Witch Hunt (Witch Finder 2) Page 2

  She wanted to laugh, it was so preposterous that he was worrying about such things at a time like this.

  ‘Luke! Stop being ridiculous.’

  He flinched as if she’d slapped him and began to walk away, his head down. He was muttering something under his breath.

  ‘. . . presumptuous . . . my place . . . servant . . .’

  ‘Luke!’ She ran to catch up. ‘Luke! I meant of course you must take my arm. For heaven’s sake, staying alive is the only thing that matters. I don’t give a damn about presumption or anything else.’

  ‘Really?’ He turned to face her, his expression doubtful above his tight-wound muffler.

  ‘Really.’ She held out her arm and he took it, tucking her hand beneath his arm. He didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t suppress a gasp of pain as he crushed her burnt skin.

  He let go instantly.

  ‘My God, your arm, Rosa. I forgot.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, through gritted teeth. Then her racing heart slowed and she was able to smile through the stab of pain. ‘It’s all right. I’ll be able to heal it soon – when I’ve had some rest. Put your arm around my shoulders instead. It’ll look more natural.’

  For a moment he hesitated, and she was not certain if it was because he was unsure of himself, or of her. Then he did it, letting his arm rest stiffly across the nape of her neck, as if he was afraid to touch her.

  They began to walk, and slowly she felt his muscles relax, the weight of his arm began to rest on her shoulder, and he drew her into his side, as if they were a real couple.

  How easy to pretend, Rosa thought. To just go on, pretending that this is the truth, just two people walking home, and all the rest, Sebastian, and the Malleus, and the factory – if only all of that were the crazy impossible fantasy.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ she asked again, as she had at the pub, but this time it was without curiosity, with a bleak hopelessness that didn’t expect an answer. ‘Sebastian will never let me go, I know that, Luke. He told me before he left, he would rather kill me than lose me.’

  ‘He thinks you’re dead.’ Luke’s voice was low and steady, close to her ear. She felt his breath on her hair, through the shawl. ‘Remember that. He has no reason to think we survived the fire at the factory. There’ll be bodies enough to keep him puzzled for a while; I didn’t get everyone out. It’ll be a long time before anyone comes looking for us.’

  She didn’t believe him. An outwith might have been fooled – but not Sebastian. But she didn’t argue. Instead she felt Luke squeeze her shoulders, a rough, comforting gesture that made tears spring to her eyes.

  ‘It’ll be all right, Rosa. We’ll get the ring off at the forge, and then we’ll sell it, and use the money to get a horse from somewhere. It’ll be all right, I promise.’

  His promise comforted her, not because she believed him, but because she knew he lied for her sake.

  The forge was still in darkness. There were no sparks coming from the chimney as they walked quietly up the lane. Luke lifted his arm from Rosa’s shoulders and put his finger to his lips as he lifted the latch of the gate and pulled it ajar, holding its weight so that the hinges wouldn’t squeal out and wake William.

  Rosa slipped through the gap into the cobbled yard, and Luke pulled the gate shut behind her, latching it so that no one would see the open gate and think the forge open. The snow was still falling and the cobbles were slick with ice as they crossed them carefully. Luke glanced up at his uncle’s window as they passed, but it was still dark. He had no watch, but it must be gone seven, and even when he was sleeping off a hangover William rarely slept past eight.

  Inside the forge he pulled the door shut against the cold and began to search through William’s tools. He laid the likeliest out on the bench – a narrow rasp, nippers, the smallest hacksaw . . . He and Rosa stood looking at them, and he could see the fear in Rosa’s face. He felt it himself, looking from the huge heavy tools down at her small hand, bloodied and dusted with soot.

  ‘It’s not going to work,’ he said at last. ‘William’s got nothing small enough. We need a goldsmith’s tools, not these.’

  ‘Try,’ she said. ‘At least try.’

  With a sick heart he picked up the nippers and tried to angle them to pinch just the gold band of the ring, keeping clear of the skin of her finger, but it was nearly impossible. They were too large and too heavy, and the ring dug so tightly into Rosa’s finger that he couldn’t get a purchase on the metal without pinching her flesh. At last he thought he had it, and began to tighten, gently, and then harder.

  ‘Stop!’ she screamed, and he let the nippers clatter to the floor. There was sweat on her forehead, sticking the red-gold hair to her face. She closed her eyes. Blood was running down her finger. ‘No, take no notice of me,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘Try again.’

  ‘No.’ Sickness rose in Luke’s throat, the sight of her blood turning his stomach. ‘No, I won’t.’

  ‘Coward,’ she said bitterly, and Luke’s stomach clenched as if he’d been punched.

  ‘What did you say?’ His voice came out louder and more dangerous than he’d meant. ‘If you were a man, I’d—’

  He broke off, suddenly hot with shame. Had it come to this, that he was so afraid of his own cowardice that he was reduced to shouting threats at an injured girl? Not just a coward, but a bully too. At least Knyvet, loathsome though he was, was brave in his own way.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He couldn’t bear to look at her as he walked back to the tool rack to put them away, avoiding her gaze. ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘It’s tightened,’ she said in a small voice, breaking into his stumbling apology. ‘That was why I screamed. It wasn’t the cut – I could have stood that. But the ring – when you tried to clip it off, it tightened.’

  ‘What?’ He moved across the forge and snatched up her hand. She was right. The ring, previously just too narrow to get past her knuckle, but loose enough to turn, was now so tight he couldn’t move it, though her skin was slick with blood. ‘Are you sure? Couldn’t it just be your finger’s swollen?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘My finger’s been swollen ever since I tried to take it off yesterday. That’s not it – this is different. I felt it tighten when you tried to clip it. It was like it . . . knew.’

  They looked at each other, and Luke saw his own fear and doubt reflected back in her eyes. He opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say that would reassure her, something that would get them out of this unholy mess – when he heard a noise in the yard. He stiffened and then, as the forge door latch began to rattle, he pushed her roughly down behind the big stone hearth and stood in front of her, his heart banging in his throat, waiting to see who would come through the door.

  It was William’s voice he heard as the door began to swing open.

  ‘Whoever you are, messin’ about in my forge, I’ll have your – eh?’

  William stood in the doorway, his hair rumpled from his bed, his boots on beneath his nightgown.

  ‘Luke! What are you doing here at sparrow fart, lad? I thought you were abed.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep.’ It was almost true, after all. He hadn’t slept, though in truth he hadn’t had the chance.

  ‘But . . .’ William took a step forward into the forge, towards where Rosa was hiding. Luke held his breath and prayed. ‘Your coat, it’s all charred and burnt. What happened? Were you in a fire? You stink of smoke . . . and summat else. Where’ve you bin?’

  ‘I’ve been to the Cock Tavern.’ That was true too, but it was not the truth. ‘There was a fight.’ Another truth, another twist. ‘I got pushed into a street brazier, boy selling chestnuts.’ Lies. He felt sick with deception.

  ‘But your skull, lad! You shouldn’t be drinking and brawling. You’re not two days out of bed!’

  ‘I know.’ Luke clenched his fingers inside his coat pockets, begging William in his head to leave, begging him to go and stop asking questi
ons. He could hear Rosa’s stifled breathing behind him, and from the corner of his eye he could see the shift and swirl of her magic. Please leave . . .

  William shook his head. He turned on his heel and Luke held his breath. Then just as William reached the door he turned back.

  ‘Lad, listen.’ He came back across the cobbled floor towards Luke. Luke held his breath. Any second now he was going to come round the corner of the forge hearth and he would see Rosa and it would all be over. Behind him he heard Rosa’s panicked gasp and knew she knew this too – he felt her magic flare up like a fire in a draught, knew that she was gathering herself together, readying herself to cast—

  ‘No!’ He swung round, took a step backwards to put himself between her and William. ‘No! Rosa, don’t – not William.’

  There was a sudden, perfect silence. A silence so complete he could hear the wind in the chimney, and then Rosa’s skirts rustled and she stood, in full view of William.

  William’s mouth dropped open.

  For a minute none of them said anything, then William gave a great guffaw.

  ‘You were with a girl last night? That’s what all this secrecy was about?’

  Luke bit his lip, wondering if he could stand here barefaced and carry off the lie, pretend that Rosa was a tavern girl. But it would be all over as soon as she opened her mouth. She might not look much of a lady at the moment, but she still sounded like one.

  ‘What’s your name, love?’ William was asking Rosa. ‘Rosie, did he say?’

  Before Luke could stop her, before he could jump in with a false name that would protect them both, she answered, her voice as clear and grave as if she were giving evidence against him.

  ‘Rosa. Rosa Greenwood.’

  For a moment William didn’t connect the dots. He stood, his brow furrowed. Luke could almost hear the ticking of his thoughts: Heard that name somewhere . . . not a local . . .

  Then the penny dropped. Luke could see it, to the very second. His uncle’s face went ashen and he looked from Luke, to Rosa, and then back again with a kind of horror.

  ‘My God, it’s her. It’s the witch!’

  ‘Yes.’ It was all Luke could say. There was no point in lying any longer – it was much too late.

  ‘Are you mad?’ William spoke in a kind of screaming whisper. ‘Why in hell’s name did you bring her here? You can’t do the job here, Luke. We’ll all be for the chop.’

  For a minute Luke was too surprised to speak – then he almost laughed. After all this, after everything that had happened, William still thought he was going to do it. He felt as if his treachery were written on his face – and yet even William hadn’t guessed the truth of it. He had no idea of the depth of Luke’s betrayal.

  ‘I’m not going to kill her,’ he said. He felt light with the relief of speaking the truth, and dizzy with the stupidity of saying it aloud. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘She’s bewitched you.’ William spoke hoarsely. He was backing away towards the door, trying to put distance between himself and Rosa, his eyes flicking between her and Luke as if she were a tiger in the corner of the forge, not a frightened, injured girl. ‘That concussion, I knew it weren’t natural. She’s addled your head, Luke. Think, man! Think what this’ll mean – to you, to the Brotherhood. Her life or yours, Luke. Her life or yours!’

  ‘She hasn’t bewitched me,’ Luke said impatiently. He took a step forward, towards William, holding his hand out pleadingly. ‘Come on, Uncle. You can see it’s me, for God’s sake! Do I look bewitched? I tried to do it, not once but twice, God forgive me, and it nearly killed me. I tried to tell you what it was like when I came back to the forge that time – I’m not a murderer.’

  ‘But why in God’s name did you bring her here?’ William groaned.

  ‘I didn’t bring her – she came for me, and d’you know why? To tell me her fiancé, Sebastian Knyvet, was enslaving men and women and girls at his match factory off Brick Lane, and to ask for my help. And I turned her away with a curse and a threat to kill her. She could have gone home and left them there to rot, but she didn’t. She went back to free them herself, and got half killed in the process. Look at her!’

  He didn’t say the rest: that he’d not only spared Rosa but had let Knyvet go – and with him the truth about Luke’s parents’ death. He’d turned away and gone back for Rosa. He had chosen her.

  ‘She’s been chosen!’ William hissed, echoing his thoughts so strangely that Luke flinched. ‘God’s chosen her to die, Luke! And I’ll not lose you for—’

  ‘God didn’t choose her,’ Luke broke in roughly. ‘I did. I stabbed that bloody pin. I picked her name. If God had anything to do with it, maybe it was to show me the madness of what we’re doing. Killing people because of their birthright? Men should be punished for their deeds, not for something they can’t help!’

  ‘Her life or yours!’ William shouted.

  ‘I don’t care!’ Luke bellowed back, the veins in his throat standing out. He slammed his fist down on the anvil, his face dark with anger. ‘I don’t care,’ he said more quietly. ‘I don’t believe it anyway – I know it’s what they say, but I don’t believe they’d do it. What, men who’ve known me since I was a nipper? Send me to the dogs because I wouldn’t kill a girl half my size?’

  But William was shaking his head.

  ‘Don’t mistake the Brothers, Luke. They’d do it all right. Remember Ethan Wilder? Tall lad, skinny, apprentice at the printworks in the city?’

  Luke nodded, remembering a lanky figure from his childhood, a shy lad with peach-down cheeks that burnt rose-red when he blushed.

  ‘Yes, I remember him. What of it?’

  ‘He boasted of it, of the Malleus. Told a man at the works he’d been taken into the Brotherhood. Not a witch – no one who mattered, but that wasn’t the point. He’d broken the oath of silence.’

  ‘And?’ An uneasy coldness pooled in the pit of his stomach.

  ‘They took his tongue. Cut it out at the root.’

  ‘Who?’ Luke’s voice caught hoarsely, as if there was smoke in his throat, but the air was clear.

  ‘Never you mind who. But I was there. I helped hold him down, God forgive me, though I didn’t wield the knife. He was a boy like you, no older. And he didn’t do the half of what you’re proposing. You’ve not just failed in your task, you’ve turned – you’ve turned . . .’ His voice cracked and he turned away, scrubbing at his face in an agony.

  ‘Traitor,’ Luke finished dully. ‘A traitor to the Brotherhood.’

  ‘Kill her, Luke,’ William begged, as though Rosa couldn’t hear, as though she wasn’t huddled against the wall just feet away, her eyes wide and dark with fear. ‘Do it now and this can all be over. Think of your parents, man! They’d be turning in their graves if they knew.’

  ‘I won’t do it!’ Luke cried. William’s words were almost more than he could bear. ‘Don’t ask me again, William. Now, get out of my way – or would you rather I knocked you down? At least then you can tell the Brotherhood you were overpowered.’

  ‘No!’ William’s voice cracked and he held out one large hand to Luke, pleadingly. But Luke looked away, held his arm out towards Rosa.

  ‘Come on, R-Rosa.’ He stumbled over her name. It still felt so strange saying it, stranger still in front of William.

  She nodded, her expression still full of shock, and they moved together towards the forge doorway. For a heart-racing moment, Luke thought that William was going to bar their way – he stood in the doorway, his big frame blocking it, his hands hanging helpless by his side. But as they drew close he seemed to flinch from the sight of Rosa, and he fell back as they walked out into the snow-dusted courtyard.

  ‘Keep walking,’ Luke said in a low voice. ‘Don’t be afraid.’

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ she said fiercely, but he could tell it was a lie. Luke flung a quick glance over his shoulder as they reached the gate to the lane.

  ‘It’s all right. He’s gone back into the forge.’ He doesn’
t want to watch me go . . .

  He pulled at the gate latch with fingers that were suddenly numb and cold. The metal tongue had frozen to the catch and he had to drop Rosa’s hand to wrestle with it. It sprang free with a bang, and he was about to yank open the gate and walk through when some other sound made them both turn.

  William was standing in the doorway of the forge, a pistol in his hand.

  Rosa’s eyes widened and she crouched instinctively, like an animal going to ground, making itself the smallest target it could.

  ‘No!’ Luke bellowed. He flung himself at Rosa and at the same time there was a deafening crack, and he felt a thump in his shoulder as if he’d been punched. He gasped, and William cried out, a terrible cry.

  ‘Luke!’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Rosa leapt to her feet, her hands feeling for his shoulder, but he pulled away, dizzy and staggering, shaking his head.

  ‘I’m all right, I’m all right,’ he gasped. But he was not. He could feel he was not. The pain was spreading like a pool of fire across his shoulder and down his arm.

  ‘Luke!’ William cried again. He let the pistol fall from his hand, his face white and bloodless. ‘I never meant—’

  ‘No, you meant to kill her, not me,’ Luke managed. He steadied himself on the gatepost. He felt sick and dizzy, and he thought he might fall. Pain raced up and down his arm with every heartbeat.

  ‘I only thought—’

  ‘Goodbye, Uncle.’ He took Rosa’s arm and together they walked through the gate, letting it slam behind them with a crash to wake the dead.

  In spite of Rosa’s pleas, Luke wouldn’t stop but carried on doggedly up the lane and into the street. At last, a hundred yards away from the forge, he turned into a narrow alley between two warehouses and slumped against a wall, feeling the sweat prickling his skin in spite of the cold air. Rosa began to pull back the thick, blood-wet fabric of the greatcoat, searching for the wound.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said dully, as she peeled back his muffler and then his coat. The blood steamed in the cold air, mingling with her short quick breaths. ‘I can feel it’s all right. I can move my arm. Must have missed.’