Part 31 (1/2)

”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 have decided.” 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 me the Bible I'll swear truth on it too!” 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 pa.s.sed 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 holding the Bible! I have just sworn on it! Would you have me the Bible! I have just sworn on it! Would you have me kiss kiss it?” 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 G.o.d'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,” nothing,” Rachel said, her voice trembling with emotion though her face was held under tight control. ”Why did G.o.d not strike me dead just now?” Rachel said, her voice trembling with emotion though her face was held under tight control. ”Why did G.o.d not strike me dead just now?”

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

”If I were truly a witch, G.o.d 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! knows! Dear G.o.d, Matthew! Has she blinded you?” Dear G.o.d, Matthew! Has she blinded you?”

”No, sir. But I think this action should be excused on the grounds of extreme mental hards.h.i.+p.”

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 G.o.d out of his clerk.

The magistrate's shocked expression was not lost on Matthew. ”Sir, she is is under difficult circ.u.mstances. I hope you'll weigh that in your consideration of this incident.” under difficult circ.u.mstances. 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 b.i.t.c.h 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 s.h.i.+eld if Matthew called upon it. That is, if Matthew's clouded vision would allow him to recognize its power. He d.a.m.ned 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.”

This was not an unreasonable request, as Matthew a.s.sumed 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 las.h.i.+ng...” 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 pa.s.senger 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.” 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 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.”