Speaks the Nightbird

'Yes sir, I am.'

Matthew had been leaning forward over his paper; now he sat back in his chair, and ink dripped upon the previous lines he'd quilled.

'Child?' Woodward whispered. He managed a frail smile. 'You're doing very well. Might I ask you to describe the imp?'

Again Violet looked to her father, and he said, 'Go on, tell the magistrate.'

'The imp . . . was sittin' on the Devil's knee. It had white hair, looked like spider webs. It wasn't wearing no clothes, and . . . its skin was all gray and wrinkled up, like a dried apple. 'Cept for its face.' She hesitated, her expression tormented; in that instant Woodward thought she more resembled a life-burned woman than an innocent child. 'Its face . . . was a little boy,' she went on. 'And . . . while the Devil was talkin' to me . . . the imp stuck out its tongue . . . and made it wiggle 'round and 'round.' She shuddered at the memory of it, and a single tear streaked down her left cheek.

Matthew couldn't speak. He realized that Violet Adams had just described perfectly one of the three grotesques that Jeremiah Buckner claimed he saw in the orchard, having unholy sexual relations with Rachel.

Add to that the child's description of Satan as seen by Elias Garrick, right down to the black cloak and six gold buttons, and— Dear God, Matthew thought. It couldn't be true! Could it?

'Violet?' He had to strain to keep his voice steady. 'Have you heard anything of the other tales concerning the Devil and this imp that may have been told around town? What I mean to say is—'

'No sir, she ain't makin' up a lie!' Adams clenched his teeth at the very suggestion of it. 'I done told you, she's a truthful child! And yes, them tales are spoken here and yon, and most like Violet's heard 'em from other children, but by God you didn't see her pale as milk when she come home that day! You didn't hear her sobbin' and wailin', near scairt to death! No sir, it ain't a lie!'

Violet had downcast her face again. When her father had ceased his ranting, she lifted it to look fully at Matthew. 'Sir?' she said timorously. 'It happened as I told it. I heared the voice and went in the house, and I seen the Devil and the imp. The Devil said them things to me, and then I run home quick as I could.'

'You're positive—absolutely positive—that the figure in the black cloak said . . .' Matthew found the appropriate lines on the paper. ''Tell them to free my Rachel'?'

'Yes sir. I am.'

'The candle. In which hand did the imp hold it?'

She frowned. 'The right.'

'Did the Devil have on shoes or boots?'

'I don't know, sir. I didn't see.'

'Upon which knee did the imp sit? The left or right?'

Again, Violet frowned as she called up the memory. 'The . . . left, I think. Yes sir. The left knee.'

'Did you see anyone else on the street before you went inside?'

'No sir. I don't recall.'

'And afterward? Was there anyone on the street when you came out?'

She shook her head. 'I don't know, sir. I was cryin'. All I cared to do was get home.'

'How come you to stay late at school?'

'It was 'cause of my readin', sir. I need help at it, and Master Johnstone had me stay late to do some extra work.'

'You were the only student asked to stay late?'

'That day, yes sir. But Master Johnstone has somebody stay late most every day.'

'What made you notice those gold buttons?' Matthew lifted his eyebrows. 'How, with the Devil and the imp sitting there before you, did you have the presence of mind to count them?'

'I don't recall countin' 'em, exactly. They just caught my eye. I collect buttons, sir. I have a jar of 'em at home, and ever when I find one I put it up.'

'When you left the schoolhouse, did you happen to speak to anyone on the—'

'Matthew.' Though it had been only a whisper, Woodward had delivered it with stern authority. 'That's enough.' He glowered at his clerk, his eyes bleary and red-rimmed. 'This child has spoken what she knows.'

'Yes, sir, but—'

'Enough.' There was no denying the magistrate's will; particularly not in this instance, since Matthew had for all intents and purposes run out of questions. All Matthew.could do was nod his head and stare blankly at what he'd scribed on the paper before him. He had come to the conclusion that, of the three witnesses who'd testified, this child's story sounded the most chillingly real. She knew what details she ought to know. What she couldn't recall was forgivable, due to the stress and quickness of the incident.

Tell them to free my Rachel, the Devil had said. That single statement, coupled with the poppets, was powerful enough to burn her even if there had been no other witnesses.

'I assume,' Matthew said, his own voice somewhat diminished, 'that the schoolmaster has heard this story?'

'He has. I told him myself the very next mornin',' Adams said.

'And he remembers asking Violet to stay late that afternoon?'

'He does.'

'Well, then.' Matthew licked his dry lips and resisted turning his head to look at Rachel. He could think of nothing more to say but the same again: 'Well, then.'

'You are very courageous,' Woodward offered the child. 'Very courageous, to come in here and tell us this. My compliments and gratitude.' Though in pain, he summoned up a smile albeit a tight one. 'You may go home now.'

'Yes sir, thank you sir.' Violet bowed her head and gave the magistrate a clumsy but well-meant curtsey. Before she left the cell, though, she glanced uneasily at the prisoner, who still sat backwards upon the bench. 'She won't hurt me, will she?'

'No,' Woodward said. 'God will protect you.'

'Well. . . sir, there's somethin' else I have to tell.'

Matthew roused himself from his dismayed stupor. 'What is it?'

'The Devil and that imp . . . they wasn't alone in the house.'

'You saw another creature, then?'

'No sir.' She hesitated, hugging her Bible. 'I heared a man's voice. Singin'.'

'Singing?' Matthew frowned. 'But you saw no other creature?'

'No sir, I didn't. The singin' ... it was comin' from back of the house, seemed like. Another room, back there in the dark. I heared it just 'fore the candle went out.'

'It was a man's voice, you say?' Matthew had put his quill aside. Now he picked it up again and began to record the testimony once more. 'Loud or soft?'

'Soft. I could just hardly hear it. But it was a man's voice, yes sir.'

'Had you ever heard that voice before?'

'I don't know, sir. I'm not sure if I had or hadn't.'

Matthew rubbed his chin and inadvertently smeared black ink across it. 'Could you make out anything of the song?'

'Well. . . sometimes I feel I'm near 'bout to know what song it is, that maybe I heared it before . . . but then it goes away. Sometimes it makes my head hurt thinkin' of it.' She looked from Matthew to the magistrate and back again. 'It's not the Devil cursin' me, is it, sir?'

'No, I think not.' He stared at the lines on the paper, his mind working. If there was a third demonic creature in that house, why didn't it show itself to the child? After all, the idea had been to scare an alarm into her, hadn't it? What was the point of a demon singing in the dark, if the song and the voice were not loud enough to be fearful? 'Violet, this may be difficult for you,' he said, 'but might you try to remember what the voice was singing?'

'What does it matter?' Adams had held his peace long enough. 'She done told you 'bout the Devil and the imp!'

'My own curiosity, Mr. Adams,' Matthew explained. 'And it seems to me that the memory of this voice