Fire Girl (14 page)

‘I know the danger Wielders could pose if driven

underground. I deem it wise to grant them

protection – that way I can control them.’

Charles Stuart, King of England, Scotland and Ireland, 1634

H
azel couldn’t tell what time it was when they eventually emerged from the forest into a clearing. Did the sunless gloom signify noon or
dusk? Bramley had fallen asleep in her cloak pocket some time ago and David could barely walk, let alone make conversation.

Hope welled up in her when she looked up the grassy slope and saw a cabin surrounded by a kitchen garden.

A cabin on a hill. This must be the place Titus talked about.

A path lined with beanpoles wound its way between vegetable patches full of spinach, cabbages and cauliflowers. The air smelt of wild garlic and the onions that grew in abundant clumps.

Hazel hefted David more securely under her arm. ‘Look, we’ve found somewhere to shelter.’

‘Thank g-goodness,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I c-can go on for m-much longer.’

They made their way up the path, Hazel willing her wobbling legs to cover the last few yards. The smell of herbs was so like that at home it made her heart ache. The cabin overlooked the garden
from under the sheltering arms of an oak tree. Ivy trailed from over the front door to the roof of a little outhouse built a few feet from the sidewall.

Hazel halted on the threshold. Disappointment swallowed her relief in one gulp. The cabin door swung on its hinges, no smoke rose from the chimney and the windows were dark.

‘Hello? Is anyone home?’ she called, pushing open the door and helping David inside. There was no answer.

The kitchen had a sink, an open fireplace and shelves crammed with glass jars and bottles. A saucepan and two cups sat on the table. Feeble light struggled through the windows and down a narrow
staircase leading to an attic room.

What a lonely place to live
, Hazel thought
. But with a fire it could be cosy
.

‘Deserted,’ David croaked as he lowered himself into a chair by the table.

‘It seems so. But someone was here not long ago, so they’ll probably be back soon. At least we can rest in the dry for a while.’ Hazel found a tinderbox and lit a candle. She
held it up to David’s face and gently lifted the bandage from his eye. Somehow she managed not to flinch from what she saw.

‘W-well?’ he said through chattering teeth. ‘How do I l-look?’

‘Well, the swelling’s gone down a bit.’ She didn’t mention how the puncture wounds in his neck and cheek were festering and going green. ‘How do you
feel?’

‘Sick. My eye burns. Can’t seem . . . to catch my breath.’

‘Let’s get you to bed. Come on.’ Hazel hoisted him to his feet.

‘I’m so cold.’ David said, leaning heavily on Hazel. ‘Cold as death.’

It took several exhausting minutes to get up the stairs, where they found a bedroom with an unmade truckle bed, a wardrobe and a fireplace full of ash. The floor was strewn with rushes. Hazel
set the candle down on the bedside table and lowered David on to the mattress. He twitched and moaned and drew in rattling breaths.

‘Here we are,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘I’ll just take off your coat and boots – then I can tuck you in.’

‘I’m n-not a child.’

‘Sorry,’ Hazel said. As she pulled off his boot, a pocket-sized pistol and a pouch of shot and gunpowder fell to the floor. She gingerly picked them up and put them on the bedside
table.

In the corner of the room was a jug of water and a bowl. The water looked fairly fresh so she soaked a cloth and began to wipe David’s brow.

‘Am I going to d-die here?’ he said. ‘So far from home?’

‘No, you’re not.’ Hazel squeezed out the cloth and dipped it back into the bowl. ‘Titus will come back for us, I know it.’

‘He’s d-dead already. The spider will g-get him.’ David lurched up, scrabbling at his throat. ‘I can feel its fangs,’ he cried. ‘Get them out!’

‘Hush,’ Hazel said, pushing him back on to the pillows. ‘It’s gone. You’re safe here. I’m going to look after you.’

David thrashed left and right, staring at something past her shoulder.

‘David, look at me,’ she said, struggling to hold him still. ‘Tell me about Titus. Where did you meet him?’

David went limp and Hazel felt some of his strength ebb away. ‘I d-didn’t meet him, I
found
him.’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘Drunk and p-penniless in a tavern
in Cirencester. A great d-disappointment to me.’

Hazel let go of his shoulders. ‘Why’s that?’

‘I grew up hearing tales about the g-great Titus White. I wanted to be a Witch Finder more than anything – all because of him.’

‘So Titus was famous?’

He frowned at her. ‘You’ve r-really never heard of him?’ His breath gurgled in his chest. ‘As s-soon as I came of age, and against my father’s wishes, I left home
to find the great Titus White and convince him to t-take me on as his apprentice. It took me nearly a year to track him down.’

The more David talked the calmer he became, so Hazel probed further. ‘Why was he so hard to find? What happened to him?’

‘I don’t know. Before the w-war he was feted, celebrated,
famous
. But afterwards, all I know – all
anyone
knows – is that he d-disappeared into a wine
bottle and never came out.’

‘What happened when you found him?’ Hazel asked.

‘I managed to cajole him into swearing me in as his apprentice. I hoped going b-back on the road as a Witch Finder would give him a new lease of life. I wanted to learn from him, from the
b-best. But without a Witch Hunter’s licence we couldn’t get much work, and Titus drank away what little we earned.’ He sighed. ‘Look where all my grand plans have g-got me.
A poor end for the son of a d-duke, don’t you think?’

‘You’re not going to die,’ Hazel said, taking his hand and squeezing. ‘I won’t let you.’

‘Everyone dies,’ David muttered. ‘You, me . . . everyone.’ His eye fluttered closed and he fell asleep.

Hazel pulled the blanket up to his neck, staring at his white face and the rotten flesh around the bandage.

‘I need to treat his wounds,’ she muttered as she hurried downstairs.

‘What’s going on?’ yawned Bramley, crawling out from her hair.

‘Oh, you’ve decided to wake up, have you?’

‘We mice need a lot of sleep,’ he said. ‘How’s the boy?’

‘Sick. Very sick. A poultice of some kind might help to draw out the poison. I’ll need a piece of cloth, er . . . some bran and some linseed . . . ?’ She squeezed her eyes shut
in frustration. ‘If only I’d paid more attention when Ma was going on about medicines.’

‘There’s no point moaning,’ Bramley said. ‘You’ll have to make do with what you know.’

A frantic search of the cupboards and shelves failed to produce the ingredients Hazel needed. ‘There’s nothing here,’ she said, sitting down. ‘David’s dying and I
can’t help him.’ She slammed her fist on to the table, rattling the cups.

Bramley scampered down her arm and pointed a tiny claw at her. ‘Now listen – we’re not beaten yet. That boy needs help, not tears, so buck up and think of a plan.’

Hazel took a shaky breath. ‘You’re right, Bram. I’m just so tired of being afraid all the time.’

‘We just need to hang on until the old man finds us,’ Bramley said. ‘Seems odd tobe telling a witch that everything is going to be all right when the Witch Finder turns up . .
.’

Hazel groaned.

‘Now, what’s the plan?’

‘I’ll take a look in that outhouse. Who knows?’ she said, brightening a little. ‘It might be filled to bursting with medicine, pies and apples.’ She shrugged off
her wet cloak and draped it over a chair. ‘You wait here. Come and fetch me if David calls out.’

‘I’ll guard the cabin until you get back,’ Bramley said, puffing out his chest. ‘But don’t be long.’

‘I won’t. And don’t fall asleep.’

‘As if I’d do such a thing!’

Hazel opened the crooked outhouse door and poked her head into a windowless room stacked with barrels and bulging sacks of vegetables. A brace of rabbits hung head down from
the ceiling, black eyes staring.

I’m glad I left Bram behind
, she thought, filling a basket with some vegetables and a small bag of bran for the poultice.
I wouldn’t want him to see them.

She was about to leave when she saw a doll made of straw hanging from a nail in the wall. Its head was covered with a piece of cloth tied around the neck.

That’ll do as kindling
, Hazel thought as she unhooked it and put it in her basket
.

In the darkness of the storeroom, she didn’t notice the twisted symbols scored on the inside of the door, or the doll twitch like a living thing the moment she crossed the threshold.

When prosecuting a witch, Witch Hunters are encouraged

to use fear and intimidation to extract information.

Amendment to the Witch Laws, 1653

B
y the time Hazel returned to the kitchen with her ingredients, Bramley had curled up in a teacup and fallen asleep again.

I knew it!
she thought.
Lazy little fur-ball.

Leaving him to his mousy dreams, she set to work making up the poultice and chopping vegetables. The smell of the onions and garlic made her realize how hungry she was.

I’ll cook the soup in the bedroom,
she thought, picking up the pan and climbing the stairs.
The smell of food might revive David.

When she entered the bedroom David was moaning in his sleep and gripping the blanket with white-knuckled fists. Hazel knelt by the fireplace, sick with a feeling of guilt and responsibility. She
laid the doll on the ash pile, placed a few logs around it and was about to strike the tinderbox when something made her stop. She stared at the doll, with its outstretched arms and blank face.

What a strange thing you are,
she thought, pulling it out and tucking it into her belt.
It feels wrong to burn you. Besides
,
I’m a Fire Witch – I don’t need
kindling.

After checking to ensure that David was still asleep, she concentrated on the magic flickering like a lantern inside her.
I have to learn how to cast my magic properly, to control it.

She closed her eyes, concentrating hard to draw a tiny quantity of magic from her heart, and pushed the tickling warmth down her arms. Tongues of flame licked the skin on the back of her hands,
and with a deft flick she sent a sizzling burst of magic into the grate. A delighted yelp of laughter escaped her as flames caught under the logs. They crackled and snapped, warming her face.

I did it
, she thought, rubbing her tingling fingers together.
I’m learning how to control it.
Enjoying the heat –
her
heat! – she hung the pan over the
fire.

‘What did you just do? How did you m-make that fire?’

Hazel’s heart crawled into her throat. It was David’s voice. She turned round, cursing herself for her recklessness. David was sitting bolt upright in bed, his uncovered eye staring
at her wildly.