Part 40 (1/2)

”Now, as to the matter of money, Sir, it's like this. If it was just the apprehendin' of a wayward child, a helpless girl, like, then the price wouldn't be so much, but this is a different case altogether, yes it is, Sir.”

I notice that the wind is really whipping up out there.

He's the leader of this bunch, the one called Strunk, I think. He clears his throat and goes on. ”But, Sir, it warn't no helpless child, 'cause after we got in a circle around her there on the road and she saw there was no escape, the s.l.u.t come at us with this wicked blade, yes, Sir, she did, and she cut poor d.i.c.k Beadle sore after he killed her dog. The vicious beast laid about very free with its teeth, it did, and then sunk them in poor d.i.c.k's leg, which is when he brained the cur...”

Poor Millie, you was the bravest and best of all of us, you was... Tears roll down over the bridge of my nose and onto the floor of the coach. You stood your ground, Millie, and you tried to save me. And now you're dead for it. I am sorry, Millie, I am. I am so very hard on my friends.

”We would, Sir, have dearly wished that either you or the Colonel had warned us that she was armed with the knife and willing to use it. And it's not like we can bring charges against the female, 'cause we wasn't workin' in an official capacity, like, and we still ain't, so we would like compensation for poor d.i.c.k's wounds, we would, as we got added medical expenses, like. And his pain and sufferin', too, poor devil, only doin' his job like he was. Oh, like a serpent's tooth, Sir, the fury of a woman.”

There is the clink of coins. I have been bought and sold.

”Why, that's very handsome of you, Sir. Very handsome, indeed. I hope you'll keep Beadle and Strunk in mind for any future business of this sort. Where do you want her?”

I can't hear the man's reply, but the man Strunk says, ”Help me wrap her in this here rug, d.i.c.k, and we'll carry her inside. Here's her bag. Toss it over there.” I see Strunk's hateful face for a moment and then the rug floats over me and I feel it tucked around me and then I'm flipped and rolled up in the thing. They ain't too gentle about it, neither. I'm thinkin' they got to sneak me in someplace, someplace where I could be spotted and maybe saved if they didn't cover me up somehow. Then I am lifted and carried inside. I can tell 'cause I hear echoes like it's a big enclosed place.

I'm dropped to a floor and given a kick for good measure.

”That's it, then, Sir. I wish you the joy of her,” and there is the sound of the men leaving and the sound of a door closing. And then the sound of a latch being thrown.

Footsteps approach. An edge of the rug is taken and tugged and I am rolled out onto the floor. I see high windows and a high lectern and pews. I roll over and look up into the crazed eyes of Reverend Richard Mather.

”Ah,” he says, ”the little witch. At last.”

”Yes, Grandfather,” says the Preacher. ”Yes, I have the witch now and...”

He c.o.c.ks his head as if to listen to a voice. ”Yes, Grandfather, it will not be long now.”

I tuck me legs under me and struggle to a sittin' position so's I can face him. I shake my head back and forth and try to say, ”No no I ain't no witch please I'm just a stupid girl now let me please go,” but all that comes out past the gag is a strangled mumble. I'm scared beyond clear reason but I keep on grinding me teeth on the gag.

”Yes, and now we have all the evidence we need to kill the witch with a clear and open Christian heart. No Court in the land could ignore the d.a.m.ning proof-the mark of the Devil, the very pitchfork of the fiend, burned on her belly...”

No no you lunatic it's an anchor, not a pitchfork! It's not- ”See, Grandfather, come look. You will be amazed...” He takes down a lighted lamp and puts it on the pew next to me and then he reaches for me.

I try to wriggle away but he leans down and grabs my arm and brings me to my feet. He pulls down me skirt and drawers, farther than he needs to to see the tattoo.

I squeal in terror. See? See? It's an anchor! See?

Suddenly, his head snaps up and the color drains from his face. There is a scratching at the door! A scratching like I'd scratched as Janey Porter on his roof all those times! Maybe, oh G.o.d, maybe...

The door is at the side and there is an aisle leading to it. The Preacher throws me back down to the floor and takes me by my feet and drags me a bit up the center aisle so that I can't be seen by anybody when he opens the door, and the scratches come again and he recoils and puts his hand to his throat in horror.

I wriggle like a worm back up the aisle to get my head to where someone could see me if they looked around the Preacher when he opens the door and I get my head there and I've got my eyes glued on the door when he opens it a crack. He looks out, and it is not a horrid specter coming to haul him down to h.e.l.l but instead a medium-sized black and white dog looking in at me from between the Preacher's legs.

Millie! Oh, Millie, it's you! You didn't die, you wonderful dog you didn't... I try to call to her but I can't. All that comes out is a mumble.

Millie tries to get in to get to me but the Preacher blocks her with his leg and closes the door on her. She yelps and retreats. ”Begone, Fiend!” says the Preacher, and he turns his attention to me. And to old dead Grandad. ”Her familiar has found her already, Grandfather, and she not here ten minutes. You see what a trial it has been to me. Who knows what other minions she has about her. We must be quick.”

Millie's still alive! My mind is churning for a plan. If Amy is next door at the school and she sees Millie, she'll know that I'm nearby 'cause we ran off together, so ... How to alert Amy? Maybe if Millie sets up a huge barking, Amy'll hear and come down. The girls'll be in the dorm now, getting ready for bed. I almost choke on my gag, I want to be there with them so bad. Calm. Calm yourself. Now, I can't shout to Millie, but I can whine, whine like a hurt dog, I can keen.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...

Millie sets in to barking, loud and sharp.

”It won't do you any good to cry, now,” says the Preacher. ”No one will hear you.”

Someone has already heard me, murderer. I do it again as high-pitched as I can-Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-and Millie goes into a wolflike howl and she keeps doing it. Good girl.

”What's that?” he says all fearful.

It's the Hound of h.e.l.l come to take you, Preacher, take you down for the murder of Janey Porter and me! That's what it is! I keep grinding on the gag-about halfway through now.

Millie's unearthly howl suddenly stops, followed by a yelp. A s.h.i.+ver runs through me. Was that a yelp of delight upon seeing Amy come down to her, or a yelp from being kicked by someone to just shut her up? I can't tell. I only know my life depends on which one it was.

The Preacher takes the lamp and hangs it on a hook on the stairway wall. He comes back and pulls me to my feet again and we start toward the stairs up the back of the church. I struggle and twist and he hits me and I fall and pretend that he knocked me out so I can play the deadweight to the full without bein' hit again. He drags me to the foot of the staircase. Prolly wants me up in his office, where I'll be hidden for the rest of the time I'll be on this earth.

”And when I tell the Court of her openly practicing witchcraft at that horse race, why, they'll applaud my sending her back to h.e.l.l and wonder why I did not do it sooner,” says the Preacher. ”Can you believe it, Grandfather? The boldness of the beast, casting spells in front of mult.i.tudes, the fiendish boldness! Oh yes, I had my spies there, too, you may rest a.s.sured, Sir.”

Me bein' all limp is provin' a harder bundle to get up the stairs than he would have thought. In floppin' my legs about I manage to stick my feet between the posts of the railing and hook my toes to stick them there. The Preacher curses and tries to free my entangling feet by tuggin' at me ever the harder, but it don't do him no good, so he throws me down and when he lets me go I try to slither headfirst back down the stairs, but he comes after me, and this time he picks me up with one arm under my knees and the other under my back like you'd carry a child, with my feet toward the wall. He's huffin' and puffin' with his labors and I can feel and smell his breath on my face.

We go past the lit lamp on the wall and I kick out with my feet and I hit the lamp and it comes off its hook and falls to the stairs behind us. The Preacher don't notice 'cause he's wheezin' away with the effort of gettin' me up to his lair and 'cause the lamp hit the carpet on the stairway, which m.u.f.fled its fall, but I notice 'cause I can see over his shoulder and I see that the lamp has spilled out all its oil onto the stairs and the wick flickers in the middle of the mess like it's gonna go out but it don't, it lights the spilled oil on the wooden floor and it flares up with a whoosh, but he don't notice, no he don't notice 'cause he's still mumblin' with his gramps. He just pushes us through the doorway at the top and, with his foot, slams the door shut behind us.

He lurches forth and we go into a room, but it ain't his office like I'm expectin', no, it's a plain room with a single bed with high bedposts and a bedstand with a pitcher and a basin. There's a window, but the curtains are pulled. There is a chest of drawers and one of the drawers is half open and I can see some things inside. Girl things. There is a neatly folded handkerchief on the top.

It is Janey Porter's room. The one she died in. And the one I'm going to die in, too.

He throws me down on the bed.

”You recognize your old chamber, do you?” He leans over my face and peers into my eyes. ”Yes, I have quite figured it out, you see. I did not punish you enough last time and so you came back to haunt me. To tempt me again into sin. To make me do it again. I did not kill you enough then. I did not punish you enough then. I shall not make the same mistake this time. Oh no, I shan't.”

Great plan, Jacky. Oh, this worked out just fine, Jacky, you fool!

He reaches into one of the deep outside pockets of his coat and pulls out me own s.h.i.+v. Oh, to be killed with me own s.h.i.+v!

I can smell smoke.

He takes my knife and very carefully cuts the cords from my ankle. I wait a moment and then lash out my foot to kick him and I connect, but not hard enough 'cause he just goes ooof! and sits down on me and takes a piece of the cord and ties my right ankle to one bedpost and then pulls me legs apart and ties the other ankle to the other bedpost. He does the same thing with my wrists and I can't do a thing to stop him. He don't notice the smoke curling under the door, but I do.

He puts me s.h.i.+v on me breastbone and I thinks, This is it, I'm sorry Lord for everything I done, and it's at this moment that I finally chew through the gag and the slimy pieces fall to either side of my mouth and I gathers all the fear and terror in me and I opens my mouth and I lets out the longest, most bloodcurdling shriek I got in me, ”G.o.d help me I don't want to burn!”

It ain't G.o.d who comes smas.h.i.+n' through the door in a shower of splinters-it is Ephraim Fyffe, but he looks d.a.m.ned good to me! The door falls off its hinges and Ephraim stands there lookin' like the very Avenger of the Lord, with his fists clenched, his s.h.i.+rt torn, and rivulets of blood coursin' down his face.

The Preacher gazes at him as if at Beelzebub himself. Ephraim brings his fist around, and the Preacher's mouth falls in on itself and blood and teeth spatter against the wall as he sinks to his knees and moans.

”Ephraim! Get the knife!”

Ephraim bends down and picks up my s.h.i.+v and starts cutting me loose. There's loud crackling now and the smoke what's comin' in is thick and black and-Hurry, Ephraim- and he's done with my hands and he flips me the blade and I catches it and saws through the ropes on my ankles while he goes after the Preacher, who's staggered to his feet and out into the hall.