Speaks the Nightbird

This was not an unreasonable request, as Matthew assumed the magistrate would want to begin his reading. He immediately obeyed.

When it was done, Woodward put the box under one arm.

There was nothing more he could do for Matthew except offer a prayer. He cast a baleful glare upon Rachel Howarth. 'Beware your acts, madam. You're not yet in the fire.'

'Is there any doubt I shall be?' she asked.

He ignored the question, turning his eyes toward Matthew. 'Your lashing ...' It seemed his throat was doubly swollen now, and speaking took a maximum of effort. '... will be at six o'clock. I shall be here . . . early as possible. Be alert to her tricks, Matthew.' Matthew nodded but offered no opinion on the validity of the statement.

The magistrate walked out of the cell, leaving the door wide open. He steeled himself not to look back, as the sight of Matthew voluntarily caged and in mortal danger of witchcraft might tear his heart asunder.

Outside the gaol, in the dim gray light and with a mist hanging in the air, Woodward was relieved to see that indeed Goode had brought the carriage for him. He pulled himself up into one of the passenger seats and set the bundled poppets at his side. As soon as Woodward was settled, Goode flicked the reins and the horses started off.

Shortly after the magistrate had departed, Green came to the gaol to deliver the evening meal, which was corn soup. He locked Matthew's cell and said, 'I trust you sleep well, boy. Tomorrow your hide belongs to me.' Matthew didn't care for the way Green laughed; then the gaol-keeper removed the lantern, as was his nightly custom, and left the prisoners in darkness.

Matthew sat on his bench and tipped the foodbowl to his mouth. He heard a rat squeaking in the wall behind him, but their numbers had dwindled dramatically in the wake of the ratcatcher's visit and they seemed not nearly so bold as before.

Rachel's voice came from the dark. 'Why did you stay?'

He swallowed the soup that was in his mouth. 'I intend to serve out my sentence.'

'I know that, but the magistrate offered you a pardon. Why didn't you take it?'

'Magistrate Woodward is ill and confused right now.'

'That doesn't answer my question. You elected to stay. Why?'

Matthew busied himself in eating. At last he said, 'I have other questions to ask of you.'

'Such as?'

'Such as where were you when your husband was murdered? And why is it that someone other than you found the body?'

'I remember Daniel getting out of bed that night,' Rachel said. 'Or perhaps it was early morning. I don't know. But he often rose in the dark and by candlelight figured in his ledger. There was nothing odd in his rising. I simply turned over, pulled the blanket up, and went back to sleep as I always did.'

'Did you know that he'd gone outside?'

'No, I didn't.'

'Was that usual also? That he should go out in the cold at such an early hour?'

'He might go out to feed the livestock, depending on how near it was to sunrise.'

'You say your husband kept a ledger? Containing what?'

'Daniel kept account of every shilling he had. Also how much money was invested in the farm, and how much was spent on day-to-day matters such as candles, soap, and the like.'

'Was money owed to him by anyone in town, or did he owe money?'

'No,' Rachel said. 'Daniel prided himself that he was his own master.'

'Admirable, but quite unusual in these times.' Matthew took another swallow of soup. 'How did your husband's body come to be found?'

'Jess Maynard found it. Him, I mean. Lying in the field, with his throat . . . you know.' She paused. 'The Maynards lived on the other side of us. Jess had come out to feed his chickens at first light when he saw . . . the crows circling. He came over and that's when he found Daniel.'

'Did you see the body?'

Again, there was a hesitation. Then she said quietly. 'I did.'

'I understand it was the throat wound that killed him, but were there not other wounds on his body? Bidwell described them, I recall, as claw or teeth marks to the face and arms.'

'Yes, there were those.'

'Forgive my indelicacy,' Matthew said, 'but is that how you would describe them? As teeth or claw marks?'

'I . . . remember . . . how terrible was the wound to his throat. I did see what appeared to be claw marks on his face, but ... I didn't care at the moment to inspect them. The sight of my husband lying dead, his eyes and mouth open as they were ... I remember that I cried out and fell to my knees beside him. I don't recall much after that, except that Ellen Maynard took me to her house to rest.'

'Are the Maynards still living there?'

'No. They moved away after ...' She gave a sigh of resignation. 'After the stories about me began to fly.'

'And who began these stories? Do you know of any one person?'

'I would be the last to know,' Rachel said dryly.

'Yes,' Matthew agreed. 'Of course. People being as they are, I'm sure the stories were spread about and more and more embellished. But tell me this: the accusations against you did not begin until your husband was murdered, is that correct? You were not suspected in the murder of Reverend Grove?'

'No, I was not. After I was brought here, Bidwell came in to see me. He said he had witnesses to my practise of witchcraft and that he knew I—or my 'master,' as he put it—was responsible for the calamities that had struck Fount Royal. He asked me why I had decided to consort with Satan, and what was my purpose in destroying the town. At that point he asked if I had murdered the reverend. Of course I thought he'd lost his mind. He said I was to cease all associations with demons and confess myself to be a witch, and that he would arrange for me to be immediately banished. The alternative, he said, was death.'

Matthew finished his soup and set the bowl aside. 'Tell me,' he said, 'why you didn't agree to banishment. Your husband was dead, and you faced execution. Why didn't you leave?'

'Because,' she answered, 'I am not guilty. Daniel bought our farm from Bidwell and we had both worked hard at making it a success. Why should I give it up, admit to killing two men and being a witch, and be sent out into the wilds with nothing? I would have surely died out there. Here, at least, I felt that when a magistrate arrived to hear the case I might have a chance.' She was silent for a while, and then she said, 'I never thought it would take so long. The magistrate was supposed to be here over a month ago. By the day you and Woodward arrived, I had suffered Bidwell's slings and arrows many times over. I had almost lost all hope. In fact, you both looked so . . . well, unofficial. . . that I at first thought Bidwell had brought in two hirelings to goad a confession out of me.'

'I understand,' Matthew said. 'But was there no effort to discover who had murdered the reverend?'

'There was, as I recall, but after Lenora Grove left, the interest faded over time, as there were no suspects and no apparent motive. But the reverend's murder was the first incident that caused people to start leaving Fount Royal. It was a grim Winter.'

'I can imagine it was.' Matthew listened to the increasing sound of rain on the roof. 'A grim Spring, as well. I doubt if Fount Royal could survive another one as bad.'

'Probably not. But I won't be here to know, will I?'

Matthew didn't answer. What could he say? Rachel's voice was vety tight when she spoke again. 'In your opinion, how long do I have to live?'

She was asking to be told the truth. Matthew said, 'The magistrate will read thoroughly over the records. He will deliberate, according to past witchcraft cases of which he has knowledge.' Matthew folded his hands together in his lap. 'He may give his decision as early as Wednesday. On Thursday he might ask for your confession, and on that day as well he might require me to write, date, and sign the order of sentencing. I expect . . .

the preparations would be made on Friday. He would not wish to carry out the sentence on either the day before the Sabbath or the Sabbath itself. Therefore—'

'Therefore I burn on Monday,' Rachel finished for him.