Speaks the Nightbird

'Well. . . Satan, I reckon.'

'And this figure was wearing exactly what?'

'A black cloak and a cowl, like I done told you. There was gold buttons on the front. I seen 'em shine in the moonlight.'

'You couldn't see this figure's face?'

'No sir, but I seen . . . that thing the witch was suckin' on. That black cock covered with thorns. Couldn't be nobody but Satan hisself, owned somethin' like that.

'And you say Rachel Howarth was completely naked?'

'Yes sir, she was.'

'What were you wearing?'

'Sir?' Garrick frowned.

'Your clothes,' Matthew said. 'What were you wearing?' Garrick paused, thinking about it. 'Well sir, I had on ... I mean to say. I . . .' His frown deepened. 'That's might odd,' he said at last. 'I can't recall.'

'A coat, I presume?' Matthew prodded. 'Since it was cold out?'

Garrick slowly blinked. 'A coat,' he said. 'Must've had on my coat, but... I don't remember puttin' it on.'

'And shoes? Or boots?'

'Shoes,' he said. 'No, wait. My boots. Yes sir, I believe I had on my boots.'

'Did you get a good look at Rachel Howarth's face, there behind the barn?'

'Well. . . not her face, sir,' Garrick admitted. 'Just her backside. She was kneelin' away from me. But I seen her hair. And she was a dark-skinned woman. It was her, all right.' He glanced uneasily at the magistrate and then back to Matthew. 'It had to be her. It was Daniel's land.'

Matthew nodded, scribing down what Garrick had just said. 'Did you spew?' he asked suddenly.

'Sir?'

Matthew lifted his face and stared directly into Garrick's dull eyes. 'Did you spew? You left your bed to go outside for that purpose. Did you do so?'

Again, Garrick had to think about it. 'I . . . don't recall if I did,' he said. 'No, I think I seen that figure crossin' the Howarth cornfield, and I . . . must've forgot 'bout feelin' poorly.'

'Let's go back a bit, please,' Matthew instructed. 'What time had you gone to bed that night?'

'Usual time. 'Bout half past eight, I reckon.'

'Both you and your wife went to bed at the same time?'

'Thereabouts, yes sir.'

'Were you feeling poorly when you went to bed?'

'No sir. I don't think I was.' He licked his lips again, a nervous gesture. 'Pardon me for askin', but . . . what's all this got to do with the witch?'

Matthew looked at the magistrate. Woodward's chin had drooped, but his eyes were open and he gave no sign of wishing to interfere—even if that were possible—with Matthew's line of inquiry. Matthew returned his attention to Garrick. 'I'm trying to clear up a point of confusion I have,' he explained. 'So you did not go to bed feeling ill, but you awakened perhaps six hours later sick to your stomach?'

'Yes sir.'

'You got out of bed carefully, so as not to awaken your wife?'

'Yes sir, that's right.'

'And then?'

'Then I went outside to spew,' Garrick said. 'But before that didn't you pause to put on your coat and boots?'

'I . . . well. . . yes sir, I must've, but I can't rightly recall it.'

'How many gold buttons,' Matthew said, 'were on the front of Satan's cloak?'

'Six,' Garrick answered.

'Six? Of that number you're positive?'

'Yes sir.' He nodded vigorously. 'I seen 'em shine in the moonlight.'

'It was a full moon, then?'

'Sir?'

'A full moon,' Matthew repeated. 'Was it a full moon?'

'Reckon it had to be. But I don't recall ever lookin' up at it.'

'And even with this bright moonlight—which enabled you to see a figure crossing a distant field without a lantern—you were unable to see Satan's face?'

'Well sir . . . the Devil was wearin' a cowl over his head.'

'That may be so, but were not the buttons on the front of his cloak? If the bright moonlight made those six gold buttons so memorable, could you not see a portion of his face?'

'No sir.' Garrick shifted uneasily on the stool. 'It weren't his face that caught my sight. It was . . . that terrible big thing the witch was suckin' on.'

'Covered with thorns, I think you've already told us?'

'Yes sir, it was.'

'Satan spoke to you, did he not? In fact, he called you by name?' Garrick nodded. 'Did you not look at Satan's face when he spoke to you?'

'I believe I did. But . . . there weren't nothin' there but dark.'

'Did Rachel Howarth ever turn her face toward you?'

'No sir, she didn't.'

Matthew paused to lay aside his quill and massage his hand again. He glanced once more at Woodward, and saw that the magistrate was still motionless but his eyes were open and his breathing was steady, if very labored.

'Mr. Garrick!' Rachel suddenly said, standing at the bars. 'What have I ever done to you, to cause you to make up these lies?'

'They ain't lies!' Garrick hugged the Bible for protection. 'You know I seen you, out there givin' service to your master!'

'I was never behind that barn, doing such a sin! And I never consorted with such a creature! If you're not lying, your mind has invented a fantasy!'

Woodward loudly slapped his hand upon the table for order, and immediately Matthew said, 'Silence, please! Madam Howarth, I speak for the magistrate when I say it's in your best interest not to disrupt the testimony.'

'Her best interest?' Garrick sounded amazed. 'Have you taken the witch's side?'

'No, Mr. Garrick, I have not. I'm only pointing out to Madam Howarth that it is your right to speak without interruption.' Matthew started to pick up the quill again when Nicholas Paine entered the gaol bearing a basket.

'Pardon the intrusion, but I have your tea.' Paine came into the cell, placed the basket before Woodward, and opened it. Inside was a simple white clay pot and a single cup. 'Compliments of Mrs. Zeborah Crawford.'

'My thanks,' Woodward whispered.

'Will you be needing anything else?'

Woodward thought about it. He patted the desk in front of him. 'Poppets,' he said.

'The poppets? You wish to see them?' Woodward nodded. 'Now.'

'They're at my house. I'll go directly and fetch them.' Paine cast a quick glance in the direction of Rachel and then hurried out.

Matthew had his quill in hand once more, and a fresh sheet of paper before him. 'May I continue, sir?' he asked Woodward, who was pouring himself a cup of dark brown brew, and he received a slight nod as a signal to proceed. 'Mr. Garrick?' Matthew said. 'Think hard on this next question, if you will. Put the image of Satan's six gold buttons in your mind, and tell me if they were fixed on the cloak six in a straight line or three side by side?'

There was a sharp clatter of crockery. Matthew looked to his left to see that Woodward had spilled his tea. The magistrate was staring at him as if the clerk had taken leave of his senses.

'It is a pertinent question, sir,' Matthew said. 'I do think it deserves an