SEVERED (A Tale of Sleepy Hollow) (28 page)

He stepped closer
and held up the burnt rose. “Where’s the rest of ‘em?”

Those beads could
be what saved me, but not by handing them over. “I’ve lost them all.”

He rolled the
small rose between his thumb and forefinger. “Is that right?”

“You didn’t find
the others at the schoolhouse?” My cracking voice betrayed me.

He pressed his
face to the bars. “Katrina, liars go to Hell the same as thieves.” He licked
his lips. “And old Lucifer keeps the pretty ones for himself.”

“I’m not lying to
you, Peter. I don’t have them.” The one truthful statement.

“You’ve got ‘em
all right. The bracelet and the necklace.”

Necklace?
Was
that the final portion of the payment Marten had set aside? “I didn’t know
there was a necklace.”

He slammed the
heel of his palm against the bar. “Tell me where they are!”

“Oh for God’s
sake, why are you so eager to have that cheap jewelry?”

“Cheap? Oh,
Katrina, you’re so naïve.” He kept his eyes on me as he placed the blacked bead
between his teeth. There was a soft snap as he bit down, shattering it. He spit
the crumbs into his hand. “I wouldn’t call this cheap.” He reached within the
fragments and plucked up a gem. Even in the shadows it sparkled.

My mouth dropped.
“A sapphire?”

“No, missy.” He
held it toward the candle flame. “This here’s a blue diamond. And there’s five
more of ‘em that were on that bracelet.”

Why hadn’t Marten
told me? I would’ve been more careful.

“But,” Peter said,
admiring the jewel, “those are nothing compared to ones in the necklace.
Together, almost ten carats.”

Ten carats? My
mind spun. How did Marten acquire such precious gems?

“Now, as I see
it,” Peter continued, “those diamonds are rightfully mine. Payment for the
money I loaned Marten for his ship. Especially now that the mangled thing’s
kissing the bottom of the sea.”

That explained how
Marten got the money for the boat…but the jewels? I turned it over and over in
my head. “I don’t understand. How did Marten acquire those diamonds?”

Peter considered
it for a moment, then threw out a cackle that echoed off the walls. “Oh…poor
Katrina. Poor stupid Katrina. You still thought Marten was a fisherman.”

“He was a
fisherman.”

Peter’s face went
dead cold. “He was a bloody smuggler, you ignorant dolt. Half the village
already knew it. Guess you were too busy counting your money to notice.”

I dropped onto the
creaky chair and dug my nails into the raw wood. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t care if
you believe me,” he said. “The truth’s the truth. And the truth is, I’m owed
about ten carats of blue diamonds. Now tell me where they are.”

“Why?” I asked,
raising my eyes to his. “Even if I had them, why would I turn them over to
you?” He certainly had no means to free me.

He gritted his
teeth. “To keep me from ripping your hair out one fist-wad at a time.”

I was confident
that he didn’t have the key, or he would’ve already been in. “If that would
give you satisfaction, then go ahead. But I can’t give up something I don’t
have.”

He kicked the
bars. “I will find them!” He nodded toward the bloody stain on his shoulder.
“And then you’ll pay for what you done to me.”

He sprang away and
slammed out the door.

I settled back, my
breath filling my lungs once again. My hands still trembled, but my mind was on
preservation. I didn’t know how Marten had stolen ten carats of blue diamonds,
but if Peter thought I had them, there may be nothing to stop him from making
his way into this cell. And how would I defend myself?

I cast my gaze
back to the chip on the empty pitcher. One breakable piece could be a sharp
enough weapon. I took the pitcher over to the mattress and laid it sideways
underneath. With my palms pressed to the wall, I stamped down hard, feeling it
give way with a muffled pop. When I raised the mattress, many of the broken
pieces came up with it. But they were small and probably wouldn’t work their
way to the top. I swept the crumbs and shards with the toe of my shoe. Most of
the pieces would cut me if I gripped them. But the handle had broken at the
chip, causing the end to jut upward into a sloping point. I picked it up,
gripping it like a knife. I could easily drive it into his rum-swollen belly.

Brushing the rest
of the shards into the corner, I covered them with the edge of the mattress.
Then I sat and imagined all the ways my new weapon could protect me.

* *
*

I don’t know which hour sleep took
me. Other than the rasps of my breathing, the room was void of sound. I tried
not to think on what this night should’ve been – me lying awake, heart pulsing,
filled with both joy and apprehension. It would’ve stretched long from my yearning
for the hour Ichabod and I would slip away. Not this aching weariness. Not this
burdensome dread.

My black mood
eventually drew me into slumber. I briefly awoke before daylight and
instinctively knew. This is the hour Ichabod and I should be stealing away. Is
he awake too?

Where are you?

Eventually I dozed
again, only to be awakened by Fallon. “Brought your rations.”

He held out a
wedge of bread and a half-filled cup of water. The bread had several bites
taken from it, and the water most likely contained a dollop of his spit.

“Don’t you ever go
home?” I asked, contemptuous.

“Of course. I
slept like a newborn babe.” He placed the cup on the floor, then dropped the
bread next to it. “And so you’ll know, they have two guards on you at night,
while I’m gone.”

I turned away from
him, refusing to pick up the food while he was there.

“Enjoy your meal,”
he spat. “You only have a few left before you hang.”

I ate what I could
swallow, avoiding the bits that had been near his diseased mouth. It would be
hours yet before Leta would come.

Though my small
window was tightly closed, I could hear the noises of the Hollow outside –
carts, crows, villagers passing. Sounds I’d heard all my life, but never as
sharply as this.

Just at noon, a
walnut sailed up and tapped the window. I climbed onto the chair and opened the
pane. Leta stood, head tilted, staring up. She pinched her nose to block out
the alley’s ghastly smell. “Miss Katrina,” she called in a hushed nasally tone.

I gripped the icy
cold bars and peered down. “Do you have news from my father?”

She kept her voice
low, shifting her eyes in worry. “Not yet.” She tossed up a small pouch. Inside
was a hunk of cheese and some cranberries. “I’m sorry it ain’t a meat pie.”

“No, this is
good,” I said. “I need to keep up my strength.”

“Do you have any
messages for me to take?”

Should I have
written to the doctor about my visit from Peter?
“Not today, Leta.”

She bobbed her
head up and down. “Then I better go back before they catch me.” She was ready
to dart away.

“Leta,” I called
before she disappeared.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you know if
there’s any word from Mr. Crane?”

She shrugged, her
shoulders rising nearly to her ears. “I don’t know nothing about him.”

Did I honestly
expect her to? “Then hurry, before you’re discovered.”

She cupped her
hands to her mouth and whispered up, “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Thank you so very
much.”

Once again, I was
all alone. I stood a bit longer, staring at the remote alley. But the frigid
air and stench of spoiled meat quickly forced me to shut the window tight.

I set about
pacing, pondering my fate. When Fallon comes in, I’d find a clever way to
interrogate him, to learn what the Council was up to.
An empty head is
easily manipulated.

I also held hope
that Father would return soon to procure my release. Though all his wealth may
not be enough for the bail that was likely set for me. I’d assuredly be locked
in here throughout my trial. Had the Magistrate even set a date?

More and more
questions plagued me. At times the anxiety was so overpowering, I thought I’d
crawl out of my skin. But mid-afternoon, I heard muffled noises outside the
jail room. One of those questions was finally answered.

A key clicked and
the door slowly opened. I heard the Magistrate moan, “One minute. That’s all.”
Then my eyes fell on the one person who could most uplift me during this
perilous time.

“Ichabod!”

Tears sprang as I
raced to the edge of the cell, extending my arms through the bars. “Ichabod,
I’ve been so worried.”

But he didn’t rush
to hold me. He stayed in the corner, limp and leaning, his gaze cast to the
floor. His hands restlessly clenched and unclenched, in a gesture of utter
despair.

“Ichabod!” I
reached as far as I could, but he shied back. “Ichabod, what’s wrong?”

Several aching
heartbeats later, he brought his face up. There was no mistaking his condition
– disheveled hair, crumpled clothes, his mood rueful and despondent.

“Ichabod, what
have they done to you?”

His green eyes,
now mossy and red, looked upon me with sorrow and gloom. Amid a hopeless sigh he
asked, “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

He took a long,
labored breath. “Their accusations?”

Panic washed over
me and I gripped the bars tight. “How can you even ask me that?”

His eyes welled
with tears. “How can I not?”

“Ichabod, believe
me, our love is genuine.” I reached out for him again, but he made no move
toward me.

“Katrina…” – he
lingered on my name – “I’ve loved you from the second I saw you. I’ve thought
of little else.”

Desperation seized
me. “My darling, you must believe me. I’m not a witch.”

He slumped against
the wall. “The torment of being apart from you…”

“No!” I could not
stretch myself any farther. “It’s not the same as Hartford. I promise you. You
must believe me. I am not a witch.” Hot tears rolled to my neck.

“What proof do I
have?”

“What proof?
You.
You are the proof!” I clutched the bars in desperation. “Look at yourself.
Had I truly bewitched you, you would be the feral beast you’d become before.
You would already have stolen the key and opened this cell.”

He threw his head
back against the wall. There was no mistaking his agony and struggle. He rubbed
his eyes with the heels of his hands.

I had to somehow
convince him. “Is it really so hard to believe that I’m innocent? That our love
is natural?”

“I want to believe
it,” he murmured.

“Then do. Please,
let me touch you.”

He took several
deep breaths, then stood erect, never once meeting my eye. “I have to go.”

“Ichabod! No! You
must help me.”

He coursed his
trembling fingers through his hair. “I need to think.”

“There is no time
to think. They will hang me.”

He turned away,
reaching for the door.

“Please, please,”
I begged. “you must believe me. I am not her.” I sank to the floor, sobbing.
And though he’d already slipped out, I whispered, “I am not Victoria.”

* *
*

The glow of the candle cast devils
around me. They climbed the walls and crept along the floor. Their glares
reflected in the window, and they fed on my despair. I stared at the stygian
shadows, not blinking…waiting for these demons to devour me.

I did not stir
when the door opened. Fallon skulked in with bread and water. The creases in
his scowl ran deep. “Where’s your Father?”

Even if I’d known,
I didn’t have the will to answer.

He kicked the
bars, sloshing water from the cup. “He said he’d be back tonight.”

I remained still.

“Answer me,
witch!”

I finally drew a
breath. “Why do you care?”

“I like the toll
he pays.”

I shifted my eyes
to him. “This is why you’re such an imbecile. If you had half a brain, you
would’ve already struck a bargain with him for my release. He would’ve made you
a rich man.”

His mouth
unhinged, but he quickly clapped it shut, grinding his teeth. “I already asked
him. He said you wasn’t worth it.”

“Fallon, you lie
about as well as you bathe.”

His crusty eyes
pierced me. “You ain’t smelling so pretty neither. Is that why your
schoolmaster chased out of here with his eyes watering?”

Though his words
cut me, I refused to show my pain, “It was most likely the misery of seeing how
I’m treated here.”

“Now who’s lying?”

He ripped off a
hunk of the bread with his teeth, then tossed the rest onto the cell floor. He
stirred the water with his finger and placed the mug barely within reach.
“Hungry?” he asked, gnawing the bite of bread.

I let out an
annoyed sigh.

He placed his face
between the bars, his eyes glassy. “Or maybe I should come in there and
comfort
you.”

What appetite I
had sank like a stone. “Come on in, Fallon. But remember, when the Magistrate
returns and sees that you’ve defiled me, he will throw you to the dogs. After
all, you do have a sworn duty to uphold the law.”

“Eh. Don’t matter
anyway. You’ve been fornicating with the Devil. No other man could match up.”

Especially you.
The thought of that rawboned creature crawling on me feathered the hairs on
the back of my neck. “Just go away.”

He continued to
glower. Then he lifted the key, eying it like it was honey. “You better be nice
to old Fallon. Cause if I were to swallow this” – he hovered it over his mouth–
“it might be a few days before anyone can retrieve it. And they’d probably make
you be the one to dig it out.”

“Or,” I said,
lifting my chin. “Should they decide to release me, they’d simply use the
Magistrate’s spare key.”
Is there is a spare key?
“But go ahead and
swallow that one. It’s rather large. If you don’t choke on it, it’ll probably
rip open your bowels. I shudder just thinking of the pain.”