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then there’d been all those recent shipments of materials up to the Rector’s estate. Ed had been asked to help watch over one of the orders when it’d arrived in town, and the crates had weighed tons; they’d had to use oxen to pull the carts.
    Some crates had held ingots of silver, as had been obvious from the mine stamp seared on their sides. There’d been other things, too: iron hardware from the Philadelphia smiths, lumber from town, glassware …
    He’d seen for himself that they had been building something up there on that mound. Maybe there was something queer going on.
    And Ed Bolt, who was supposed to keep law and order and spy on the Crown’s enemies, was being wrongly excluded from the affair.
    Hells, he was supposed to be working for the town fathers, he should have been informed directly of any secret projects! But no one was telling him anything.
    He did not like that—not at all. It gave him a fearsome itch that was half curiosity and half unmitigated anger.
    “Can’t you have a little peek, maybe tonight?” Mother Henne asked. “You’re a Constable, you have some authority? I don’t hold with demons in my township!”
    “All right,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do tonight. But don’t tell anyone else, please?” The last thing he wanted was for word of this investigation to get to his superiors.
    “Of course I won’t tell, Edwin,” Mother Henne said, smiling a gap-toothed smile. “You’re the only one I trust, because you don’t trust anyone. A fine and practical trait in a young man!”

Chapter 3
     
    That night, the weather was fearsome—a torrential downpour of a summer storm, raining down like the spit of heaven.
    Constable Ed Bolt was so soaked from the rain that he thought his bones might be soggy. He made his way through the trees, stumbling along as best he could with his bad foot. He swore as thorns pierced his legs through the cloth of his trousers, and winced when a branch smacked him wetly in the face.
    What was he doing out here, in the middle of this miserable storm, chasing demons?
    Rutting hell.
    There was another flash of lightning. In its light, he glimpsed a bright, shiny object. Was there some kind of giant needle on top of the little hill near the Rector’s house that the locals called the “faerie mound?”
    Something tall and… silvery… a pole or blade, sticking out of the ground? Was that what they’d been building with all of the materials the Rector had ordered?
    He decided to investigate. Orders or not, his curiosity was piqued.
    His mind made up, he left the cover of the trees and started for the fence that bordered the Rector’s property.
    Much to his frustration, he found the heavy iron lock on the thick oaken gate to be tightly secured. With no way to open it, his only option was to climb over the fence itself. It was only shoulder height, but the wood was slick and wet. He gritted his teeth and boosted himself up, seeking a foothold on the rough horizontal slats. After what seemed like an eternity of fumbling, he hauled himself over the top.              
    He slid down on the other side of the fence, but his bad foot touched the ground first, and he fell. His face pressed into the damp ground, and he tasted earth in his mouth. Swearing, Ed picked himself up and made his way towards the steep faerie mound.
    The side of it was slick, and with his less-than-expert footing, he had to be very careful. When he made it to the top, he found himself on a rough stone platform.
    Mother Henne had said she’d seen a demon? Well, there were no signs of such… Ed certainly was no expert, but he imagined that a demon summoning might leave some trace. But there were no scorch marks from hellfire, no traces of ash or sulfur smell.
    But there WAS a giant needle there, about half the height of a flagpole, mounted in the center of the stone platform. It was made of iron, but with thick lines of inlaid silver running up it, and a small glass