'I think that's what he fears.'

Woodward slowed his pace and then stopped. He mopped beads of sweat from his face with his shirtsleeve, looked up at the ominous sky and then at his clerk. 'That's why you're so invaluable to me, you know,' he said, his anger dissolving. 'At a glance you see the picture, the frame, the nail, and the wall.'

'I see only what's there to be seen.'

'Yes, and surely we've today seen a bit too much of Madam Howarth. She was . . . younger than I suspected. Much more handsome, as well. One might say lovely, if in different circumstances. When she disrobed, I . . . well, I haven't judged very many female defendants. Never have I stood and seen a woman disrobe willingly before strangers.'

'Not willingly,' Matthew said. 'She knew her clothes would be taken from her, so she elected to remove them herself.'

'Yes. What does that say about the woman?'

'That she wishes to retain some measure of control over herself. Or, at least, deny that control from Bidwell.'

'Hmm.' Woodward began walking west along Truth Street again, and Matthew walked alongside. Though the village still seemed very quiet, there were residents going about their daily business. Two women were crossing the street ahead, one of them carrying a large basket. A man at the reins of an oxcart passed, hauling bales of hay and a few barrels. 'I should like to know,' the magistrate said, '... what intrigues you have with Mrs. Nettles.'

'Sir?'

'You may wear that expression of innocent surprise with everyone but me. I know you too well. On this day, of all days, you would never have been late rising from bed. In fact, I suspect you were up early in anticipation. So why did Mrs. Nettles say such a thing to Bidwell?'

'I . . . promised her I wouldn't betray her confidence.'

Woodward pulled up short again, and this time when he looked at Matthew his gaze was more penetrating. 'If it has to do with Madam Howarth, I should like to be informed. In fact, it's your requirement as my clerk to inform me.'

'Yes, sir, I know. But—'

'Promise her anything you please,' Woodward said. 'But tell me what I ought to be told.'

'She did ask that I not speak a word to Mr. Bidwell.'