Fire Girl (23 page)

The magic barrier made everything blurry but Hazel could see that the woodsman was still there. He stood with his back to her, head bowed and shoulders moving slowly in time with each deep
breath. He looked broader, stronger, and Hazel sensed a menace in his stillness that frightened her.

The magic barrier crackled as Murrell pressed his hand against it. ‘Can you speak?’ he asked the silent woodsman. ‘Do you remember your name? Do you remember anything at
all?’

The woodsman said nothing.

‘It seems not,’ Murrell murmured. ‘Baal has granted me power to command you.’ He raised his arms. ‘Cease the containment chant. Our new brother will not harm
us.’

Lilith sidled up behind him. ‘Are you sure, Nicolas? Can you really control it?’

‘Do you doubt Baal’s word? Do you doubt
me
?’

‘No, it’s just—’

‘Then do as I say.’ Murrell looked at Lilith through narrowed eyes. ‘I find your lack of faith disturbing.’

Lilith slunk away and sat at the end of a pew.

‘They don’t seem to be getting on so well,’ Bramley muttered.

The chant faded and the candlelight went from red to yellow. The barrier wavered and disappeared. Most of the witches backed away, watching the woodsman warily.

Hazel remembered the man she’d met on the fringes of the forest, the man with so much weariness and grief etched into his face. All that had gone and been replaced with a terrible
dead-eyed stare.

‘Hazel,’ Bramley whispered. ‘Whatever you do, don’t sneeze.’

Hazel ducked down into the pulpit. ‘What?’

‘Don’t sneeze. I don’t want you to give us away. So don’t sneeze.’

‘Stop saying that – it makes me think I want to,’ Hazel hissed, suddenly aware of all the dust. It was everywhere – carpeting the floor, floating in the air, covering her
clothes . . . A tickle struck deep inside her nose. She closed her eyes, fighting the irresistible urge to let go and explode.

Bramley slid head first down her forehead, landed on her nose and clamped his paws against her nostrils. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he hissed.

Hazel closed her eyes and let out a long, shaky breath. ‘Better now,’ she muttered, lifting Bramley back into her hair. With a final precautionary rub of her nose, she peeked back
out.

‘He feels no fear, no pain, and is not troubled by conscience,’ Murrell said as he hobbled around the woodsman. ‘He is a soldier under my command, a soldier who will fight to
the death; and with an army of them I will bring Cromwell and all Witch Hunters to their knees. Do you trust me to lead you to freedom?’

‘We do,’ Lilith cried, and the others nodded enthusiastically.

‘Thank you,’ Murrell said. ‘Because without you by my . . .’ He put a hand to his forehead and swayed.

Lilith grabbed an arm to steady him. ‘It’s time to take you to Hecate
. No arguments
.’

Murrell smiled and allowed her to lead him down the aisle. The witches, the demons and the poor woodsman, now Murrell’s newest servant, followed.

‘They’re leaving,’ Hazel said. ‘Come on. Let’s go and find Ma.’

‘Every Witch Finder must employ an apprentice.’

Charles Stuart, King of England, Scotland and Ireland, 1636

H
azel breathed in the crisp night air. After being trapped in the church for so long, it was good to be outside and on the move.
No more just
watching and hiding,
she thought as she crept between the graves
. It’s time to actually
do
something.
It felt like a lifetime had passed since she’d arrived in
Rivenpike, but she supposed it had only been a couple of hours.

She peered down the alley. The witches were already out of sight, leaving only their shadows behind on the walls. Hazel followed, blood pumping, until she turned the final corner. Ahead, bathed
in moonlight, lay the market square and the castle.

The witches gathered around Murrell by the lowered drawbridge leading into the keep. Hazel dashed over to a horse trough and ducked behind it.

‘Careful,’ Bramley snapped. ‘You’re too close.’

‘They can’t see through stone.’ After a few frustrating moments Hazel snorted in disgust. ‘It’s no good, I can’t hear what they’re saying.’

‘Let me have a go,’ Bramley said, hopping from her shoulder on to the edge of the trough. ‘I’ve got better hearing than you.’

‘Do you? You’ve never mentioned it.’

‘There are a lot of things I’m better at than you,’ Bramley said with a sniff. ‘But I don’t like to show off.’

‘Hmmm. So, what are they saying?’

‘Murrell’s ordering them all to gather their familiars and go out and bring back more people for Baal. And they’re to take the woodsman with them.’

‘What else? Anything about Ma?’

‘Oh dear,’ Bramley squeaked.

‘What?’

‘Oh dear . . .
oh dear
.’

‘What?
What?
’

‘They’re talking about us. Well, you, really. He’s telling Rawhead to hunt you down. He suspects you might be nearby, trying to find Hecate.’

‘We need to get into that castle,’ Hazel said, watching the witches and the woodsman disappear down Tower Road; Murrell, Lilith and Spindle were already halfway across the
drawbridge.

‘So what’s your plan?’

‘We follow Murrell and Lilith and hope they don’t see us.’

There was a clank as the drawbridge chains drew tight.

‘Quick,’ Bramley said. ‘They’re raising the bridge.’

Hazel launched herself across the courtyard, bag banging against her shoulder, arms pumping at her sides. Wood creaked as the drawbridge cleared the ground; the castle keep was closing its jaws.
She forced her tired legs to go faster, knowing she only had seconds before it was out of reach.

‘Go, go, go!’ Bramley squeaked.

Her lungs pumped like bellows and it felt as if her feet hardly touched the ground. Twenty paces away, ten paces, five . . .

Fearing it was already too high, Hazel jumped. The air whooshed from her chest as she collided with the end of the bridge. Legs kicking and too panicked to feel any pain, she clawed at the wood,
searching for something to grab hold of. Her fingers fumbled over a crack between the beams and, with a sideways swing, she managed to hook her leg over the end of the bridge and haul herself up.
But she wasn’t safe yet.

The bridge was nearly closed and in a few more seconds she’d be crushed between it and the stone tower. She looked down at the ever-steepening slope to the ground and, with only half a
breath’s hesitation, let herself roll. Everything spun, faster and faster, until she came to a bruised and gasping halt in a puddle of rainwater.

The drawbridge juddered shut with a clank of chains.

Hazel lay still, as water soaked into her clothes. Everything hurt: her ankle throbbed, her elbows were sore, and her head felt battered and woozy. But through it all she savoured the fierce joy
of victory: she was another step closer to her mother. ‘Bramley?’ she croaked.

He stirred in her hair. ‘I’m not speaking to you.’ ‘Fine,’ Hazel said, crawling behind a pile of barrels. ‘As long as you’re all right.’

‘I’m not all right.
That’s
why I’m not speaking to you.’ ‘Don’t be such a grump. We’re still alive, aren’t we?’ Rubbing her
skinned elbows, Hazel waited for the aches and pains to subside and her brain to start working again. As her eyes adjusted she peered through a gap between the barrels and saw she was in a
high-vaulted chamber with swords, spear tips and bits of armour lying in jumbled piles. A nearby door opened. Inside were iron cogs, pulleys and coils of chain.

The drawbridge mechanism
, she thought. Murrell and Lilith emerged holding flaming torches, followed by Spindle. They disappeared through a large door on the far side of the chamber. After
giving them a head start, Hazel tucked her hair behind her ears, pulled up her hood, and followed them. After peering around the door frame to ensure they were nowhere in sight, she crept into a
vaulted banqueting hall.

A long table lay upended in the middle of the floor. Plates, candelabras, discarded weapons and broken chairs lay strewn everywhere. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. A tapestry
hung forlornly over a fireplace, the once striking scene of jousting knights now engulfed in mould.

‘This must be where the final battle of the Witch War took place,’ Hazel whispered.

Lilith’s voice drifted from somewhere above. Floorboards creaked. Following the noise, Hazel headed for a sweeping staircase leading to a balcony overlooking the hall. Keeping her back to
the wall, she edged up the steps until she reached the top. A faint light glowed from one of the many doorways, reflecting on stone steps spiralling up into darkness.

‘Magic and demons are closely connected;

thus, all witches are tainted with evil.’

Witch Hunter Captain Daniel Abnett

T
hrough the door and up the stairs she went, quickly, quietly, not daring to use her magic for fear of giving herself away. Doorways gave out to
deserted corridors, home now only to shadows and dust. Wind whistled through narrow windows as she followed the light ever upward, until she thought her legs would give way beneath her.

After one more twist of the staircase she found herself in a small square room with arrow slits in the walls. A doorway led outside.

‘This must be where we saw the light shining from,’ Hazel said, padding over to the door. Outside lay the castle’s windswept battlements. Squat towers rose up from each corner.
The door leading inside the opposite tower was closed – and there was a crack of light showing at the bottom.

There they are,
Hazel thought.

Leaning into the buffeting wind, she skirted the edge of the roof until she reached the tower. Muffled voices came from inside.

‘Quick, get out of sight,’ Bramley squeaked from behind her ear. ‘They could come out any minute.’

‘Hush, mouse,’ Hazel said, pressing her ear to the door. ‘I’m trying to listen.’ She closed her eyes and concentrated. ‘It’s Murrell’s voice, but
I can’t hear what he’s saying.’ She leaned over the battlements. A little way away, light spilt from a window in the tower, and there was a narrow ledge against the outside wall
running right underneath it.