Speaks the Nightbird

'Therefore in your estimation there was no possible earthly way for Rachel Howarth to have entered your house?'

'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 house?'

'I don't know, sir.'

'Oh? You didn't see her leave?'

'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 lantern?'

'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 . . . Magistrate?' The voice made Matthew jump, the quill scrawling across two neat lines above it before he could rein it in.

'Yes?' Woodward snapped, looking toward the gaol's entrance. 'What is it?'

'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 you? 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 why?'

'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. 'Tea?' he offered Buckner, but the farmer declined. Matthew took a cup, taking care not to spill any upon his papers. 'Madam Howarth?' Woodward called. 'I should be lacking in manners if I failed to offer you a cup of tea.'

'Lucretia Vaughan brewed it?' 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 lantern? 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 occurred?'

'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 time?'

'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 transpired?' 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. 'Sir?' 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 she?'

'You came here to testify of your own free will, did you not?'

'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 thing?' Woodward said. 'What kind of thing?'

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 it?' 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,