Witch Hunt (9 page)

Jansen’s fit roused William from sleep. At first the sounds in the cell mingled with William’s dream.

He was in a huge butchering hall, and dozens of screeching chickens were being slaughtered. The scene passed from his mind, and he became aware of Jansen lying on the floor, screeching and convulsing. Dawn was upon the sky, and in the dim light William watched the fit in amazed fascination.

Jansen’s eyes were open and bulging, but they were unseeing, while foamy spittle mixed with blood sprayed from his mouth. William had seen fits that accompanied high fevers and certain illnesses, but never before had he seen the strange contortions Jansen assumed or heard the sounds he made. William squinted and shifted into a seeing mode. The aura of light surrounding Jansen’s body came into focus, and William saw the parasite that was attached there. A hideous claw-shaped shadow was attached to the body of light, around the area of the head. Only once before, as a young man in England, had he seen anything similar. It was on a sailor recently returned from the West Indies, and had been magically implanted on the sailor’s person as a result of a tangle with voodoo. The sailor’s family called in Margaret — who even in her youth was highly regarded for her healing skills — to rid him of the curse. William struggled to remember what she did to accomplish the task.

Soon Jansen’s fit quieted, and, without coming to consciousness, he fell into a sound sleep. William picked him up and placed him back onto his bed, then waited patiently for him to wake up.

The first thing Jansen became aware of was the telltale soreness of his gashed tongue. It had happened again. He wondered how he could bear to go on living with the affliction, but as he considered his circumstances, he decided that he might not have to go on living too much longer after all. Those damn Puritans, anyway. He opened his eyes to see William gazing at him, and embarrassment flooded. Damn William, anyway. He could have been a gentleman about the whole matter and pretended it hadn’t happened.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, and despite his swollen tongue, said, “So, now you know.”

“Do you ship and trade in slaves?” William asked.

What kind of fool question was that, out of the blue? “In my youth — about a dozen years ago — I dabbled in the slave trade. It was distasteful to me. I don’t do it anymore.”

“How long have you had this affliction of yours?”

“Since …” The connection dawned on him for the first time. “Since about a dozen years ago.” He looked at William. “What are you getting at?”

“Island magic. Voodoo.”

Jansen waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Superstitious shit, all of it.”

“I know of … an old folk remedy to deal with such things, if you’d like me to try it on you. I mean, you’re right that it’s probably all just shit, but it couldn’t hurt, could it?”

It was obvious that William was choosing his words carefully and deliberately trying to be nonchalant about the matter. Could he really be a wizard? Could there truly be such things? Hell, what could it hurt, indeed?

Jansen shrugged. “It would give us something to do with our miserable time, at least.”

The men’s drinking water was stored in a large wooden barrel, and the water level was low. They emptied the remainder of the water and kicked the bottom out of it.

After William chanted some strange words over it, they laid it on its side. With a few handfuls of straw, William made a small poppet, which he hung from a short rope on one end of the barrel. William stood back proudly, surveying their creation. “Well, there it is.”

Jansen looked at the scene with amusement. “All right. So, there what is?”

“The place for your passing through.”

“All right.” Jansen’s skepticism grew. Now he’d have to slip the guard a handsome bribe to get another water barrel. What had he got himself into, anyway?

“See, if you pass through a specially prepared hole — although usually it’s in a tree or a rock — then the parasite will be pried loose and take refuge in the poppet that’s hanging there.”

“Ask me if I believe you,” Jansen said.

William shook his head. “It doesn’t matter if you believe.”

Jansen was slightly touched by William’s sincere desire to help. He sighed. Well, if it would make him feel useful, he’d humor him. “So, I just crawl through, huh?”

“Yes, but you must be naked, of course.”

“What? Are you daft? What if the guard comes along?”

William thought about it for a minute and then smiled. “We’ll tell him you’re trying to take a bath.”

Jansen looked at the open-ended barrel and burst out laughing. “Hell, I’ll do it just so I can see the guard’s expression when we explain ourselves.”

Jansen stripped his clothes, and feeling like the village idiot, crawled into the barrel and out the other end, beneath the hanging poppet. Once Jansen had passed through, William quickly snatched the poppet and set a flame to it.

“There.” William ground the ashes beneath his feet and gave Jansen a broad grin. “It’s gone.”

Jansen sat on the cold floor, naked, looking at William with his triumphant foot on a pile of ashes, and felt like a total ass. “I can see how you managed to get yourself arrested for witchcraft.”

Jansen’s wife and son were finally notified of his plight, and they visited him. Alida Van Carel was a comely woman, with dusky blond hair like Jansen’s own, and gray eyes, which mirrored some deep, unexpressed pain. Or at least that’s how William read her eyes; as a rule, he was quite good at discerning such things. Peter Van Carel was a friendly and open fourteen-year-old. William enjoyed their visit nearly as much as Jansen seemed to.

It wasn’t an affectionate reunion of husband and wife, but it was friendly. Alida passed a small satchel through the bars to Jansen. “A pipe and tobacco, some fruit, a change of clothes.”

“I appreciate it.” Jansen rifled through the bag and pulled out the pipe and a measure of the tobacco, which he offered to William. “Since I already have one, would you like to use this?”

William was grateful. “I would. Thank you.”

“William performed an old folk remedy to rid me of my affliction,” Jansen said, and winked at Peter. “I owe him.”

“Did it work?” Peter asked.

“Too soon to tell.” Jansen handed William two apples and two pears. “Consider these payment for your services.”

William took them reluctantly. He looked at Alida. “I don’t want to be rude, but do you think that maybe you could take these to my wife and daughter? They’re here, in this prison … if you wouldn’t find it too much trouble …”

Alida studied him with her haunted eyes. “You keep those. I’ll be happy to take them some fruit of their own.”

William smiled. “Thank you. Margaret and Prissy Hawthorne.”

“I’ll do it this afternoon.”

“Thank you. Very kind.” Had he ever thought it possible to be so terribly grateful for a few pieces of fruit? William moved to a far corner of the cell to allow the family some relative privacy, and to savor the gifts of their generosity.

“I’ve arranged to escape on the way to the trial,” Jansen quietly announced to William the day before they were to be taken back to Salem for their hearings. “The transport will be waylaid by some of my men. There’s a boat waiting in the harbor. Will you come with me?”

“My wife and children?”

Jansen shook his head. “I thought about it, but there’s no way it can be arranged.”

William shrugged.

Jansen nodded. “Of course.” He paused. “So, do you have a strategy? I’ve heard if you plead guilty they won’t hang you, at least.”

“I’m not going to plead at all.”

“Not plead? But they’ll force you to plead.”

“They can try.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If I don’t plead, they can’t take my land from me. I have nothing else to leave my children. They’ll have no future otherwise.”

“But …” Jansen’s voice died off as the full measure of what William had said settled into his mind. He felt a wave of respect for the other man. “God, William, you’re a better man than I.” He took a piece of paper and pen from Alida’s latest package and scribbled his name and address on it. “Here. Whoever of your family survives this should come to New York, and I’ll do what I can.”

William took the paper. “I’ll give it to Bridget. Expect at least her and Phip.”

Jansen nodded. Unfamiliar emotions flooded him, but he didn’t know how to express them. Finally he said, “I think your spell worked. It’s been a month since I’ve had a fit. I don’t seem to have the affliction anymore.”