Speaks the Nightbird

BUCKNER'S EYES WERE SHINY now, as if these sights had burned the vision from them. "It came out of the orchard, after the dwarf-thing had gone," he related. "I took it to be a naked woman at first. Taller than most women, though, and terrible thin. She - it - had long dark hair. Brown or black, I couldn't say. The thing had tits, I seen 'em clear enough. Then I seen what else it had, and I near staggered and fell." Buckner leaned his head forward, the veins standing out in his neck. "Stones and a yard. Right there where a woman's basket oughta be. That yard was ready for work, too, and when the witch seen it she smiled so wicked it near froze my heart. The creature laid down a'side her, and then she started to . . . started to lickin' the creature's spike."



"By 'she,' you are referring to whomi" Woodward asked. "Her. In the cage there. The witch, Rachel Howarth."



"all right." Woodward again mopped the sweat from his face. The walls of the gaol seemed to be closing in on him. The one saving grace was the open hatch, through which he could see a square of gray clouds. "Continue."



"There was just. . . more sin and vileness after that. The witch turned over, on her hands and knees, so her rear quarters was showin'. Then that half-man, half-woman took its spike in hand and squatted down atop her. I saw . . . things no Christian should e'er have to witness, sir. I tell you, before I seen them sights I was all right in the head. Now I ain't. You ask my Patience. She'll tell you, I'm no good for nothin' no more."



"This creature that was half-man and half-woman penetrated Madam Howarth with its penisi"



"Yes sir. The creature pushed its yard in from behind."



"Let us move past those particulars," Woodward said, his face blanched. "What was the aftermath of this incidenti"



"The what, siri"



"The aftermath. What happened after the creature had ..." He paused, seeking the proper word, "... finishedi"



"It got up off her and walked away. Then the witch stood up and took to dressin' herself. all a' sudden I heard my name spoke, right up next to my ear, and I whipped 'round to see who it be."



"and did you seei"



"Well ... I was mighty scairt. There was a man standin' behind me . . . but I don't think he had no face. 'Cept a mouth. He did have a mouth ... I 'member that. He said, 'Jeremiah Buckner, run home.' That's all. I must'a done what he said, 'cause next thing I knew I was a'layin' in bed, sweatin' and shakin'. Patience was hard asleep, conjured most likely. I heard a cock crow, and I knew then that the demons of the night was passin'."



"Did you in the morning, then, tell your wife what had happenedi"



"No sir, I didn't. I was shamed to tell Patience such things. and I was scairt, too, that the witch might kill her for hearin'. I didn't tell nobody, not even after I heard what Elias Garrick seen. Then Lester Crane told me Stephen Dunton seen such a thing- -  them three creatures with the witch, 'cept they was doin' their wickedness inside the house where the Poole family used to live, right next to Dunton's farm. Still I held my tongue."



"What made you decide to tell what you'd seeni" Woodward asked. "and who did you telli"



"I decided . . . after they found them poppets in the witch's house. I went straight to Mr. Bidwell and told him all of it."



"I should like to speak to Mr. Dunton," Woodward said to Matthew. "Make a note of that, please."



"Cain't," Buckner said. "He took his family and they left, back two month ago. Dunton's house since burnt down. Lester Crane and his brood lit out 'bout the same time."



Woodward paused for a moment, ordering his thoughts. "Did you know Daniel Howarthi"



"Yes sir."



"What kind of man was hei"



"Oh, he was but a youngster. Maybe forty, forty-five year old. Big man, he was. Took a right demon to lay him low, I'll grant you!"



"Did you have occasion to see Mr. Howarth and his wife togetheri"



"No, not much. Daniel kept to hisself. Wasn't a social kind of man."



"and what about his wifei Was she sociali"



"Well ... I don't know about such. Daniel and that woman been here maybe three year. He had a sizable piece a' land, bought it from a Dutchman named Niedecker. That man's wife had passed in childbirth, the child died too, so he decided to give it up. Daniel was always a quiet man. Never needed much help at anythin', seemed like." Buckner shrugged. "The woman . . . well, mayhap she did try to be social. But it just caused a stir."



"a stiri What kind of stiri"



"Look at her, sir. If you can bear it, after what I've told you. She's betwixt a nigger and a Spaniard. Would you care to share a pew with heri"



"The witch attended churchi" Woodward raised his eyebrows.



"That was 'fore she took to witchcraft," Buckner explained. "She only come to church two or three Sabbaths. Wouldn't nobody sit near her. Them Port'a'geeze got a whiff about 'em."



"So she was not welcome in church, is that correcti"



"She could do and go as she pleased. Wasn't nobody gonna stop her from enterin' Our Lord's house. But I recall the last time she showed up, somebody - and I know who it was, but I ain't sayin' - pelted her with a rotten egg a'fore she could come in. Hit her right a'side the face. You know what she donei"



"Whati"



"She sat down in a pew with that egg smellin' as it did, that mess all in her hair, and she nary made a move 'til Reverend Grove said the last Praise and amen 'bout four hours later. 'Course, he did rush it some, that smell in the church as it was."



Matthew was aware of a movement from the corner of his eye. He looked up as he finished scribing the last line - and there was Rachel Howarth, standing next to the bars, her teeth gritted and an expression of sheer ferocity on her face. Her right arm was lifted and swinging forward, a gesture of violence that made Matthew shout, "Magistrate!"



The shout itself most possibly caused Woodward to lose the remaining few hairs on his scalp. He twisted his head around as well, and Buckner gave a garbled cry of terror and raised a hand to protect his face from what he was sure would be Satanic flame.



There was a loud crack! at the end of the woman's blow against the bars. Fragments of dark reddish-brown clay fell into the straw. Matthew saw that in her right hand was the cup's grip, the rest of it smashed to smithereens.



"I am done with my tea," Rachel said. She opened her hand and dropped the largest bit of the cup into their cell. "That is how Lucretia Vaughan wanted it returned, is it noti"



"Yes, it is. and thank you, Matthew, for your help in emptying my bladder. Will you collect those pieces for me, pleasei" The magistrate blotted his face with his sleeve and attempted mightily to control his galloping heart. Matthew had to bend down on his knees and reach into the woman's cell to gather up all the shards. She stood over him, an intimidating presence to begin with but now - due to farmer Buckner's tale - absolutely fearsome, even though Matthew had the benefit of clear-headed reasoning.



"Wait," she said as he started to rise. Her hand came down and plucked up a small piece he'd missed. "Take this one, too."



She placed it in his outstretched palm, which he immediately withdrew between the bars.



Woodward put the fragments into Madam Vaughan's basket. "Let us continue, please, though my mind is as shambled as that broken cup." He rubbed his temples with both hands. "Matthew, do you have any questions for the witnessi"



"Yes, sir, I do," he answered readily, and then he prepared to scribe his own inquiry. "Mr. Buckner, how long have you depended on that canei"



"My canei Oh . . . eight, nine year. My bones are poorly."



"I understand that you were terrified that night in the orchard. Terror can strengthen a man's legs, I know. But when the person behind you said, 'Jeremiah, run home,' did you actually runi"



"I don't know. But I must'a, 'cause I got back to my bed."



"You don't recall runningi You recall no pain to your legsi"



"No," Buckner said. "I don't recall."



"By which door did you enter your housei"



"Which doori Well... I reckon the back door."



"You don't remember which doori"



"Jus' two doors," Buckner said with a snort. "Back 'n front. I was behind the house, so I must'a gone in the back un."



"Was it cold that nighti" Matthew asked, as he dipped the quill once more.



"It was February, like I say."



"Yes, sir. But my question to you is: was it cold that nighti"



"Sure it was. Had to be cold, a February night!"



"You don't know for certain whether it was cold or noti You don't recall it being coldi"



"I'm not on trial here, am Ii" Buckner looked to the magistrate for help. "What's he poundin' the nail fori"



"Is there some point to this, Matthewi"



"\es, sir, there is. If you'll bear with mei"



"all right, then." Woodward nodded. "But please remember that Mr. Buckner is a witness, not a defendant."



"Mr. Buckner, when you rose from bed to go outside in the cold February night, did you pause to put on any outer garmentsi"



"Outer garmentsi What're you goin' on abouti"



"a coat," Matthew said. "a cloak. a hat. Gloves. Surely you paused to at least put on shoes."



Buckner scowled. "Well... of course I put on shoes!"



"and a coati"



"Yes, I reckon I put on a coat too! Do you think me a fooli"



"No, sir, I do not. But you don't sound very certain about those details. Tell me this, then: when you heard the cock crow, were you lying in bed with your shoes and coat still oni"



"Whati"



"You testified that you were lying in bed, sweating and shaking. Did you pause at some point to remove your shoes and coat before you got into bedi"



"Yes." It was said with faint conviction. "I must'a."



"You don't recalli"



"I was scairt. Like I said, scairt half dead!"



"What about your canei" Matthew asked. "You did take your cane outside with you, did you noti"



"I did. I cain't hardly get 'round wirhout it."



"Where did you put your cane when you returned from the orchardi"



"I . . . put it. . ." He pressed his fingers against his mouth. "I put it... in the corner next to the bed, I reckon. Where it always is put."



"Then that's where it was when morning camei"



"Yes. Right there in that corner."



"Where did you put your coat and shoesi"



"I . . . took off my coat, and laid it and my shoes ... at the foot of the bed, I believe."



"That's where they were the next time you had need of themi"



"Wait," Buckner said, his forehead deeply creased. "No. I must'a hung up my coat on the hook by the front door. That's where it was."



"By the front doori Yet you entered by the back doori Was there a lantern lit within the house, or was it darki"



"Dark. I don't recall no light."



"You were - as you put it - scared half dead, a witness to demonic wickedness, and yet you walked from one side of the house to the other in the dark to hang your coat on its proper hooki" Matthew held up a finger before Buckner could respond. "ah! You did so because you didn't wish your wife to know you'd been outside, could that be correcti"



"Yes, it could." He nodded vigorously. "That must be the why of it."



"Sir, if you had decided to do so, why did you believe you took it off and laid it at the foot of the bedi Is it so unclear in your mind where you left your coati"



"I was conjured! Must'a been. Like I say, after what I seen I ain't right in the head no more."



"Mr. Buckneri" Matthew stared forcefully into the man's eyes. "You have given us a story of amazing details, seen without the benefit of illumination. Why is it, then, that your grasp of details is so hazy both before and after the incident in the orchardi"



Buckner's face tightened. "You think I'm lyin', don't youi"



"Mr. Buckner," Woodward spoke up, "no one has said that."



"Don't have to say it! I can read it in these damn questions you're askin' me! all this 'bout coats and shoes, and did I have my cane and whatnot! I'm a honest man, you can ask anybody!"



"Please, sir, there's no need for an outburst."



"I ain't no liar!" Buckner had fairly shouted it. He hobbled to his feet and pointed at Rachel Howarth. "There's the witch I seen with them three demons from Hell! I seen it was her, no mis-takin' it! She's evil to her black heart, and if you think I'm lyin' she's conjured you, too!"



"Sir," Woodward said quietly, trying to calm the man. "Please. Won't you sit down and - "



"No, I will not! I won't be called a liar, not even by a magistrate! God knows I'm tellin' the truth, and He's the only judge matters!"



"In Heaven, yes," Woodward said, feeling a bit wounded by this last remark. "In the courts of Earth, however, justice is the responsibility of mortals."



"If justice is served, that witch'll be dead 'fore another day goes past!" Buckner had white spittle on his lips, his eyes enraged. "Or hav'ya already decided it's the town that dies and the witch that livesi"



"I still have a few questions to ask, sir." Woodward motioned toward the stool. "Won't you sit downi"



"I've had a fill of this! I ain't answerin' nothin' more!" The old man abruptly turned and walked out of the cell, leaning heavily on his cane.



Woodward also stood up. "Mr. Buckner! Please! Just a few moments longer!" His entreaties were in vain, however. Buckner stalked away and was gone from the gaol altogether.



"He can be convinced to return," Matthew said. "He'll listen to Bidwell."



"I only had two or three more questions to ask." Woodward cast a dark glare at his clerk. "What was the meaning of badgering the man like thati"



"I don't think I was badgering, sir. I was clarifying."



"You took that man to task, Matthew! You just as well said you believed him a liar!"



"No, sir," Matthew replied evenly, "I never said such a thing. I simply desired to know why he couldn't recall some specific details, when other specifics were so very clear. I should think he would remember putting on and removing his coat and shoes, no matter what kind of fright he'd experienced."



"Well, the man's not a liar!" Woodward vowed. "Confused, possibly. Frightened, certainly. But I don't believe him the stripe of man who would make up such phantasms, do youi I mean . . . dear God, if he was concocting such a tale, I'd fear his mind was diseased beyond all salvation!"



There came a laugh. Matthew and Woodward looked into the next cage. Rachel Howarth was sitting on her bench, her back against the rough wall and her head uptilted.



"You find this amusing, madami" Woodward inquired.



"No," she said. "I find it sad. But as I am far past tears, I must laugh instead of weep."



"Laugh or weep as you please. This is damning evidence."



"Evidencei" again, she laughed. "What evidence is therei an insane tale told by an old mani Oh, there is some truth in what he told you."



"are you admitting your concordance with the Devil, theni"



"Not at all. I'm admitting that I attended church on three Sabbaths, and the third time I sat with a rotten egg in my hair. But I was not going to give them the pleasure of watching me run home, or seeing me sob like a wounded child. That's the only truth in Buckner's story."



"Of course you would deny the incident in the orchard. I wouldn't expect you to do otherwise."



"What was the point of it, theni" She turned her amber gaze upon him. "If I am such a witch, why did I choose to invite Buckner to watch my . . . indiscretionsi Why would I not want to do such things in privatei"



"I don't know, madam. Why did you noti"



"Evidently, according to Buckner, I can walk through latched doors. Why am I still here in this cage, theni"



"It would be an admission of witchcraft to leave this gaol."



"and allowing Buckner to witness that profanity was not an admissioni" She shook her head. "If I really were a witch, I'd be much more clever than that."



"Oh, I think you're clever enough. Besides, madam, who is to say you do not leave this gaol at night, and roam where you please with your masteri Possibly you inhabit some spectral world of which God-fearing citizens dare not imagine.'"



"You might ask your clerk tomorrow morning," Rachel said. "He'll find out tonight if I have the power to walk through walls."



"I doubt that you would show any such power while Matthew is present," Woodward parried. "again, it would be an admission of guilt that would lead to your appointment at the stake."



She suddenly stood up. "You must be as insane as the rest of them! Do you honestly think, after what you heard today, that I am not going to burni There are other witnesses - other liars -  yet to speak against me, I know. But who will speak for mei No one. Oh, they hated me here before they took me to be a witch, so they made me into one, the better to hate all the stronger!"



"They made you into a witchi How could you be made into what you are noti"



"Hear me well, Magistrate. Someone murdered Reverend Grove and my husband, and then fashioned me into the blackest witch south of Salem. Someone made poppets and hid them in the floor of my house. Someone spread these filthy lies about me, so that now the people here don't know their own minds!"



"I believe Mr. Buckner," Woodward said. "I've seen liars before, in many courtrooms. I've seen them spin webs from which they cannot escape. Mr. Buckner may be confused about some small details, due to his advanced age and the experience of that night, but he is not lying."



"If he's not lying," Rachel answered, "then he's either in need of an asylum or he's been cursed by some witch other than the one I am painted to be. I never set foot in his house or that orchard. I swear it before God."



"Beware your mouth, madam! a bolt of holy fire might end your games."



"If it would be a quicker death than the stake, I would welcome it."



Matthew said, "There's a simple way to end all of this. Madam, if you would recite the Lord's Prayer, I think the magistrate might consider your case in a different light."



"I'll speak for myself, thank you!" Woodward said. "after what I've heard here today, I think even a recitation of the Lord's Prayer might be a trick provided by this woman's master!"



"I will save you the wondering," Rachel said, "because I refuse to speak such a thing that has no meaning in this town. Those who babble the Lord's Prayer day and night would be first to grin when I'm set afire. Like Lucretia Vaughan, for instance. Oh, there's a fine Christian example! She would've given Christ on the cross a drink of vinegar and called it honey!"



"She was kind enough to provide you a cup for tea. I didn't find it vinegared."



"You don't know her as I do. I believe I know why she wanted the cup broken and returned. ask her yourself. You might be enlightened."



Woodward busied himself by putting the teapot and the remaining cups back into the basket. "I think that will do for today, Matthew. I'm off to visit Dr. Shields. On Monday morning we shall resume our interviews."



"I'd suggest, sir, that our next witness be Mrs. Buckner. I have some questions I'd like to pose."



"Do you, nowi" Woodward paused, his cheeks showing a flame. "Who is presiding over this court, you or mei"



"You are, of course."



"Then shouldn't I be the one who determines the next witnessi and since I do not have any questions for Mrs. Buckner, I suggest Mr. Garrick come to court on Monday morning."



"I understand that you are the authority in this court, as in any other," Matthew said, with a slight bow of his head, "but shouldn't Mrs. Buckner be asked to describe her husband's mental state during the period of time that - "



"Mrs. Buckner should be left alone," the magistrate interrupted. "She was asleep during both incidents her husband related. I daresay Mr. Buckner has never told her what he saw. Would you bring a decent Christian wife into this gaol, within earshot of Madam Howarthi"



"She would be brought into any other courtroom."



"at the discretion of the judge. In my opinion, she has nothing to add, and indeed might even suffer harm by being called to appear."



"Magistrate," Matthew said quietly, "a wife knows her husband. I would like to learn whether Mr. Buckner has had . . . shall we say . . . delusions of any kind in previous years."



"If you're saying that what he witnessed was a delusion, remember that it was a delusion shared by another person. Stephen Dunton, wasn't that the man's namei"



"Yes, sir. But as Mr. Dunton is no longer present, we only have Mr. Buckner's word."



"Sworn on the Bible. Delivered in a rational manner. Told in as stomach-churning detail as I ever hope to hear. His word is good enough for me."



"But not good enough for me," Matthew said. The rawly honest thought had left his mouth before he could constrain it. If Woodward's teeth had been false, they might have dropped to the floor. The silence stretched, as the magistrate and his clerk stared at each other.



Woodward's throat was ravaged, his air passages swollen, and his bones aching in the damp, close heat. He had just heard a reliable witness relate a story of both fascination and horror that brought a woman - a human being, even if she was a notorious witch - nearer the stake. He felt sick to his very marrow, and now this audacity added to his freight was enough to lay him low. "You've forgotten your place," he rasped. "You are a clerk, not a magistrate. Not even - though you seem to wish it - an attorney. Your duty is as a scrivener, not a questioner. The former you do very well, the latter undoes you."



Matthew didn't respond except for the flush of shame on his face. He realized that he'd spoken completely out of turn and was better off embracing silence.



"I will ascribe this incident to our surroundings and the miserable weather," Woodward decided. "Therefore we shall put this behind us like gentlemen. agreedi"



"Yes, sir," Matthew said, though he still thought it was appropriate - no, vital -  to interview Buckner's wife.



"Very good, then." Woodward picked up the basket in preparation of leaving. "I'll ask Mr. Green to come in and move you to one of the cells over there." He nodded toward the opposite cages. "I would prefer that you not be in such close proximity to Madam Howarth."



"Uh ... I'd like to stay where I am, sir," Matthew countered quickly. "I'd appreciate the benefit of the desk."



"Whyi You won't be needing it."



"It. . . makes the place seem not such a cage."



"Oh. Yes, I see. Then I'll have Madam Howarth moved."



"There's no need for that, sir," Matthew said. "The distance of one or two cages hardly matters, if indeed she employs such witchcraft. and I do have this." He held up the leatherbound Bible. "If this isn't strong enough to protect me, nothing can."



The magistrate paused, glancing from his clerk to Rachel Howarth and back again. This whole situation - Matthew being forced to remain in this wretched place with a woman who'd known such wickedness - gnawed at his nerves. Who knew what Matthew would witness in the dead of nighti He damned himself for passing sentence on the boy, but what other choice had there beeni It crossed his mind to occupy one of the other cages for the night, on some pretext of keeping an eye on Madam Howarth's activities, but he knew Bidwell and everyone else would see through the flimsy gauze and realize him to be quite less the taskmaster than he appeared.



at the bottom of his pond, far down from the light of public inspection, he was afraid. Fearful of Rachel Howarth, and of what she might do to the boy. Fearful also that once he left Matthew alone with this Devil's doxy, the boy might never again be the same. The witch's pleasure would be in destroying innocence, would it noti



"I shall be all right," Matthew said, reading some of these thoughts in the magistrate's anguished expression. "Just go to Dr. Shields and ask for a tonic."



Woodward nodded, but still he couldn't bear to leave. The time, however, had come. "I'll return this afternoon and see to you," he said. "Can I bring you anythingi Books from Mr. Bidwell's libraryi"



"Yes, that would be fine. any books will do."



"I'm sure you will be fed before long. If you're displeased at the meal, I'll be glad to bring you - "



"Whatever the meal is, it will be good enough," Matthew told him. "Just go see Dr. Shields."



"Yes, I shall." Woodward turned his attention to the woman, who had resumed sitting on her bench. "Your actions toward my clerk will be watched and noted, madam," he said sternly. "I strongly suggest you keep your distance."



"My actions needn't cause you worry," she replied. "But the rats in here are not subject to strong suggestions."



There was nothing more that Woodward could do. Matthew would have to fend for himself, and the Lord God be with him. Woodward, basket in hand, left the gaol. In another moment Green entered, closed and locked the door of Matthew's cage, and then he too retreated.



Matthew stood at the bars, staring up toward the open hatch. His fingers were gripping the iron. The sound of the cell's door being shut had made him think of the iron gate clanging at the almshouse, and sickness roiled in his stomach.



"You've not been in here very long to feel the loss of freedom," Rachel said quietly. "What is your sentencei"



"Three days."



"an age!" She gave a harsh laugh that sounded biting. "I've never been in a gaol before. at least, not on this side of the bars."



"Neither had I. It's not so bad here, in the daylight. But the darkness is not kind."



"Three days," Matthew repeated. "I can bear it."



"What kind of foolishness is thisi" Her tone had sharpened. "Do you think I don't know you've been placed in here to spy on mei"



"You're wrong. I am here because I . . . offended the blacksmith."



"Oh, of course you did! Well, what shall I do to conjure you tonighti Shall I become a raven and flit from cage to cagei Shall I dance a jig on the air, while Satan plays the fiddlei ah! Why don't I turn you into a piece of cheese and let the rats tear you apart! Would that impress your magistratei"



"I'm sure it might," Matthew said evenly. "But it would do neither of us any good, for if I were crumbs by dawn you would be ashes by noon."



"Some noon I shall be ashes. Why should it not be tomorrowi"



Matthew looked through the bars at Rachel Howarth, who had drawn her legs up beneath herself. "Not all in this town believe you to be a witch."



"Who does noti"



"One, at least. as for the name, I don't feel I should betray the confidence."



"One." She smiled thinly. "That one is not the magistrate, is iti"



"No."



"Well theni It is youi"



"I have an open mind on such subjects."



"and your magistrate does noti"



"Magistrate Woodward," Matthew said, "is a man of honor and conviction. No matter his reaction today, he will act in a tempered fashion. You'll notice no flames around your feet yet, and after Mr. Buckner's tale I think the magistrate might be justified in lighting the torch."



"Buckner!" Rachel spoke it like a spit. "He's insane. I was neither in his home nor in the orchard. I hardly know the man; perhaps I've spoken a dozen words to him altogether."



Matthew walked over to his desk and began to arrange the papers into a neat stack. "He seems to know you well enough. after your display here yesterday, I must wonder if your natural inclination is not to shed your clothing and walk the town."



"I shed my clothing for my husband," she said. "No one else. Certainly not in public, and certainly not... for the vile purposes Buckner imagined."



"Was that it, theni The imaginings of an old mani"



"Yes! Of course."



Matthew located a particular sheet of paper and read from it. "Regarding the incident in the orchard, Mr. Buckner says as follows: I didn't tell nobody, not even after I heard what Elias Garrick seen. Then Lester Crane told me Stephen Dunton seen such a thing -  them three creatures with the witch, 'cept they was doin' their wickedness inside the house where the Poole family used to live, right next to Dun-ton's farm." He looked up at her. "How could it be the imaginings of two men, at two different times and two different placesi"



She didn't answer; her face seemed darker and she stared straight ahead.



"The testimony of Elias Garrick on Monday morning will add more sticks to your pyre," Matthew said. "are you aware of what he's going to sayi" There was no reply. "I take it that you are. Then we shall hear from a child by the name of Violet adams. I have no knowledge of what she will testify. Do youi" Silence met his question. "Whatever it is, it will be doubly damning coming from a child. The magistrate is very sensitive to the testimony of children, and I would advise you to hold your tongue when she is speaking."



"No matter what lies she spewsi" Rachel asked, still staring blankly ahead.



"No matter if she swears she witnessed you in a privyhouse accommodating three hundred and three demons. Keep your tongue shackled."



"You might care to know," Rachel said, "that the child's mother is the person who anointed my head with such a perfumed present before the church. Constance adams made no secret of her feelings toward me." Rachel's head turned, and her eyes found Matthew's. "You're the magistrate's clerk, sworn to abide by his law. If you're not here to spy for him, then why are you in the least interested in what I might say or not sayi"



Matthew continued straightening the sheets of paper. When he was done, he returned them to the box and closed the lid. It had taken him that long to formulate an answer. "I have a curiosity for puzzles," he said, refusing to meet her gaze. "I am satisfied only when all the pieces fit to perfection. In this instance ... I feel there are many pieces that have been forced into the wrong positions, and thus are ragged of edge. There are missing pieces that must be found. There are pieces that seem to be correct . . . but are, to me at least, of false shape. That is my interest."



a long silence followed, during which Matthew set about cleaning the quill. Then, "Do you think I am a witchi" Rachel asked pointedly.



"I think," he replied after some deliberation, "that this town is the host to a very cunning evil. Whether it is demon or man, it does seem Satanic. More than that, I can't say."



"Neither can I," she said. "But no matter who - or what -  cut my husband's throat and masqueraded as me in these filthy performances, I'll be the one to burn for it." Matthew couldn't deny her statement. That conflagration now seemed very near indeed.



Lies upon lies, Mrs. Nettles had said. What she needs is a champion of truth.



Just as truth was sparse here, Matthew thought, so were champions. He was a clerk, nothing more. Not a magistrate, not an attorney . . . certainly not a champion.



He was certain of one thing, though; it had become clear to him, after the sickening ordeal of Buckner's testimony and the magistrate's forceful reaction. at the conclusion of these interviews, Woodward would be compelled to immediately order Rachel Howarth put to death. She would burn to the bone in a matter of days after that order had been read to the prisoner. and whose hand would scribe the sentence of deathi



Matthew's own, of course. He had done it several times before; it was nothing new.



Except in this instance, he would go to his own grave pondering the pieces that did not fit, and agonized over the missing why.



He finished cleaning the quill and put it and the inkwell into the box, and then the box went into one of the desk's drawers -  which Winston had obviously cleaned out before carting to the gaol, since the desk was absolutely empty - to await further need.



Then he stretched himself out in the straw - which was fresh thanks be to Mr. Green - closed his eyes, and tried to rest. It came to him only after a moment that he had reclined as far as possible from the bars that stood between his cage and Rachel Howarth's, and that in his right hand he gripped the Bible across his chest.