Speaks The Nightbird Part 18

"I think so. Maybe it was a minute or two. It was kinda hazy what I did just after she left. I believe I was still conjured, myself."

"Uh... Magistrate?" The voice made Matthew jump, the quill scrawling across two neat lines above it before he could rein it in.

"Yes?" Woodward snapped, looking toward the gaol's entrance. "What is it?"

"I've brought your tea, sir." Winston carried a wicker basket with a lid. He came into the cell, put the basket down upon the magistrate's desk, and opened it, revealing a white clay teapot and four cups, three of the same white clay but the fourth a dark reddish-brown. "Compliments of Mrs. Lucretia Vaughan," Winston said. "She sells pies, cakes, and tea from her home, just up Harmony Street, but she graciously offered to brew the pot free of charge. I felt it my duty, however, to inform her that the witch would be drinking as well, therefore Mrs. Vaughan asks that Madam Howarth use the dark cup so that it may be broken into pieces."

"Yes, of course. Thank you."

"Is there anything else I might do for you? Mr. Bidwell has put me at your disposal."

"No, nothing else. You may go, and thank you for your a.s.sistance."

"Yes sir. Oh... one more thing: Mrs. Vaughan would like Madam Howarth herself to break the cup, and then she asks that you gather the pieces and return them to her."

Woodward frowned. "May I ask why?"

"I don't know, sir, but it was her request."

"Very well, then." Woodward waited for the other man to leave, and then he removed the teapot from the basket and poured himself a cup. He drank almost all of it immediately, to soothe his throat. "Tea?" he offered Buckner, but the farmer declined. Matthew took a cup, taking care not to spill any upon his papers. "Madam Howarth?" Woodward called. "I should be lacking in manners if I failed to offer you a cup of tea."

"Lucretia Vaughan brewed it?" she asked sullenly. "I wonder if it's not poisoned."

"I have drunk some that I would swear was tainted, but this is quite good. I'd daresay it's been a while since you've had a taste." He poured some into the dark cup and handed it to Matthew. "Put this through the bars, please."

Matthew stood up to do so, and the woman rose from her bench and approached. In a moment Matthew found himself face-to-face with her, the compelling amber eyes staring fixedly at him. Curls of her thick ebony hair had fallen across her forehead, and Matthew was aware of tiny beads of sweat glistening on her upper lip, due to the gaol's damp heat. He saw her pulse beating in the valley of her throat.

He pushed the cup through; it was a tight fit, but it did sc.r.a.pe between the bars. She reached to accept it, and her fingers pressed across his. The sensation of her body heat was like a wildfire that burned through his flesh and flamed along the nerves of his hand. He let go of the cup and jerked his arm back, and he didn't know what his expression had revealed but the woman was looking at him with curious interest. He abruprly turned his back to her and resumed his place.

"Let us continue," Woodward said, when his clerk was once more situated. "Matthew, read back to me the last question and answer, please."

"The question was: And you immediately lit the lantern? Mr. Buckner's reply was: I I think so. Maybe it was a minute or two. It was kind of hazy what I did just after she left. I believe I was still conjured, myself." think so. Maybe it was a minute or two. It was kind of hazy what I did just after she left. I believe I was still conjured, myself."

"All right. Mr. Buckner, did you later that day inform your wife of what had occurred?"

"No sir, I did not. I was a'feared that if I told her, the witch's curse might kill her on the spot. I didn't tell n.o.body."

"Two nights hence, did you go to the orchard at the prescribed time?"

"I did. Betwixt midnight and two, just as the witch commanded. I got out of bed slow and quiet as I could. I didn't want Patience hearin' and wakin' up."

"And when you went to the orchard, what transpired?" Woodward sipped at a fresh cup of tea and waited for the man to respond.

This question obviously troubled Jeremiah Buckner, as the farmer s.h.i.+fted uneasily on his stool and chewed at his lower lip. "Sir?" he at last said. "I'd... beg not relate it."

"If it has to do with Madam Howarth, I must insist that you relate it." Again, Buckner s.h.i.+fted and chewed but no words were forthcoming. "I would remind you that you have taken an oath on the Bible," Woodward said. "Also, that this is a station of the law just as much as any courthouse in Charles Town. If you're fearful of your safety, let me a.s.sure you that these bars are solid and Madam Howarth cannot reach you."

"The walls of my house are solid, too," Buckner muttered. "She got through 'em, didn't she?"

"You came here to testify of your own free will, did you not?"

"Yes sir, I did."

"Then you will leave here with your testimony incomplete if you fail to respond to my questions. I need to know what occurred in the orchard."

"Oh Lord," Buckner said softly; it was a supplication for strength. He bowed his head, staring at the floor, and when he lifted it again the lamplight sparkled from the sheen of sweat on his face. "I walked into the orchard," he began. "It was a cold night, and silent. I walked in, and directly I heard... a woman laughin', and another noise too. Somethin' that sounded... sounded like a beast, a'gruntin'." He was quiet, his head once again lowered.

"Go on," Woodward said.

"Well... I followed them sounds. Followed 'em, deeper in. I 'member I stopped to look back at my house. It seemed such an awful long way off. Then I took to walkin' again, tryin' to find the woman. Wasn't a few minutes pa.s.sed 'fore I did." Buckner paused and took a deep breath, as if fortifying himself for the rest of it. "She was a'layin' on her back, under one of them apple trees. She was a'layin' with her legs spread wide, 'bout to split her down the middle. And on top a'her was... that thing I seen. It was goin' at her, like the drivin' of a spike. It was a'gruntin' ever'time it come down, and she had her eyes closed and was laughin'."

"A thing?" Woodward said. "What kind of thing?"

Buckner looked directly into the magistrate's eyes, his jaw slack and the sweat gleaming on his forehead. "It was somethin' that... kinda 'sembled a man, but... it had a black hide, and leathery. I couldn't see its face... I didn't want to. But it was big. A beast the likes I'd never set eye on before. It just kept poundin' her. That woman's legs open wide, and that beast comin' down a'top her. I saw its back movin'... it had some kinda spines or the like up and down its backbone. Then all a'sudden it whipped its head side to side and let out an awful moan, and the woman gave a cry too. It got up off her... must'a been seven, eight feet tall. I could see..." Buckner hesitated, his eyes glazed with the memory of it. "I could see the woman was all b.l.o.o.d.y, there in her private parts. The beast moved away, and then... then somethin' else come out of the orchard, and it got down on its knees a'side her."

"What was it?" Woodward had gripped his teacup in his hand, his palm damp.

"I don't know. It had white hair and a child's face. But it was a dwarf-thing, its skin all gray and shriveled like a dead fish. It got down on its knees a'side her. It leaned its head down, and then... then a terrible long tongue slid out of its mouth, and..." He stopped, squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "Can't say," he gasped. "Can't say."

Woodward took a drink of tea and put the cup down. He restrained himself from casting a glance in Rachel Howarth's direction. He could feel Matthew tensed and ready to resume his scrivening. Woodward spoke quietly, "You must say."

Buckner released a noise that sounded like a sob. His chest was trembling. He said painfully, "I'll be d.a.m.ned to h.e.l.l for these pi'tures in my head!"

"You are acting as a proper Christian, sir. You were an observer to these sins, not a partic.i.p.ant. I would ask you again to continue."

Buckner ran a hand across his mouth, the fingers palsied. The hue of his flesh had become pasty, and dark hollows had taken form beneath his eyes. He said, "That dwarf-thing... looked like a child. White hair. A failed angel, is what I thought. All shrunk up when it was cast in the Pit. I saw it... saw that tongue come out... saw it wet and s.h.i.+ny, like raw beef. Then... that tongue went up in the woman. In her b.l.o.o.d.y parts. She took to thras.h.i.+n' and cryin' out, and the tongue was a'movin' inside her. I wanted to hide my face, but I couldn't near move my arms. I had to stand there and watch it. It was like... somebody was a'makin' me watch it, when I wanted to hide my face and call to G.o.d to take them sights away." His voice cracked, and for a moment Woodward feared the old man would collapse into sobbing. But then Buckner said, "When that thing... slid its tongue back out again... there was blood all over it. Drippin' blood, it was. And that woman grinned like she was a new bride."

"Matthew?" Woodward's throat felt so constricted that clear speaking had become an effort of will. "Are you getting all this?"

"If I weren't," Matthew answered tersely, "I would have to be deaf."

"Yes. Of course. This represents a new threshold in your experience of clerking, I am sure." Woodward used his sleeve to mop the moisture from his face. "It certainly opens a new door for me, one that I might wish had remained latched."

"Then there was the third one," Buckner said. "The one that was man and woman both."

Neither Woodward nor Matthew moved nor spoke. In the silence they heard Buckner's hoa.r.s.e breathing. Through the open roof-hatch came the sound of a crow cawing in the far distance. Matthew dipped his quill into the inkwell and waited.

"Let us not say," spoke the magistrate, "that in our interview we failed to turn over all rocks, regardless of what might be coiled underneath them. Tell us of the third creature, Mr. Buckner."

Twelve.

Buckner's eyes were s.h.i.+ny 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 t.i.ts, 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 whom?" 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 p.e.n.i.s?"

"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 incident?"

"The what, what, sir?" sir?"

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

"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 see?"

"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 c.o.c.k crow, and I knew then that the demons of the night was pa.s.sin'."

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

"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 n.o.body, 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 seen?" Woodward asked. "And who did you tell?"

"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 Howarth?"

"Yes sir."

"What kind of man was he?"

"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 together?"

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

"And what about his wife? Was she social?"

"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 pa.s.sed 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 try to be social. But it just caused a stir." to be social. But it just caused a stir."

"A stir? What kind of stir?"

"Look at her, sir. If you can bear it, after what I've told you. She's betwixt a n.i.g.g.e.r and a Spaniard. Would you care to share a pew with her?"

"The witch attended church?" Woodward raised his eyebrows.

"That was 'fore she took to witchcraft," Buckner explained. "She only come to church two or three Sabbaths. Wouldn't n.o.body sit near her. Them Port'a'geeze got a whiff about 'em."

"So she was not welcome in church, is that correct?"

"She could do and go as she pleased. Wasn't n.o.body 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 done?"

"What?"

"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! 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. 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 is how Lucretia Vaughan wanted it returned, is it not?" how Lucretia Vaughan wanted it returned, is it not?"

"Yes, it is. And thank you, Matthew, for your help in emptying my bladder. Will you collect those pieces for me, please?" 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 witness?"

"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 cane?"

"My cane? 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 run?"

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

"You don't recall running? You recall no pain to your legs?"

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

"By which door did you enter your house?"

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

"You don't remember which door?"