24 
‘What are they going to do to her?’ Ottilie asked, looking between Leo and Ned. She noticed for the first time the marks of grief. Leo, always straight-backed, was stiff as a board, unnaturally so, and she could see his eyes were red. Ned seemed heavier somehow and there was a tightness to his face that was unfamiliar to her.
‘I think they’ll talk to her first,’ said Ned.
‘They didn’t talk to me,’ she said. ‘They just threw me in the burrows.’
‘That’s because they knew you were guilty,’ said Leo.
‘Because you told them,’ Gully snapped, glaring.
Leo’s eyelids flickered. Gully had never lashed out at him like that before. Ottilie’s own emotions were bubbling and spitting all over the place.
‘They don’t know about her yet,’ Leo said, ignoring Gully. ‘They need answers.’
‘What do you think?’ Ned asked Ottilie. ‘You saw that person out there, more than once. Do you think it was her? Do you think she’s been’ – his voice became strained – ‘setting dredretches on people?’
‘No,’ she said, finally. She knew now that she didn’t believe it. Maeve had always been horrible to Ottilie – she was certainly not a friend – but seeing her accused like that, she realised she didn’t think Maeve was capable of what had happened to Bayo. ‘But I do think she’s a witch,’ she added, surprising herself with the admission.
‘What?’ said Leo, with a nervous laugh.
‘I got a strange feeling around her from the first time I met her, and I know I’m not the only one,’ she said.
Ned nodded, but Leo looked flummoxed. ‘I never did!’
‘Leonard,’ said Ned. ‘You’re too fixated on yourself to notice anything.’
Leo punched him in the arm.
Ned looked like he wanted to laugh but couldn’t quite get there. ‘You know it’s true.’
‘Strange things have been happening around her,’ said Ottilie. ‘The lanterns spark when she gets upset. You know, I think she did set that tapestry on fire.’ She remembered the terror in Maeve’s eyes as she watched the tapestry smoking. If she had caused it, she hadn’t intended to.
‘What about the bones?’ said Leo, looking horrified. ‘What are they for?’
‘Do you think she’s been using them for spells?’ said Gully, with awe.
It was too much guesswork. Ottilie didn’t like it. ‘I’m going to the infirmary.’ She needed to see Scoot, to tell him about Maeve, about what she was accused of doing. He was going to hear it from someone soon.
When she got there, Scoot was looking ashen, but he turned the colour of sickly marshweed when she told him what had happened. For a moment Ottilie thought he was going to throw up, but then he scrambled out of bed and she and Preddy had to physically stop him from running out the door.
‘Stop it, Scoot!’ She puffed as he struggled against her. ‘You can’t get to her anyway, they’ve got her. She’s probably locked up somewhere by now.’
He was panting and there were tears running down his face as he slumped back on the bed.
‘She did it,’ he growled. ‘She – sh–’
‘They don’t know that,’ said Preddy gently. ‘That’s what you’re saying, Ottilie? They don’t know for sure that it was her?’
‘Of course it was her!’ Scoot snarled. ‘She was out there at the same … at the same time! Why else would she go? How would she survive past the walls if she’s not a witch?’
‘She has been training,’ said Preddy weakly.
‘For two months! And she barely even came the last few weeks. She has no salt weapons, apart from that knife. It’s not enough. Not out there.’
Ottilie saw the horror of the morning engulf his vision and felt her own about to go again.
‘And Bayo was there, helping us train them … helping her!’ Scoot was taking sharp, shallow breaths. It sounded as if every word pained him to speak.
‘We have to make sure they have the right person,’ said Ottilie softly.
Scoot buried his head, his shoulders shaking.
Something was wrong here, Ottilie was sure of it. If they had the wrong person, then not only would Maeve bear the ultimate punishment but the danger would still be there. She had to get to the bottom of it.
The next morning, Ottilie was sitting with Gully and Preddy. Alba joined them under the pretence of wiping a spill. It was still early and the dining room was nearly empty, but they had to be cautious all the same.
‘They convicted her last night,’ said Alba, her face grave.
Ottilie gripped the table, wanting to hold on to something solid.
‘What?’ whispered Skip, appearing at the other end of the table.
Alba nodded solemnly. ‘Mum told me. She heard it from Wrangler Morse. The directorate decided the evidence was enough. They’re sending her to the Laklands.’
Skip paled. ‘That doesn’t make sense. If they think she’s controlling the dredretches, why would they send her there – to a place full of them?’
‘What if they’re just saying that?’ said Preddy, holding his own hand for comfort. ‘What if they’re actually taking her off to execute her?’
Ottilie swallowed. Would they really execute her? She remembered Wrangler Voilies ripping her ring from her thumb, watching her weaken … If they thought she was guilty, of course they would execute her.
‘It will be the Laklands,’ said Alba. ‘They’ll want her far away, because they don’t kill witches – they’ll want to bury her there.’
Skip frowned. ‘But Maeve hasn’t had a baby, she’s only thirteen – just a kid!’
‘What?’ said Gully. He looked for a moment like he might laugh.
‘Can someone please explain to me why people think witches eat babies!’ said Ottilie.
‘Witches eat their babies so they can live forever. That’s all I know,’ said Skip.
Preddy didn’t seem to have any idea what they were talking about.
‘Back in the old days,’ said Alba, ‘when the Roving Empire had control, they brought in a different belief system. They were scared of the witches, and rumours started circulating that if a witch consumed the flesh of their newborn child they would be granted immortality.’
Gully looked like he was about to be sick. Ottilie felt the same.
‘That was when the witch purge happened,’ said Alba.
Ottilie nodded. She had known that part, at least.
‘They locked them in iron boxes and buried them all,’ said Alba. ‘Even a witch who hadn’t had a child. Even the men.’
‘I didn’t know men could be witches,’ said Gully with interest.
‘That’s because of the baby rumour,’ said Alba. ‘The idea of witchcraft has become associated with women – evil women. But the book –’
‘The one that Maeve stole from you?’ said Gully.
‘Yes. It’s different. It was written by witches – not the people who buried them. It says that no woman, especially a woman capable of channelling magic, would ever do something so against nature.’
‘How come I’ve never heard about this before?’ said Preddy.
‘Because people don’t like to talk about it,’ said Alba.
‘Particularly your kind of people, I would think,’ said Skip. ‘You have heard about it, though, Preddy, you just don’t know it. It’s in the lightning song.’
‘The what?’ said Preddy.
‘Wail, whine, dinnertime, sleeper comes for none,’ Skip chanted.
‘Oh, you mean “The Sleeper Stars”,’ said Preddy. ‘That’s just an old nonsense rhyme. What’s it got to do with witches?’
Everyone looked to Alba.
‘It’s “The Sleepless Stars”, not “Sleeper”. It’s an old rhyme, different from the lightning song,’ she said patiently. ‘All in a row, the glowing guide, from sleepless stars it cannot hide …’
‘Oh, yes, that’s what I was thinking of,’ said Preddy, pushing his glasses higher up his nose.
Ottilie had never heard it before.
‘It’s lesser known,’ said Alba. ‘But for some reason people link them. They might have originated from the same area.’
‘But the lightning song?’ said Ottilie, eager to get back on topic. ‘It’s about witches?’ Scoot had told her that once, but she hadn’t wanted to believe it.
Alba nodded. ‘The lightning part is about knowing where the burial sites are – flash, smack and crackle, lightning knows the spot. Hiss, flick and sputter, three will mark it hot.’ She shrugged. ‘Then wail, whine, dinnertime, sleeper comes for none. That’s the eating part. Then crunch, thud, dig deep down, pay for what you’ve done. That bit’s obvious. In some parts they sing it differently. There’s a line about resting or …’ She frowned, trying to remember.
‘No more rest for Mum,’ said Gully, with a smile.
‘That’s it,’ said Alba.
Ottilie and Gully looked at each other. With every blink, Ottilie saw their old home. The sunnytree. Longwood. The Swamp Hollows. They had been arguing for years about the final line of the lightning song. As it turned out, both lines belonged, but neither were the last. They had always just thought it was about lightning … nothing more. Well, perhaps a superstition that it could bring on a storm, but that was it. Never about witches and iron coffins … and …
‘But … all right, like Skip said, Maeve hasn’t had a baby,’ said Ottilie, twitching in her seat. ‘She can’t have done that ritual. So why would they bury her in an iron box? She’s not immortal.’ Ottilie had never cared for small spaces. Being buried alive was just about the most horrible thing she could think of.
‘Sleepless,’ said Skip. ‘Isn’t that what they called them – not immortal, but sleepless witches?’
Alba nodded. ‘I think people decided that sounded less scary. But sleepless or not, live burials are just what they do with witches, and iron coffins because iron supposedly repels magic – that’s how they restrained the ones they caught, with iron manacles.’
Alarm bells clanged.
They all jumped. There was a moment of silence, a breath between the bells, and then Gully cried, ‘Not again!’
They heard shouts.
‘FLEDGES AND SCULKIES TO YOUR CHAMBERS!’
Ottilie leapt to her feet.
‘WYLERS IN THE GROUNDS!’
‘M-more than one?’ said Preddy.
Ottilie drew the cutlass that she now always kept strapped to her back. Alba and Skip gripped their knives. Ottilie looked between the two. ‘We need more weapons,’ she said. ‘There are some girls who don’t have any.’
‘There’s that emergency supply down the corridor,’ said Preddy, swaying as he got to his feet.
‘We’ll get them.’ Ottilie gestured to Alba and Skip.
Preddy and Gully charged off. To their chambers, or in search of the wylers, Ottilie didn’t know which.
The nearest weapon store was a hidden cupboard just down the corridor from the dining room. With sweaty palms Ottilie pressed a stone, and a chunk of the wall slid inwards.
Skip slipped through the crack in the wall. ‘Argh!’ she cried out, jumping back. Hot air flooded the gap.
‘What, Skip?’ Arms shaking, Ottilie pushed the door open further.
She gasped.
Gracie Moravec was inside. She was sitting cross-legged against the wall. Her eyes were wide open and glowing black and red, like rings of flowing lava. Her arms were stretched out over her legs, palms up, and the scar from the wyler bite cracked and sparked, a crescent of burning embers on her golden skin.