‘Evening, Miss,’ says the tallest, the oldest, the one wearing the leather vest.
‘Evening, Miss,’ says the middlest, his jacket brightest blue.
‘Evening, Miss,’ says the youngest in his red and green pants. His grin is worst of all.
‘Good evening,’ I say for it’s best to be polite in these situations. The knives won’t help me here and only the salt and my wits will keep me safe until the morning light burns these spectres away. Still, it’s not going to be comfortable. ‘How may I help you fine gentlemen? It’s rather later – or early – to come a’calling.’
‘And we apologise for that, Miss, but we don’t get around much in the sunlight nowadays.’ The oldest smiles, and it might once have been charming. ‘As you can see, we’re not the men we used to be, perhaps you’ll offer assistance with that.’
‘How?’
‘Well, Miss, a great injustice was done to us, our lives torn away,’ the middlest speaks and he’s got a lovely voice; I wonder if he sang when breath still filled his lungs.
The youngest says, ‘We’ll tell you our stories and if you can decide which is guilty and which is innocent, then we might walk freely into the light.’
‘And if I cannot tell who is guilty from who is innocent?’
‘Ah, there’s the rub, Miss. Then we get you, and that circle of salt won’t help you one bit.’ The oldest grins wider and there’s something wolfish in it.
‘I’ve hardly agreed to anything.’
‘Ah, but here you are, sitting in our fine cottage and all. Looks like implied consent to me.’
I don’t know how he thinks he’ll get past the circle, and it’s probably a lie to make me nervous. But I’m not sure I have much choice for I can’t get past the circle either, not unless I want to be pickings for ghosts. I nod. ‘Then tell me your tales, and I’ll make my decision.’
18
‘My name is Fox, and these are my brothers.’ The oldest takes the floor as if it’s a stage. The others lean up against the wall opposite, but they’re not solid, so their top halves pass through it and disappear. When they come back in, there’s no rain on their skin or dark hair. I focus on Fox.
He’s got blue eyes and brown locks, he buttons up his waistcoat carefully as he speaks. I notice the ring on his right hand, a blue sapphire surrounded by diamonds; an engagement ring, a feminine thing, or something passed mother to daughter. ’I followed my father into the family business, commerce, and made a success of it. Enough to present my suit to a rich man and ask for his oldest daughter in marriage. They were delighted to join our houses – she brought a fat dowry – and a grand wedding was celebrated. We were happy for a time and when I asked my wife to help me with the acquiring and selling of goods, she readily agreed. But soon enough there were complaints: the goods were ‘hard’. She’d bewitched rocks and stones and fallen branches to look like bread and cakes, sheep and goats. She was ruining my business, not to mention being a witch. What else could I do? I had my family to think about, my reputation. I set her alight and watched her burn. I saved the world and those I love from a sorceress, yet for this the authorities hanged me.’
‘Thank you for your tale, Fox.’
‘And? Do you judge me true or false?’ he demands.
‘Oh, how I can tell when I’ve nothing to compare it to? I will listen to all your stories before I render judgment. It’s the only way to be certain.’ I say this politely but firmly and he glares at me but backs away nonetheless.
The middle brother steps forth, while Fox hovers above the narrow bed where water drips. The moisture bothers him not at all. I squint at the next raconteur: in his hair are prickly-looking lumps. Large burrs.
‘My name is Jacob and I too joined our father’s business. I also married a rich man’s daughter, and we were happy for a time. She loved to ride, did my wife, and I bought her the finest steeds. We would gallop over hill and dale; but she distracted me so much from my duties that my part of the enterprise began to fail. I had to sell all but one of her horses to keep food on the table, and she became angry with me. The day came when I was obliged to sell her last, her favourite. But she spoke harshly to me and mounted the beast, it reared up, unsettled by her ire and noise, and she was thrown. Her neck broken, and I a widower so soon. But her father did not believe my tale and came for me with his men. And they hung me beside my brother.’
‘Thank you for your story, Jacob,’ I say.
‘Well?’
‘As I said, I will hear all before I give judgment and I have one last recounting to consider.’ I nod towards the youngest, who takes his brother’s place. Jacob goes and leans against the wall once again, careful not to pass through it this time.
The lad smiles, holds up a finger – there’s a green stain on the tip – and begins. ‘My name is Joseph and there was a rich man’s daughter I would have married, but her father judged us too young for such things, though I had such potential to be just like my brothers. We made our plans to elope, she and I, but her father found us out and locked his daughter in her room. Seven days I waited to hear from her, for her to escape and return to me, but in the end only a letter came. Her father was right, she wrote, and we were too young. I wept. I wept but I sent her a
