Witch Hunter (32 page)

‘Oh,’ I whisper. I’m surprised at how weak my voice

sounds. ‘Were you out all night, too?’

‘We’ve been looking for you,’ George says. He can’t tear

his eyes away from my stomach, from the blood that drips

onto Humbert’s pristine black-and-white floors. Then he

looks at Fifer, at the sword dangling from her hand. ‘Did

you do that?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snaps. We take another step

forward and I stumble. ‘John, help her.’

John steps forward and scoops me up in his arms.

‘Take her to the dining room,’ Humbert instructs. Dimly,

I hear him call out to Bridget. She rushes over, and John

quickly rattles off the things he needs. I don’t really listen.

Can’t he do whatever he needs to do upstairs, so I can sleep?

I’m so tired. I lean my head against his chest and close my

eyes. He smells like outside. Leaves and cold, crisp air.

‘Bring me whatever sewing needles you have, and a spool

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of your strongest thread. No, I don’t care what colour,’ he

adds. He carries me into the dining room, Fifer and George

on his heels.

‘You’re going to sew my dress back together?’ I open one

eye and squint up at him. ‘That’s nice of you.’

‘No. I’m going to sew your skin back together.’

‘What?’ Fifer and I exchange a frantic glance. My injury

is right above my stigma. If John tries to help me, he’ll see

it. I can feel the heat of it blazing into my skin, still trying to

heal me. ‘No. You can’t.’

‘I have to,’ he says.

‘No, you don’t. Just put me down. I’ll be fine.’ I start

struggling in his arms. But the pain is so intense it makes

me gasp.

‘Stop moving,’ he orders. ‘You’re making it worse.’

In the dining room, John lays me on the table, now

covered in a clean white sheet, and then shrugs out of his

heavy black coat. Bridget rushes around, carrying trays of

things and setting them out for him. Fifer and George hover

behind her, identical expressions of fear on their faces.

‘No,’ I say again. ‘You can’t do this.’ I roll to my side, try

to get away from him. But John pins my shoulders to the

table and leans over me. His face is inches from mine.

‘If you don’t let me do this, you will bleed to death,’ he

whispers. ‘Do you understand me?’ I look into his dark eyes

and I can see fear there, lurking just beneath the surface.

And I know he’s telling the truth.

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I let out a shaky breath. ‘Okay. But there’s something I

need to tell you.’

‘Tell me later.’ John grabs a bottle of spirits off the table,

then pulls back the frayed edges of silk from my gory

midsection. ‘This might sting a bit,’ he says. Then he dumps

the clear, cold liquid all over my stomach.

The pain is sharp and penetrating. I stifle a groan, biting

my lip so hard I taste blood. He presses a clean cloth to my

side and begins cleaning away the dirt and blood. Any

second he’s going to see my stigma.

I glance at Fifer. She holds my gaze for a moment, a look

of resignation crossing her face. Then she nods.

‘John.’ She walks forward and touches his sleeve.

‘Fifer, please. Not now.’ He lifts up the cloth.

‘I need to tell you something.’

‘Fifer, I told you—’ He glances at my stomach. Frowns.

Peers in closer. Then he sucks in a sudden, sharp breath. I

don’t need to look to know what he sees: a black XIII scrawled

across my abdomen, burning bright against my pale skin.

John stumbles away from the table, his eyes wide, the

colour draining from his face.

‘That’s a…you’re a…’ He can’t bring himself to say it.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but

nothing comes out. I start to reach for him, then think

better of it.

‘I’m sorry,’ Fifer says softly. ‘You weren’t supposed

to know.’

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John doesn’t reply.

‘None of us were,’ George adds. ‘It was Nicholas’s order.

Fifer and I only found out by accident.’

John still doesn’t reply. He just stands there, staring

unseeing at the floor in front of him. An interminable

silence passes, and I wonder for a moment if he’s just going

to walk away. Leave the room and let me bleed to death.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Fifer says. ‘But she’s not

like the others. She saved my life tonight.’ She quickly

fills them in about our run-in with the guards. ‘If she hadn’t

been there, they would have taken me in. Or killed me.

Or worse.’

I stare at her, shocked by her words, by her defence

of me.

‘And she knows where the tablet is,’ Fifer continues.

‘She does?’ Humbert and George say at once.

George steps up beside me. ‘Where is it?’

‘It’s – ah.’ A bolt of pain shoots through me, making me

gasp. ‘It’s at Blackwell’s.’

‘What?’ Humbert looks stunned. ‘How is that possible?’

I open my mouth again, groan in pain again.

‘She can tell you about it later,’ Fifer says. ‘But she can’t

if she’s dead.’ She looks at John. But he’s looking at me now,

his jaw clenched, a flush of anger colouring his cheeks. Eyes

so dark they’re almost black.

‘Hand me the needle and thread.’

George lets out a small sigh of relief.

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Bridget steps beside John, looking apologetic. ‘I tried to

thread it myself but my hands were shaking too hard. I

don’t take to the sight of blood too well.’ She presses the

needle and thread into his hand, then quickly moves away

from the table, as if I’m going to jump off it and attack her.

John threads the needle without hesitation, as if he’s

done it a thousand times, pulling it through and tying the

ends together in a tight knot. I see the slightest tremor in

his hands. If I hadn’t already seen how steady they can be, I

might not have noticed. Without a word, he picks up the

bottle of spirits again and offers it to me.

I take two huge swallows. The sharp, strong liquid

burns my mouth and throat. I shudder as it hits my empty,

roiling stomach.

John holds the needle up, a long length of thread trailing

behind it. Green. The same shade as the knight in his tomb.

I close my eyes just as the sharp needle penetrates

my flesh.

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My eyes flutter open. John is leaning over me, his palms

spread across the table, his head bowed. I must have passed

out for a moment, but I don’t think he noticed. I can hear

him breathing: long, slow, deep breaths, as if he’s fighting to

control them.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. My voice weak and hoarse, but I need

to say it. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He jerks his head up. Snatches the spool of thread off the

table, hurls it across the room. It hits the wall and clatters to

the floor. Then he spins on his heel and storms away.

George starts after him, but Fifer grabs his sleeve.

‘Let it go,’ she says. ‘Just – let him be.’

Fifer and George turn to me, and Humbert steps up

beside them. They stand over me, watching me, silent. I feel

vulnerable, lying here like this. My dress in tatters, my

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stomach exposed, my secret exposed. I’m trembling from

cold and fear and loss of blood and a hundred other things

I’m too weary to contemplate. But I need to tell them about

the tablet. I need to tell them I have no idea how I’m going

to destroy it. And I need to tell them about Blackwell.

‘The tablet,’ I start.

‘Is it really at Blackwell’s?’ George says.

I nod.

‘That’s a very serious accusation.’ Humbert frowns.

‘I’ve known Blackwell a long time. He’s capable of some

unpleasant things, certainly. And he certainly has reason to

get rid of Nicholas. But breaking his nephew’s rules to do it,

the rules he himself created…are you absolutely sure?’

‘Yes.’ I take a deep breath – hard to do without making

my stitches hurt – and look at them each in turn. ‘There’s

something else you should know about him, too.’

‘What?’ It’s Fifer who speaks. ‘What is it?’

‘Blackwell is a wizard.’

The words seem to change as they leave my mouth.

They shift and grow into monsters of their own, a hybrid

of fear and truth and horror and lies: reaching, grabbing,

shaking, shrieking. The others, they don’t speak. They

don’t move. They just stand there, allowing themselves

to be devoured.

‘Nicholas… I think he suspected it for a while,’ I

continue. ‘And after what happened at Veda’s, after she told

him what I was, after I told him all the things I’d done, the

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things I did…’ I pause, swallowing back the lump in my

throat. ‘He knew.’

Then I tell them everything.

I tell them about Caleb. About my training, about my

final test at Blackwell’s. How they took us one by one into

the darkness, maybe to live, maybe to die. How Guildford

marched me into the woods and into the tomb, where

Blackwell tried to bury me alive with my own fear.

‘After it was over, after the dirt receded and the tomb

righted itself, it was already morning. I saw the light coming

in through the edges of that door, and I remember thinking

it looked different. That it didn’t look like the same door as

before. It wasn’t wooden at all, but stone. But I didn’t think

it mattered. All that mattered was getting out.’ I take

another breath. ‘Finally, Guildford came and got me. My

eyes were shut. I was still singing. Still curled up in a ball. I

wasn’t in my right mind.’

‘Just like at Veda’s,’ George whispers at last. His eyes are

as round as trenchers. Fifer’s face is vellum pale, and she

goes a long time without blinking.

I nod. ‘As we left, I opened my eyes to take one last look.

I don’t know why. Maybe I wanted to see where I almost

died, maybe I wanted proof I was still alive. But when I

opened my eyes, I saw it. It was the Thirteenth Tablet.’

Fifer sucks in a breath.

‘Of course, I didn’t realise it was the Thirteenth Tablet

until we had the sword and I saw the Green Knight’s tomb.

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I didn’t know you could dispose of curse tablets in tombs,

not until Fifer told me…’ I shiver. ‘But now I know. And if

I’m going to destroy it, I have to go back into the tomb at

Blackwell’s to get it.’

‘How are you going to do that?’ George says. ‘Blackwell

has more protection on his house than is on the king’s.

Guards, gates, a moat, and that’s just to get to the main

entrance. Inside, he’s got archers stationed in towers around

the clock. They don’t fire warning shots.’

Humbert sinks into a chair. He seems to deflate before

my eyes: his face sagging, his posture sagging, the shock

setting in.

‘I thought you were a witch,’ he whispers. It’s a surprise

to hear him speak in anything less than a shout. ‘Nicholas

said you had herbs, and I just assumed…’ He trails off,

shaking his head.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘No one was supposed to know.

Nicholas thought it was better that way.’

Humbert considers it, then nods. ‘I understand the need

for deception. I should; I live a life of it. Distasteful, perhaps.

But necessary.’

He motions to Bridget. She’s hovering in the doorway,

watching us, eyes wide.

‘Please prepare a bath for Elizabeth, some food and

clean clothing.’ He turns back to me. ‘We need to get

you on the mend. Then we can figure out how to get you

inside Blackwell’s.’

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George helps me to sit, and Fifer wraps a blanket around

my shoulders. We make our way down the hall, up the

stairs, into my room. John is gone, nowhere to be seen. I

saw the look on his face, when he realised what I am. He

probably never wants to set eyes on me again.

After Bridget finishes the bath, she and George excuse

themselves. Fifer helps me undress and I slip into the

hot, fragrant water. And immediately, embarrassingly,

I start to cry.

I’m weak. I’m tired. I’m injured. I’m confused. I’m

ashamed of what I’ve done, afraid of what I’ve got to do.

I am what I always feared I’d be: alone. I’m going into that

tomb alone; I’m going to die alone. This is what Nicholas

knew, what he didn’t want to tell me. He didn’t have to.

Because deep down, I knew it, too.

‘You’re not going to die,’ Fifer says quietly. She’s kneeling

next to the bathtub, her hands gripping the edges. Watching

me. ‘I know that’s what you think. But you aren’t. I’ve read

the prophecy a thousand times. It sounds bad – I know that.

But you aren’t going to die.’