Speaks the Nightbird

troubles your daughter, or she would not have brought it to light. Don't you agree?'

'Well...' The man made a sour face. 'Mayhaps I do.'

'Is there anything further?' Matthew asked the girl, and she shook her head. 'All right, then. The court thanks you for your testimony.' Violet and her father withdrew from the cell. Just before they left the gaol, the child looked back fearfully at Rachel, who was sitting slumped over with a hand pressed to her forehead.

When the two were gone, Woodward began to wrap the poppets back up in the white cloth. 'I presume,' he whispered, 'that all other witnesses have fled town. Therefore . . .' He paused to try to clear his throat, which was a difficult and torturous task. 'Therefore our trial is ended.'

'Wait!' Rachel stood up. 'What about my say? Don't I get a chance to speak?'

Woodward regarded her coldly. 'It is her right, sir,' Matthew reminded him.

The magistrate continued wrapping the poppets. 'Yes, yes,' he said. 'Of course it is. Go on, then.

'You've made your decision, have you not?' She came to the bars and gripped them.

'No. I shall first read over the transcript, when I am able.'

'But that's only a formality, isn't it? What can I possibly say to convince you I am not guilty of these lies?'

'Bear in mind,' Matthew said to her, 'that the witnesses did swear on the Bible. I would be wary in calling them liars. However ...' He paused.

'However what?' Woodward rasped.

'I think there are some omissions of detail in the testimonies of Mr. Buckner and Mr. Garrick that ought to be taken into account. For instance—'

Woodward lifted a hand. 'Spare me. I shall not discuss this today.'

'But you do agree, don't you, sir?'

'I am going to bed.' With the bundle tucked under his arm, Woodward pushed the chair back and stood up. His bones ached and his head grew dizzy, and he stood grasping the desk's edge until the dizziness abated.

Instantly Matthew was on his feet too, alert to preventing the magistrate from falling. 'Is someone coming to help you?'

'I trust there's a carriage waiting.'

'Shall I go out and see?'

'No. Mind you, you're still a prisoner.' Woodward felt so drained of strength he had to close his eyes for a few seconds, his head bowed.

'I demand my right to speak,' Rachel insisted. 'No matter if you have decided.'

'Speak, then.' Woodward feared his throat was closing up again, and his nostrils seemed all but sealed.

'It is a wicked conspiracy,' she began, 'to contend that I murdered anyone, or that I have made spells and poppets and committed such sins as I am accused of. Yes, I know the witnesses swore truth on the Bible. I can't understand why or how they could create such stories, but if you'll give me the Bible I'll swear truth on it too!'

To Matthew's surprise, Woodward picked up the Holy Book, walked unsteadily to the bars, and passed the volume through into her hands.

Rachel clasped it to her bosom. 'I swear upon this Bible and every word in it that I have done no murders and I am not a witch!' Her eyes gleamed with a mixture of trepidation and triumph. 'There! You see? Did I burst into flame? Did I scream because my hands were scorched? If you put such value on Bible-sworn truth, then will you not also value my denial?'

'Madam,' the magistrate whispered wearily, 'do not further profane yourself. Your power to confuse is very strong, I grant you.'

'I am holding the Bible! I have just sworn on it! Would you have me kiss it?'

'No. I would have you return it.' He held out his hand. Matthew saw the bright fire of anger leap into Rachel's eyes, and for an instant he feared for the magistrate's safety. But then Rachel stepped back from the bars, opened the Holy Book, and began to methodically rip the parchment pages from it, her expression all but dead.

'Rachel!' Matthew cried out, before he could think better of it. 'Don't!'

The torn pages of God's Writ drifted to the straw around her feet. She stared into the magistrate's eyes as she did her blasphemous damage, as if daring him to prevent her.

Woodward held her gaze, a muscle clenching in his jaw. 'Now,' he whispered, 'I see you clearly.'

She yanked out another page, let it fall, and then shoved the Bible between the bars. Woodward made no move to capture the mutilated Book, which dropped to the floor. 'You see nothing,' Rachel said, her voice trembling with emotion though her face was held under tight control. 'Why did God not strike me dead just now?'

'Because, madam, He has given me that task.'

'If I were truly a witch, God would never have allowed such an act!'

'Only a vile sinner would have committed it,' Woodward said, showing admirable composure. He leaned down and retrieved the volume, the back of which had been broken.

Matthew said, 'She's distraught, sir! She doesn't know what she's doing!'

At that, Woodward turned toward his clerk and managed to say heatedly, 'She knows! Dear God, Matthew! Has she blinded you?'

'No, sir. But I think this action should be excused on the grounds of extreme mental hardship.'

Woodward's mouth fell agape, his gray face slack. He seemed to feel the entire world wheel around him as he realized that, indeed, this woman had beguiled the very fear of God out of his clerk.

The magistrate's shocked expression was not lost on Matthew. 'Sir, she is under difficult circumstances. I hope you'll weigh that in your consideration of this incident.'

There was only one response Woodward could make to this plea. 'Get your papers. You're leaving.'

Now it was Matthew's turn to be shocked. 'But ... I have one more night on my sentence.'

'I'll pardon you! Come along!'

Matthew saw that Rachel had moved back into the shadows of her cage. He was torn between the desire to rid himself of this dirty hovel and the realization that once he left the gaol he would most likely not see Rachel again until the morning of her death. There were still so many questions to be asked and answered! He couldn't let it go like this, or he feared he might be haunted for the rest of his days. 'I'll stay here and finish my sentence,' he said.

'What?'

'I'll stay here,' Matthew repeated calmly. 'One more night will be of no consequence.'

'You forget yourself!' Woodward felt near collapse. 'I demand you obey!'

Even though this demand had been delivered in such a frail voice, it still carried enough power to offend Matthew's sense of independence. 'I am your servant,' he answered, 'but I am not your slave. I elect to stay here and finish my sentence. I will take my lashes in the morning, and that will be the end of it.'

'You've lost your reason!'

'No, sir, I have not. My being pardoned would only cause further problems.'

Woodward started to argue the point, but neither his voice nor his spirit had the strength. He stood at the cell's threshold, holding the violated Bible and the bundled poppets. A glance at Rachel Howarth showed him that she'd retreated to the far wall of her cage, but he knew that as soon as he left she would begin to work her mind- corrupting spells on the boy again. This was like leaving a lamb to the teeth of a bitch wolf. He tried once more: 'Matthew ... I beg you to come with me.'

'There's no need. I can stand one more night.'

'Yes, and fall for eternity,' Woodward whispered. Woodward laid the Holy Book down atop the desk. Even so desecrated, the volume might serve as a shield if Matthew called upon it. That is, if Matthew's clouded vision would allow him to recognize its power. He damned himself for letting the boy be put in this place; he might have known the witch would leap at the opportunity to entrance Matthew's mind. It occurred to Woodward that the court records were in jeopardy as well. There was no telling what might befall them during this last night they'd be within the witch's reach. 'I will take the papers,' he said. 'Box them, please.'