Witch Hunter (4 page)

Joe fancies himself an ale connoisseur, and each week he

brews up different concoctions to try on his clientele, with

varying results. Last week’s brew, infused with the essence

of roasted pig, was the worst to date. ‘Why eat supper when

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you can drink it?’ he’d asked. Today’s has a hint of rosemary

– and something else I can’t quite place.

‘What is that?’ I say. ‘Liquorice?’

Joe snorts. ‘Not quite. I hope you two don’t have much

to do today.’

We spot Marcus and Linus sitting at our usual table in

the back and make our way to them. Caleb reaches around

me to pull out a chair, and I flush with pleasure, thinking

it’s for me, until he slides past me and sits down. I stand

there for a moment, feeling foolish. Then I pull out my own

chair and sit down.

‘What happened to you?’ Marcus gestures at me with

his glass.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You look like the dead.’ He wrinkles his nose. ‘You

smell like it, too. Did you arrest the necromancers before or

after they killed you and dug you back up?’ Marcus laughs

at his own bad joke, and Linus joins in.

‘Maybe if you cared less about the way I look and

more about catching witches, you might be half as good as

me,’ I snap.

Caleb laughs at this, but Marcus glares at me and mouths

a filthy insult. I ignore him. But when he turns away,

I quickly smooth my hair and tuck it behind my ears.

I wince as a chunk of bloodied flesh falls from my hair

into my lap.

‘She was incredible. Her best arrest yet.’ Caleb lifts his

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goblet in a toast to me, but the other boys don’t join in. Of

course not. Linus hasn’t spoken to me since the summer,

after he cornered me in the palace gardens and tried to

kiss me and got a punch in the face for his efforts.

And Marcus…well, Marcus has never liked me. Tall,

black-haired, and brutish, he never expected to find

competition in someone like me: short, blond, and girlish.

Even still, Caleb doesn’t seem to realise that the more he

boasts of my success, the more the others grow to hate me.

Besides, today’s arrest was hardly something to boast about.

I consider joining Joe back at the bar when Linus says

something that stops me.

‘We were just talking about the Yuletide masque,’ he

says to Caleb. ‘Have you decided who you’re taking yet?’

Caleb smiles and takes a sip of ale. ‘Maybe.’

Maybe? My stomach twists into a hopeful little knot.

Marcus whoops. ‘Who is it?’

‘I’ll tell you after I ask her.’

‘It’s Cecily Mowbray, isn’t it?’ Marcus says.

‘No, it’s Katherine Willoughby,’ Linus says. ‘I saw them

together last weekend.’

Caleb laughs. ‘We’re just friends.’

Friends? I think. Since when? Cecily is the daughter

of an earl, and Katherine is a viscount’s daughter. They’re

both ladies-in-waiting to Queen Margaret, both terribly

snobbish, both terribly beautiful. Especially Katherine.

Tall, dark-haired, and sophisticated, she’s the kind of girl

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who wears gowns instead of trousers, jewellery instead of

weaponry, who smells like roses instead of rot.

‘You looked more than friends to me,’ Linus replies.

‘Unless you go around kissing all your friends,’ he

adds, smirking.

I know this bit of spite is aimed at me. Right after I

punched Linus, he accused me of liking Caleb. I denied it,

but I guess he didn’t believe me.

‘Ah.’ Caleb scratches the back of his neck, and I’m

shocked to see his ears turn pink. I’ve never seen Caleb

blush before. ‘I guess my secret is out then.’

Something inside me goes flat.

Marcus and Linus start laughing and teasing Caleb, but I

don’t pay attention. Caleb and Katherine Willoughby?

How is that possible? I know Caleb is ambitious, but he’s

always hated people like Katherine. People who were

given everything, people who never had to fight for what

they wanted, as he did.

I guess he changed his mind.

I’m so lost in my thoughts I don’t notice the other boys

getting up until Caleb is standing above me.

‘We’re going back to the palace,’ he says. ‘To visit the

queen’s rooms. There’s supposed to be dancing later.’

I shrug. I’d rather not think about Caleb dancing with

Katherine Willoughby. Caleb doesn’t even like dancing.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Stay here,’ I say. ‘Listen to music. Drink ale.’

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Caleb raises his eyebrows. ‘Why? It’s awful.’

‘I like it.’ But he’s right. It is awful. It’s heavy and flat and

has a strange metallic taste that burns my throat when I

swallow. Though it’s nothing compared with the churning

in my stomach and the terrible prickling behind my eyes,

the kind I get when I’m about to cry.

‘Okay.’ He frowns. ‘But be careful with it. It feels a little

strong, and—’

‘I’ll be fine.’ I wave him off. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘I always worry about you,’ he says. But then he leaves. I

watch him go, wishing more than anything I was the kind

of girl who could make him stay.

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I move from the table to a plush chair near the fireplace and

order lunch – some bread and cheese and more of Joe’s

funny green ale. The burning sensation has gone away, and

it’s starting to taste pretty good. The other patrons seem to

think so, too; they’re downing it by the bucketful and are

louder and more boisterous than usual.

I have no idea how long I’ve been here until a man at the

bar stumbles to stand, knocks his stool to the floor, and

starts retching. He bolts for the door, and when he flings it

open, it’s pitch black outside.

Have I really been here all day? It seems like only a

couple of hours. I guess I should go back to the palace,

but there’s nothing waiting for me there. At least nothing

good. Another ale sounds like a much better idea. I jump

to my feet.

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Big mistake. The world starts to spin – fast. I reach out to

steady myself, but as I place my hand on the wall, it

disappears. Not the wall, my hand. Into the stone, right up

to my wrist.

Fascinating.

I pull my hand out of the wall, then stick it back again.

Over and over again, until someone speaks up.

‘Something wrong with your hand, love?’

I turn around. The voice belongs to the man sitting

across from me, his face hidden in a veil of smoke.

‘Yes. No. I don’t know. Only…hands don’t usually

disappear into walls, do they?’ Through the fog in my head,

I know I’m not making any sense. I start laughing.

The smoke lifts to reveal the man’s face: curly black hair,

short black beard. A long, curved pipe dangles from his

mouth. It has a wooden stem and a white bowl carved into

the shape of a dog’s head. He speaks without taking it out.

‘You’re a little young to be drinking that stuff,

aren’t you?’

I laugh even harder. I’ve been on my own for so long

that it seems absurd for someone to question my behaviour.

Especially when that someone is a pirate. I can tell by his

pipe. Only well-travelled men, like pirates or the wealthy,

own pipes like his. The rest make do with ordinary ones.

Besides, the wealthy don’t hang out in taverns like this.

Which leaves pirates.

I stare at his pipe as it bobs up and down, then give a

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start when it transforms into a giant black snake. It slithers

out of his mouth and winds itself around his neck. The

pirate continues, seemingly oblivious to the enormous

snake wrapping itself around his head.

‘I wouldn’t let my son drink this, and he’s older than

you. You can’t be more than, what, fourteen?’

‘Sixteen. Watch it!’

I reach forward and smack the pirate square in the

mouth, knocking the snake to the floor. It lies there, coiling

and shuddering, then bursts into a rainbow.

‘Pretty.’ I wave my hands, trying to catch the ribbons of

light spiralling in front of me. A chorus of voices fills the

room then – they’re coming from the rainbow. ‘Listen. Can

you hear that? The rainbow is singing!’ I open my mouth

and sing along with it. ‘Greensleeves, la-la-la who but my

Lady Greeeensleeeeves…’

‘God’s blood, you’re a mess,’ the pirate mutters.

He picks his pipe off the ground and tucks it inside his

cape, then he takes me by the arm and leads me to the door.

I take offence to this. He really shouldn’t be touching me,

him a pirate and me a young girl and all. And I definitely

shouldn’t be letting a strange man lead me outside and to

God knows where. But I can’t seem to stop singing long

enough to tell him this.

‘Why don’t we get you some air?’ he says.

‘There’s air in here. I can see it! It’s pink. Did you know

air was pink?’ I babble away, looking up at the pirate as he

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guides me out into the now-crowded alley. He’s really tall.

‘What’s your name?’

‘I’m Peter.’ He turns away from me. ‘George, there you

are. Thanks for coming so fast. So? What do you think?’

‘Nice to meet you, Peter George. I’m Elizabeth Grey.

Do you see the stars, Peter George? They’re spelling your

name in the sky. P-E-T…’ I jab my finger at the twinkling

lights that dance in front of my eyes. They’re so close I can

almost touch them.

‘Aye, that’s her,’ comes a voice in my ear.

I jump and give a little shriek. There’s a boy standing

next to me. Where did he come from? He’s looking me up

and down, and I stare back. Dark brown hair, light blue

eyes. He’s dressed well enough, in a green cloak, blue

trousers, black boots. Something about him looks so

familiar, but I can’t seem to place it. I open my mouth to

ask him, but instead start giggling.

‘She drunk?’ the boy asks.

‘Roaring, and then some,’ Peter George says. ‘Absinthe.

Damned Joe, put it in the ale and didn’t bother telling

her. She’s too young to be messing with that stuff. But,

you’re sure?’

Absinthe! So that’s why the ale was green. I’ve seen

courtiers drink absinthe and get a little crazy afterwards.

Good thing it doesn’t have that effect on me.

‘She’s a bit haggard at the moment, but it’s definitely

her,’ the boy says. ‘Think she’s in any condition to talk?’

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‘I can talk,’ I blurt. ‘See, look. I’m doing it right now.

I like to talk.’ This isn’t true, really, unless I’m with Caleb

or I’ve had too much to drink. Then Joe says I talk ten to

the dozen, which is his way of saying a lot.

Peter George and the boy look at each other.

‘Fine. Let’s get her somewhere less crowded, see what we

can get out of her.’

The boy loops his arm through mine and guides me down

Kingshead Alley and through a series of streets towards the

river. I notice they take the long way, avoiding Tyburn.

‘We’re just going to help you back to the palace and have

a little chat on the way,’ the boy says. ‘If you don’t mind.’

‘Pinwheels,’ I reply, stumbling on a rock.

‘That so?’ He steadies me. ‘I don’t see any, but I’ll take

your word for it.’

‘No, your eyes. They spin like pinwheels. What’s your

name again?’

‘George.’

‘Funny. That other man is a George, too. Peter George—

whoops!’ I trip over the hem of my cloak and tumble to

the ground.

‘No, he’s just Peter. I’m George. Here, let me help

you up.’ He pulls me to my feet and I notice we’re the

same height.

‘You’re awfully short,’ I say.

‘Short? Not me! Maybe you’re the short one. Ever think

about that?’

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I consider it. ‘My God, you’re right. You must be

very clever.’

George cracks a laugh. ‘If only everyone was this easy

to convince.’

Just Peter comes over, grips my shoulders, and peers

down at me, forcing me to look at him.

‘George says you live at the palace?’ he says.

I nod.

‘What exactly do you do there?’

‘I’m a maid.’ The lie rolls easily enough off my tongue.

I used to be a maid, I still sleep with the maids, sometimes I

wish I still were a maid.

‘A maid?’ He blinks in surprise. ‘What kind? Chamber?

Ladies?’

‘Scullery.’

I can’t help but notice he looks disappointed. ‘For

how long?’

‘Since I was nine.’

‘Nine?’ He frowns. ‘Where are your parents?’