Speaks the Nightbird

answer.'

'It's foolish,' Woodward whispered, his gray face stern as a rock.

'Might you reserve your opinion until after the question is answered?'

'What kind of question is it?' Garrick asked, visibly agitated. 'I thought I was brung here to tell you 'bout the witch, not about buttons!'

'You were brought here to tell us whatever is necessary for the magistrate to weigh his judgment,' Matthew countered. 'Remember, sir, that you hold a Holy Bible, and that you've vowed to speak only the truth. Remember that God is listening to your answer.' He paused a few seconds to let Garrick reflect on that pronouncement. 'Now: were the six buttons arranged in a single line, or were they three side by side?'

'They were . . .' Garrick suddenly stopped. His tongue flicked out again, wetting his lips. His fingers tightened on the Bible, his knuckles whitening. 'They were . . .' Again he faltered. His face seemed threatened by conflicting currents that moved beneath the skin. He took a long breath, in preparation to make his decision. 'Six gold buttons,' he said. 'On the black cloak. I seen 'em. Shine in the moonlight.'

'Yes, sir,' Matthew said. 'But what arrangement were they in?' Garrick frowned; his mouth worked, but no sound emerged. His right hand began to rub in small circles on the Bible. He stared blankly at nothing, his eyes glazed and the pulse beating harder at his temple. Matthew realized that Woodward had leaned slightly forward and his expression had become keen.

'It was a silent town,' Garrick said, in what was almost a whisper. A glaze of sweat glistened on his forehead. 'Silent. The whole world, afeared to breathe.'

Matthew had been taking down every word that the man uttered. He redipped his quill and held it ready. 'It's a simple question, sir. Do you not have an answer?' Garrick slowly blinked, his jaw slack. 'Sir?' Matthew prompted. 'An answer, please?'

'The six gold buttons were . . . they . . .' He stared into nothingness for a moment longer, and then he shook his head. 'I don't know.'

'They caught your attention and were clearly defined by the moonlight, yes?'

'Yes.'

'But you don't recall how they were arranged on the cloak?'

'No,' Garrick said, his voice thick. 'I . . . can see them buttons in my head. I see 'em shinin' in the moonlight, but ... I don't know if they was straight down or three by three.'

'All right, then. Tell us what happened after Satan spoke to you.'

'Yes sir.' Garrick lifted a hand from the Good Book and wiped his damp forehead. 'He . . . asked me if I liked what I was a'lookin' at. I didn't want to speak, but he made me say 'yes.' He made me. Then he laughed, and I was ashamed. He let me go. I ran home, and I got in bed beside my 'Becca. That next mornin' I went to see Mr. Paine and I told him the whole story.'

'When you say he let you go, do you mean he held you spellbound?'

'Yes sir, I believe he did. I wanted to run, but I couldn't move.'

'Did he release you with a word or a gesture?'

Again, Garrick frowned as he tried to assemble his thoughts. 'I can't say. All I know is, he let me go.'

'And your wife was still sleeping when you teturned to bed?'

'Yes sir, she was. She never waked up at all. I closed my eyes tight as I could, and next thing I knew I heard the cock crow and it was mornin'.'

Matthew's eyes narrowed. 'You mean after that experience you had no trouble falling asleep?'

'I don't know if I did or not. The cock crowed, and I waked up.'

Matthew glanced quickly at the magistrate before he posed the following question: 'Mr. Garrick, sir, is it possible—just possible— that you were never awake at all?'

'I don't know what you mean, sir.'

'I'm asking if what you thought was real may have been a dream. Is there any possibility of that?'

'No sir!' Garrick clutched the Bible tightly once more. 'It all happened like I said! I woke up with stomach trouble and had to spew, and I went outside! I seen that devil and the witch there behind that barn sure as I'm lookin' at you! I swear before the Lord God I did!'

Matthew said quietly, 'There's no need for such swearing. You hold the Bible and you've already vowed your story is the truth. You are a God-fearing man, aren't you?'

'Yes sir, I am. If I was lyin' to you, I'd be struck dead in an instant!'

'I'm sure you believe so. I have only one last question for you, and then—with the magistrate's approval, of course—you may go. My question is: how many buttons are on the coat you wore that night?'

'Sir?' Garrick tilted his head to one side, as if his ears hadn't quite caught the inquiry.

'You seem to be a highly observant individual,' Matthew said. 'Can you tell me how many buttons adorn the coat you put on before you went outside to spew?'

'Well. . . like I said, I don't recall puttin' my coat on.'

'But you must know how many buttons it has. I presume you wear it quite a lot in cold weather. How many? Four? Five? Six, perhaps?'

'Five,' Garrick answered. 'No ... I think one of 'em broke off. It must be four.'

'Thank you,' Matthew said, and he put his quill aside. 'Magistrate, I would suggest that Mr. Garrick be freed to go home.'

'Are you sure?' Woodward whispered, not without some sarcasm.

'I'm sure Mr. Garrick has told us the truth, as far as he knows the truth to be. I don't think there's any use in keeping him here.'

Woodward took a drink of tea and put the cup aside. 'Good day,' he told the farmer. 'The court thanks you.'

'I'm free to go, then?' Garrick stood up. He reluctantly relinquished his grip on the Bible and laid it back before the magistrate. 'May I be bold to say, sir ... I hope I've helped send that witch to the fire. Reverend Grove was a right good man, and what I knew of Daniel he was a Christian too. But when Satan slips into a town, there ain't nothin' that follows but wickedness and tears.'

'Mr. Garrick?' Matthew said as the man started to leave the cell. 'In your opinion, was it Rachel Howarth or Satan who committed those murders?'

'Had to be Satan, I'd say. I seen Grove's body laid out in the church, and I seen Daniel's a'layin' in the field. A throat cut like those were . . . couldn't been a woman's hand that done it.'

'In your opinion, as a God-fearing soul, would you believe that Satan could freely enter a church and murder a man of the Lord?'

'I would never have thought it. But it happened, didn't it?'

'Thank you,' Matthew said. 'You may go.'

As soon as Garrick left the gaol Rachel said, 'You understand it now, don't you? He was dreaming the whole thing!'

'That is a distinct possibility.' Matthew looked at the magistrate, who was stroking his unshaven chin with his fingers. 'Would you agree, sir?'

Woodward took his time in offering a reply It seemed to him that Matthew was awfully quick in his attempts to deflect Garrick's testimony The boy was very intelligent, yes; but it appeared to Woodward that Matthew was sharper and quicker now rhat he'd ever seen him to be. Of course, never before had Matthew been put into the position of commanding an interrogation, and perhaps his abilities had simply risen to the challenge, but . . . there was something a bit frightening in his desire to destroy Garrick's Bible-sworn sratements.

It was a fervor, Woodward decided, that bore careful watching. He sipped the bitter tea and whispered, 'This court is not yet adjourned. Let us keep our opinions in rein.'

'It seems to me, sir,' Matthew plowed on, 'that Mr. Garrick's testimony bears all the signs of being a dream. Some things he can recall quite vividly, while others—things he ought to be able to know—are lost to his memory.'

'Though my voice is weak,' Woodward said, 'my ears are still in order. I heard exactly what you did.'

'Yes, sir.' Matthew decided he should retreat on this subject. 'Pardon my manners.'

'Pardon accepted. Now be quiet.' Matthew took the time to clean his quill. Woodward poured himself a fresh