Chapter Twenty-One

 

My eyes fluttered and then opened. A brilliant light was shining behind the head of an angelic being. I couldn’t make out her face, but I thought it might be Mary, the Mother of Jesus. I had died and had gone to heaven. I breathed a sigh of relief. My lungs hurt. Why is there pain in heaven? My vision was blurry, but slowly began to focus.

“Doctor Butler,” came a familiar voice. “Father’s awake.”

“Thank you, Judith,” said Doctor Butler.

Doctor Butler’s here, I thought. This can’t be heaven. I tried to sit up. My head was pounding; I laid back down again.

“Easy does it,” said Doctor Butler. “Lucky for you, Judith found you last night. She ran to my door and pounded on it until I woke up. We ran back here to your room, and you weren’t breathing. We had to put a wooden tube in your throat so you could breathe through the swelling.”

“What happened?” I asked, my speech slurring.

“Father,” said Judith. “Doctor Butler said you were poisoned.”

“And it was a botched job,” said the doctor. “Whoever did it used the wrong amount. It still was strong enough to kill you, but not strong enough to do it fast. It bought us a little time. We induced vomiting and gave you medicine. It was a long night. We almost lost you.”

Judith brought me water to drink. Slowly this time, I sat up and drank the water.

“How do you feel?” asked Judith.

“Not bad for a man who was poisoned,” I said, rubbing my throat. “Did you get the medicine from Violet?” I asked the physician.

“William,” he said. “Violet is dead. I’m sorry, I know you were fond of her.”

“She died in the fire,” said Judith. “Her adventure in this life is over, but her adventures in eternal life are just beginning.”

We were silent for a moment. I remembered my deductions from last night. I was sure my theory was correct. Myles Lewis murdered the priest and his daughter Janet murdered Malachi. They wanted revenge on King James and Malachi for what happened to Janet Wishart. Violet provided the poison, or at least that was where they got it. Now I needed hard evidence.

“Thank you, doctor,” I said, standing up. “I’m feeling much better.”

“Then I’ll be going,” said Butler. “Be sure to stay in, rest, and send for me if you need me.”

“Don’t worry, doctor,” said Judith. “I’ll take care of him.”

Judith walked Doctor Butler to the door. They exchanged a few stories of the hard night and said goodbye. My stomach was sore and my head throbbed, but there was no time to waste.

“Judith,” I said. “I know who the murderers are. Now we need to prove it.”

I told Judith everything. We needed evidence, and we needed it fast before they killed anyone else.

“We have a problem. The palace is on edge,” said Judith. “You don’t have the same authority as you did before the ghost exposed mother as a fake. People are angry and won’t cooperate with you. Also, the Lewis family must suspect that you are onto them.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, first, they are aware both that you are investigating and that they are guilty,” said Judith. “They must suspect you are onto them. And second, you said Violet told you she was sorry, and she gave you the note as a way of atoning for her part in the murders. But why would she do that if she didn’t think you were close to finding out? She may even have stayed in the fire so she wouldn’t be caught and tortured like her mother. After what happened to Janet Wishart, I don’t think any of them will allow you to take them alive.”

“All true,” I said. I thought for a moment, and I had an idea.

The bag with the plague doctor’s costume in it was lying by the bed. I pulled the costume out, showed it to Judith, and told her of my plan. Dressed as the plague doctor, I would demand to inspect their room. Under the pretense of checking for signs of the plague, I would search for evidence. I dressed for my role and started to leave for their room. But then I remembered Edward’s pistol. Edward, I thought. How does he fit into this? With no time to lose, I hid his wheel-lock pistol in my black cloak and left the room.

Crowds of people moved aside as I strode down the hallway. They had never seen anything like my costume before. I came to Myles Lewis’ door and rapped it hard with my cane.

“Open up!”

“Who’s there?” Myles’s voice came from inside.

“The Plague Doctor, here to inspect for signs of the plague.”

The door opened and Myles’s eyes became wide as he gazed at my costume. “The Plague Doctor?” he asked.

“That’s right,” I said. “On orders of the king. Now move aside!”

I pushed passed him and searched their small room. After several minutes, I still had found nothing incriminating.

“Do you live here alone?”

“No sir,” said Myles. “My daughters live in the connecting room.”

There was an inside door near the dresser. “Open it,” I ordered.

“They’re not in there,” said Myles.

“I need to inspect for the plague,” I said. “It will only take a moment. Or if you prefer, I could call the palace guards here so I can complete my inspection.”

“No need for that,” said Myles, as he opened the door.

Three neatly made beds were in the room, along with a small table, two chairs, and a closet. There was a curtain over the closet door which I pushed back with my cane. Something rectangular was on the floor, covered by a blanket. I removed the blanket; there was a wooden chest under it. I opened the wooden chest and smelled the sickly sweet scent of poison. My stomach turned. There was a handkerchief with the name Janet Lewis embroidered on it, along with various other personal items. Several glass vials contained liquid, and underneath them was a white garment and veil. It was a white-lace dress, with dried bloodstains. The ghost’s dress. My heart pounded. I stood and turned to leave the closet. The last thing I saw was Myles Lewis swinging a wooden club at my face.

And then there was only darkness.

 

***

 

When I awoke, there was the sound of chanting.

 

Astarte, Isis, Diana,

Demeter, Hecate, Kali, Inanna.

Astarte, Isis, Diana,

Demeter, Hecate, Kali, Inanna.

 

When I opened my eyes, the room was spinning. I tried to sit up, but they had bound me to a cold stone table. Lying flat on my back, I pulled against the restraints. My hands and feet were tied down. Someone had removed my plague doctor’s costume, and I was now wearing only my trousers. Flickering candlelight filled the room. There were six human shapes dressed in dark woolen robes with hoods hiding their faces. They walked around me in a circle, moving slowly step by step as they chanted.

 

Astarte, Isis, Diana,

Demeter, Hecate, Kali, Inanna.

Astarte, Isis, Diana,

Demeter, Hecate, Kali, Inanna.

 

“Halt!” I heard a male voice shout.

A figure walked out of the shadows. He was a man from the waist up, but he had the legs of a goat. On his head were two horns. The figure seemed to melt at first. His features ran together and then flowed back into place. I closed my eyes tight, took a deep breath, and then reopened them. His face looked familiar. He stared at me, a wicked grin on his face. It was Myles Lewis. Again, his face seemed to melt.

“The Witchfinder General is awake,” said Myles. “Our ceremony can now proceed.”

“Myles, please,” I said. “This won’t bring back your wife.”

“Oh, but it will,” said Myles. “A witch is never truly gone. When the conditions are right, we can bring her back.”

My head was a little clearer. It was apparent now that Myles was wearing a costume. His goat legs were made of animal skins attached with string, and his horns were part of an elaborate hat. Alban had told me that some magic was a form of theater. As above, so below.

“All that it requires is to exchange a life for a life,” said Myles. “And the proper rite.”

“But you already killed the priest,” I said. “You murdered Martin Page.”

“That was an accident,” said Myles. “I was trying to kill the king.”

Myles walked over to a witch.

“But we are not heartless,” said Myles. “We acted fast. We retrieved his body from Doctor Butler’s examination room. That drunken physician was a bit too hasty in his pronouncement of death.” An evil smile spread across Myles’ face. “We made amends.”

Myles reached over and lowered the hood that was hiding the face of the witch. It was a man. His face was pale and his expression was blank. His eyes stared straight ahead. He looked familiar.

“Martin Page!” I said, shocked. “You’re alive!”

“He is not alive, and he is not dead,” said Myles. “He is in between. He cannot talk. He cannot think on his own. He must obey orders. He must do my bidding.”

“Oh, my Lord,” I muttered, gazing in horror at the undead body of Father Page. I remembered that King James wrote about this in his book, Demonology. He described a type of undead human he called “the most curious sort.” I assumed it was just a Scottish superstition. But there he stood before me.

“That’s impossible,” I said, struggling to understand.

“Your own Bible speaks of it,” said Myles. “And the graves were opened, and many bodies of the saints which slept arose, and came out of their graves after the resurrection, and went into the holy city and appeared to many.”

“That’s not what it means,” I protested. “It can’t be.”

“Who are you to lecture me about matters of the spirit?” asked Myles. “The witch cult is the ancient religion of this land. We have been here for centuries, worshiping the horned god and the triple goddess. Dancing at night before the full moon. Until your kind came.”

“What you have done is unnatural,” I said. “You have trapped his spirit here in the mortal plane. His soul longs for heaven.”

“Enough talk,” said Myles. “You need not worry. We will not keep your soul here on earth for a moment longer.”

“Wait!” I said.

“Martin, bring me the boline,” said Myles.

The undead body of Martin Page lumbered out of my view. He returned a moment later with a white-handled knife. It had a curved blade shaped like a crescent moon. He placed it into Myles’ waiting hand.

The chanting resumed. The robed witches proceeded walking in a circle around the stone table upon which I was tied.

 

Astarte, Isis, Diana,

Demeter, Hecate, Kali, Inanna.

Astarte, Isis, Diana,

Demeter, Hecate, Kali, Inanna.

 

“Help!” I screamed. “Please, someone help me!”

The witches continued circling the table, chanting. My head continued to swim. The walls changed colors and swirled in strange patterns. Sick to my stomach, I felt like I was going to pass out. “Help me!” I screamed in desperation.

Myles stopped on my left side and moved close to the table. The witches stopped and stood silently in the outer circle. He held the knife high in the air and the curved blade shone in the candlelight. He prayed aloud in a language I had never heard, holding the boline above my heart. “William Shakespeare,” said Myles in English. “In the name of the great horned god, I send you to the other side!”

His hand tightened as he plunged the knife down towards my waiting chest. A deafening explosion rang out, and the room filled with smoke. Blood dripped from Myles’s mouth as he fell upon me, the knife dropping from his hand and clattering on the floor. Myles’s lifeless body lay upon me. The witch who was standing behind Myles pulled him off of me. He was holding the wheel-lock pistol I had stashed in my clothes and was standing in a cloud of smoke. He pulled back his hood. The last thing I saw before passing out was my rescuer’s face.

It was Edward.