Witch Finder Read Free

wound for a few days,’ said the man. ‘And then a mark, as we all do. As best we know, the meaning of this mark is not known to any outsiders. We show it to none but our wives – and they mustn’t know what it signifies. D’you understand?’
    This time Luke could not speak, he only nodded, and the man seemed satisfied.
    ‘Good. Good man, Luke Lexton.’
    They passed him his shirt and, with their help, he struggled into it, feeling the bandage over his shoulder grate and move as the rough cloth jostled the dressing. There were teeth marks in his arm. He’d not broken the skin, but there would be a welt there for a while.
    Someone passed him a half-drunk tankard and he drained it, before he realized that it was not beer, but gin. It burnt his gullet and then smouldered in his gut, and he half sat, half lay across the settle in front of the fire, feeling the sick cold in his limbs subside a little with the warmth of the fire and the warmth of the gin.
    ‘And now, for the last trial – the trial of the hammer.’
    ‘Wait,’ said a voice from beneath a hood, and for the first time Luke recognized his uncle’s voice. ‘Give him a minute, Brother. He’s in no fit state—’
    ‘He’s conscious,’ said the man in the gown sternly. ‘He knows his own mind and can plead his own case. Luke Lexton, are you fit to continue?’
    Coward, whispered the voice.
    Luke was sick and sweating, but he managed to sit up straighter. He wasn’t about to back down now and shame himself and his uncle and the memory of his parents. He nodded.
    ‘I can carry on.’ His voice was strange in his own ears. His throat felt tender and raw, as if he had screamed himself hoarse, though he knew full well he’d not made a sound except for shameful pup-like whimpers. He wondered if his uncle had been this weak, or if he’d borne the brand in proud silence, and he gritted his teeth and forced himself fully upright. ‘I can carry on.’
    ‘Good man,’ said the man in the gown. ‘Now, this last trial is different. All we require of you tonight is that you accept the task and undertake to do it to the best of your abilities, or die in the attempt. Tonight the moon is full – when the full moon rises again, either they must be dead, or you. D’you understand?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Luke, though he did not.
    ‘Bring out the book,’ said the man. There was a rustle at the back of the room and an old masked man limped slowly forward, a huge brass-bound book in his hands. The man in the gown fitted a brass key to the lock and opened the book.
    Inside was page after page after page of closely written names, some with a line through, some scratched out so harshly that the paper was rough and hollow.
    ‘This book contains the name of every witch known to this organization – some of them listed thanks to you, Luke – and every one we’ve sworn to hunt down and kill. The men and women named here have poisoned our brothers and sisters, enslaved them, enchanted them, even killed them. Every one has a heart as black as pitch and it is our sworn duty not to rest until London is wiped clean of their kind. After the trial of the knife and the trial by fire, we ask our Brothers for one more trial to prove their worth – the trial of the hammer: they must pick a name from the book and kill that witch. Do you understand?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Luke. And now he did. He stared at the list of names, the faded, scratched handwriting swimming before his eyes. ‘What of the ones who’re scratched out?’ he asked.
    ‘They’re the ones your Brothers have killed before you.’
    ‘How do I choose?’
    ‘We let God choose. We bind your eyes, give you a pin. God will guide you to the name. Are you ready?’
    ‘I’m ready,’ Luke said. He sat motionless while they tied a cloth over his eyes and then pushed a pin was pushed between his fingers. Then he felt for the stiff pages of the book beneath his other hand.
    He turned the pages slowly, carefully, blindly.