1644
DAY NINE: MONDAY
Think of it? A dozen days. That’s all.
I mean, what would you do with only twelve days left? Probably not the same as me, I bet. See, last night, I heard a rumour, principally from Flit’s mouth, I have to add - so take that with the pinch of salt it deserves - that the young Witchfinder, Matthew Hopkins, is coming into town. Should be a hoot.
“Boss.”
“Yes, Flit?”
“They’re here.”
“Who is? Oh bugger it, I’m awake now. Open the curtains and get my clothes will you?” I never get a sodding moment’s peace in this bastard job, I can bloody tell you. Give me that, you annoying little - eww, is that a new odour he’s picked up? I’m going to have to take him down to the lake one of these days. Either to wash him or drown him. I haven't decided yet.
Right, so what Flit meant was here’s John Stearne, and his missus, Matthew Hopkins. What? Some confusion? Wait and see.
“Ah. Rector! Lovely place you have here? The curtains are a bit gauche though, for my liking. Oh, but the smell! Simply divine!”
“We’re ‘ere on business.”
I’ll give you two guesses to who is who. That’s right. And for those few who thought the other way, well -
“Mr Stearne, I believe? And the great Witchfinder General, Mr Matthew Hopkins.” Yeah, right. That’s not all they're usually called. Amongst the printable ones are witch hunters and witch prickers. Alright. Enough of that. We’re all grown ups here.
Of course his title is entirely his own devising. It’s not a lawful title. Hey, but a rose by any other name, eh? Old Bill Shakey knew a thing or two about a thing or two, didn't he? Still, this kid, Hopkins? Only twenty four. Started properly killing women in March of this year. He’s done a good job of it, too. Him and his significant other, John Stearne. He’s thirty four, and brought Hopkins into the business, you know? As I hear it, the whole thing is an excuse for a torrid love affair between the two of them. But I’m not one for spreading rumours. No, I leave that to others. Then I listen. Then I assume. Sometimes, however, the evidence presents itself rather camply before you in your own sitting room.
“As moral and religious virtue in this town, we turn to you for your assumptions and speculations of the evidence of evil within your jurisdiction. Principally those - witches.” One letter change and it would reveal the whole truth. Of course, I mean witches to bitches. God, I have to spell it out to you lot, don’t I?
“Mr Hopkins. Now there’s a question, when upon my doorstep spreads the evils of war.” Good one, eh?
“War is but a sprinkle of fairy dust - wait, that’s not what I mean. What do I mean, John, dear?”
“He means that women are the most evil of all. Were it not the woman who ate of the forbidden fruit? Were it not the woman who bleeds every month? Were it not the woman -“
“Alright, alright, John, love. Oh, he does go on sometimes, you know? Unless I keep him occupied. Isn't that right, sweety?” Sadly, I know what that means. Hey, we were all young once. Okay, so I experimented? Whatever. Judgemental lot -
“I’m not sure I -“
“We received a letter. The source, I cannot say, but they detail the existence of a diabolical Coven, even here, within your town, Rector.”
“A Coven? Really?” I’ve known some dodgy women in my time, but never witches. Well, not that I know of.
“Yeah, thanks Mr Hopkins. There’s a Coven of five witches in Upper Vaxham. Hazel Cleary, Lilith Gardiner, Daisy Hibbins, Fay Proctor and Violet Waterhouse. They call ‘emselves the - Sisters of the Meadow, accordin’ to the letter.”
“That’s right, John, dear. In an area called - what was it again, John, love?”
“Fury Lane.”
“Yes, that’s it. Fury Lane. You know of it?”
“Well, yes.” Of course I know Fury Lane. It’s where I get my shirts pressed. And those names? One or two are familiar, but I can’t remember from where? I’m sure it’ll come to me, eventually.
“Then we require your assistance, Rector. Don’t look so shocked! We won’t bite! Not unless you want us to! Oh, John! Don’t look at me like that! It’s just a bit of fun, choochie-kins. Aww, don’t pout?”
“Sorry, do you two need a minute, or -“
“Oh, it’s fine. Ignore Mr Grumpy Face here. Lead the way, Rector.” If only I could ignore him, but Mr Stearne seems to have taken a dislike to me, it seems? Still, I’m so good looking, I suppose, I’m irresistible to men too. Hey, I could be, you know? You’ve no idea what I look like!
Oh, I see how it is. Look at these idiots who gather around the man Hopkins, just because of his fame. Cult of personality, I suppose? Still, it doesn't take much to garner fame in these days. Remember Potato Ken? No? He used to eat potatoes and have them squirt out of his ears? Really? He was the biggest sensation of 1632, you know? Travelled the country. That was until his tragic death. Tried to renew the act after he began falling out of favour. Picked up the wrong potato, one from a Lord’s table. The Lord had him stuffed with potatoes, top to tail. Killed him eventually. Or was that a dream I had about a fortnight ago? You know, I’m not sure, but the point stands, whatever it was.
Look at this? They all want something signed, or their babies kissed. Very odd, if you ask me, but then I’m not big on the famous. Leaves me cold. Although - I wonder if Flit could make some Hopkins Dolls? He could use those Cromwell ones we haven't been able to shift, pull the warts off, give it a cross - should do the job? I’ll get him onto that. Strike while the iron’s hot. Or at least while people give a crap that Hopkins was here. I think we’re at our destination. Fury Lane.
Looks quiet enough to me. If I remember, there’s a community meeting house up here on the - oh, that seems to where we’re heading? You know, I’ve got a bad feeling about this?
“John, dear? If you wouldn't mind?” Woah! I’m not sure we need to kick the bloody door in! Oh, right, in he goes. Wait. I remember now! Sisters of the Meadow? It’s that support group set up by those widows! And the meadow refers to the picnics they go on occasionally - who on Earth thinks these ladies are witches? Besides, I remember something else. I’ve had - dealings - with every one of them. I do hope they don’t remember me? Imagine, if I get caught up in all this mess!
How’s all that for exposition, eh? I know, I’m good.
Isn't that Thomas Crempleton over there? Didn’t he try it on with the ladies, and was soundly rejected? I wonder if that could be a motive for writing a letter to Mr Hopkins? I wonder if I could make this any more obvious?
Here comes that man, Hopkins, “Ladies! Your evil has been found out! Your Coven is discovered! The Devil may now run and hide, as Witchfinder General, Matthew Hopkins, is abroad! Arrest these witches and take them to their trial!” Almost like he’s said that before. And just look at the people of Vaxham? Like sheep, doing Hopkins’ bidding, dragging these women through the streets to - ooh a coin! Pick it up and have good luck. Well, something like that.
Here we are at The Frozen Arm. Surely they haven't - okay, I take that back. They've shifted the pub furniture about for an impromptu court. Almost like they expected this to happen. Poor women. Who am I kidding? At least it’s not me. Well, technically I’d have to have a sex change first, but you get the point? I’ll sit here, somewhere near the back. Oh, look! There’s Dash and the other Council Members. You know, I don’t like the way Dash is grinning at me like that? Shh. Here comes Hopkins.
“Gentlemen! Ladies - hmm. Thank you all for coming - and let the trial begin! You are accused of witchcraft; that you five did form a coven here in Upper Vaxham, named ‘Sisters of the Meadow’ - a vile attempt to deceive God-fearing people like these gathered - and that you did allow your familiars to sup at your teets - the one given to you by the Devil himself - so that you could perpetrate your evil acts!”
“Guilty!” Who was that? Oh, Shouting Steve. Still, if you do allow him into an environment like this, what do you expect?
“No, not yet. Wait. You are accused, both individually and as a collective, of poisoning the milk of the cow in the field, giving birth to a dog and deliberate acts of fornication with the dark figure of a man thought to be the Devil himself.” Erm, I think that last one might’ve been me. I’m a bit of a night creeper, see? Anyway, shh, “We have numerous witnesses to the evil you have perpetrated within this town of Upper Vaxham and the land beyond the gates. The County of Moistershire has had the displeasure of dealing with you women for some time. Call the first witness, Mr Stearne.”
“Anna Witterson.”
“You are Miss Anna Witterson, of Kingly Gardens, Upper Vaxham, are you not?”
“I am, your Lordship.”
“I’m not a Lord, madam.”
“And I’m not a Madam, Your Lordship.”
“Please, if you could recount in your own words your accusation?”
“Right, well, I was once acquainted with Hazel Cleary, back when her husband was alive. She was alright, a bit snooty, but -“
“If you could stick to the facts?”
“What you think I’m bloody doin’? Anyway, when her husband died, she got in with these other - witches. I heard tell that they all had a pact, to kill their husbands so they could form a group and exclude people who were once their friends, from knowin’ them anymore.”
“So, you say you overheard word of a pact? How sure are you?”
“As sure as the - whatsisname - in front of my - thingy.”
“Thank you, Miss Witterson. Next witness.”
“Richard Sumptish.”
“Richard Sumptish. You were once a lover of Daisy Hibbins, were you not?”
“Yeah. Right up until she put a spell on me.”
“And how did this spell manifest?”
“She turned my winky into a dinky, so she did.” Well, at least that’s what he tells all the girls. To the best of my knowledge, he’s always had a penis about the size of a small, wild mushroom. Anything else is purely nature and nothing to do with curses and spells, let me tell you.
Who’s this now? Oh, Ursula Fontague. Apparently it took four men just to get her out of bed this morning.
“Please, tell us how you were affected?”
“It was Lilith Gardiner. She made my legs wither and become useless. I were an athlete before her spells. Now I’m confined to this chair.” I think the mountains of cakes and pastry did that to you, Miss Fontague.
“If we could have the next witness -“
Oh, bloody Hell! Look at this creature! “Just look at my boy! That there Fay Proctor did that to him!”
“Did what to him?”
“The rash! Just look at it! It’s spreadin’, so it is! It were her, the evil witch!” That’s woken up the crowd.
“Quiet, please! Quiet! Alright, the final witness for the prosecution - Mr Stearne?”
“Olivia Tanner.”
“Ah, Mrs Tanner. You are of Gobley Square? Please, tell the court what Violet Waterhouse perpetrated on your house?”
“She ruined my flowers, she did. She was envious of my blooms and wanted ‘em herself. So she withered ‘em with a glance and made her familiar, a black cat, piddle on my doorstep. My Nigel came down with a pox, after that. He’ll never walk straight again, I’d imagine.”
“You hear these accusations? You hear how these evil witches have terrorised this town for far too long? They are a blemish on the face of an otherwise beautiful town!” Seriously, is he talking about the same place as I know? Upper Vaxham? Because it doesn't sound that familiar to me? “But, even before the sight of God, here in the body of the Rector,” Shit! Spotted! Stop staring at me, people! “We must give the accused the opportunity to reply, even if every sick evil word that will come from their mouths is nothing but lies from the very pit of Hell, where their Lord and Master waits for his time to rise! Mr Stearne, do the honours?” God. Even I’m scared, and I know I’ve got nothing to do with this. Not directly.
“By command of the Witchfinder General, Matthew Hopkins, you are allowed, in the witness of your accusers and God ’imself, a few words in yer defence.” This should be - interesting. I do hope they don't pick on me.
“You people are ridiculous! Myself and the ladies here are no more guilty than the next!” This is Fay Proctor - the loudmouth, “I mean, Gertie Ford! Remember when I sat next to your daughter’s bed all night? We waited, we cried and hoped her fever would break? And Paul Hunley? Do you not remember how my husband payed you right up until he died, and how I managed to find the money to continue paying, so you did not starve? You all accuse us of witchcraft, when we are nothing but widows of very fine, upstanding men of the town? And why? Because we set up a little group, just so the five of us didn't feel lonely? And you say we are evil, simply for not taking on new members? I see you in the back there! I see you and know your lies!” Shit! Is she looking at me? I better stand and mount some religious defence, before - oh God. It wasn't me she was referring to. It was Thomas Crempleton! Maybe if I just make it look like I was trying to get out anyway -
“And you, Rector Posster! Need we remind the people of Vaxham the despicable things you've made each one of us do? Yes, Wilfred! We talked about you in our meetings!”
“Well, actually I remember saying I didn't mind it awfully -“
“Quiet, Daisy! Now -“
“Alright! That’s enough!” Oh, thank you, Hopkins! I would kiss you, but - you know - “Not content with your evil acts, you try and destroy the reputation of a fine man of the cloth! God protects the Rector here! God protects him, because he does God’s work! So sorry, Rector.”
“Oh, don’t mention it. But you’ll understand if I step outside a moment?”
“Of course! Clear the way if you please!”
Oh great. Fresh air. Well, as fresh as it can be here, I suppose. Look at that? They've even already built the gallows! With scaffold and nooses! Boy, if the craftsmen of this town spent half their time building rather than carousing, the town would be a work of art - it would have a gallows motif, however, as this seems to be where their skill lies. Still, that’s a step up from the shit-smeared walls we’re used to in this town.
“Rector? What’s going on?” Shitsticks! It’s Sticks! Shit! Well, he might be my kid, remember? If they catch a whiff of him around here, there’ll be an extra rope.
“Ah, how can I help? Let’s walk.”
“Rector, they have heard, and so have I, that evil spirits lurk within the town! Is it true?”
“Well, sort of -“ Bugger it. It’d take too long to explain.
“They wait still, Rector! They wait for you, upon the mound! See? See as they show in illusion that which would come to you?” Is he pointing to the gallows? I hope not, though the only other thing in the way is Edwin Shitstain, our resident - erm - shit stain. Oh, that’s a story for another time, another person and someone who would actually be interested in telling it. And that’s not me, I can tell you. Still, I got Sticks out of the way. Perhaps I should return to the trial? At least to the pub, which at the moment is the same thing.
“The sentence of this court is that the five witches are guilty of witchcraft, and shall be taken yonder to hang until they are dead, so that their evil dies with them and the Devil has one less foothold in the world!” Right. Seems I came back in the nick, and it’s all done. I’m wondering if I should have a word with Hopkins and Stearne? Wait, where have they gone? Is it, I don’t know - witchcraft? No, there they are, going out the back door. Don’t blame them. Don’t want to be around when everyone comes to their senses, do they?
In a way, I’m kind of glad those women are hanging. Let’s me off the hook. What do you mean, selfish? Sod you!
Out they come. Up the steps, up to the nooses, and - “Posster! I will haunt you for the rest of your miserable life!” There goes that gobby cow again. Of course, I’d be scared if, indeed, God existed. Whoa! That brick nearly hit me! Who was it? Oh -
Sorry, Your Godliness! It was a slip of the tongue! Of course you’re real, Your Greatness! Shit! Take Flit, instead of me! I’m too pretty to - oh, it’s done. Uhm - speak later, Boss? Phew. Think I got away with it.
Duck! Thunderbolt!
Think of it? A dozen days. That’s all.
I mean, what would you do with only twelve days left? Probably not the same as me, I bet. See, last night, I heard a rumour, principally from Flit’s mouth, I have to add - so take that with the pinch of salt it deserves - that the young Witchfinder, Matthew Hopkins, is coming into town. Should be a hoot.
“Boss.”
“Yes, Flit?”
“They’re here.”
“Who is? Oh bugger it, I’m awake now. Open the curtains and get my clothes will you?” I never get a sodding moment’s peace in this bastard job, I can bloody tell you. Give me that, you annoying little - eww, is that a new odour he’s picked up? I’m going to have to take him down to the lake one of these days. Either to wash him or drown him. I haven't decided yet.
Right, so what Flit meant was here’s John Stearne, and his missus, Matthew Hopkins. What? Some confusion? Wait and see.
“Ah. Rector! Lovely place you have here? The curtains are a bit gauche though, for my liking. Oh, but the smell! Simply divine!”
“We’re ‘ere on business.”
I’ll give you two guesses to who is who. That’s right. And for those few who thought the other way, well -
“Mr Stearne, I believe? And the great Witchfinder General, Mr Matthew Hopkins.” Yeah, right. That’s not all they're usually called. Amongst the printable ones are witch hunters and witch prickers. Alright. Enough of that. We’re all grown ups here.
Of course his title is entirely his own devising. It’s not a lawful title. Hey, but a rose by any other name, eh? Old Bill Shakey knew a thing or two about a thing or two, didn't he? Still, this kid, Hopkins? Only twenty four. Started properly killing women in March of this year. He’s done a good job of it, too. Him and his significant other, John Stearne. He’s thirty four, and brought Hopkins into the business, you know? As I hear it, the whole thing is an excuse for a torrid love affair between the two of them. But I’m not one for spreading rumours. No, I leave that to others. Then I listen. Then I assume. Sometimes, however, the evidence presents itself rather camply before you in your own sitting room.
“As moral and religious virtue in this town, we turn to you for your assumptions and speculations of the evidence of evil within your jurisdiction. Principally those - witches.” One letter change and it would reveal the whole truth. Of course, I mean witches to bitches. God, I have to spell it out to you lot, don’t I?
“Mr Hopkins. Now there’s a question, when upon my doorstep spreads the evils of war.” Good one, eh?
“War is but a sprinkle of fairy dust - wait, that’s not what I mean. What do I mean, John, dear?”
“He means that women are the most evil of all. Were it not the woman who ate of the forbidden fruit? Were it not the woman who bleeds every month? Were it not the woman -“
“Alright, alright, John, love. Oh, he does go on sometimes, you know? Unless I keep him occupied. Isn't that right, sweety?” Sadly, I know what that means. Hey, we were all young once. Okay, so I experimented? Whatever. Judgemental lot -
“I’m not sure I -“
“We received a letter. The source, I cannot say, but they detail the existence of a diabolical Coven, even here, within your town, Rector.”
“A Coven? Really?” I’ve known some dodgy women in my time, but never witches. Well, not that I know of.
“Yeah, thanks Mr Hopkins. There’s a Coven of five witches in Upper Vaxham. Hazel Cleary, Lilith Gardiner, Daisy Hibbins, Fay Proctor and Violet Waterhouse. They call ‘emselves the - Sisters of the Meadow, accordin’ to the letter.”
“That’s right, John, dear. In an area called - what was it again, John, love?”
“Fury Lane.”
“Yes, that’s it. Fury Lane. You know of it?”
“Well, yes.” Of course I know Fury Lane. It’s where I get my shirts pressed. And those names? One or two are familiar, but I can’t remember from where? I’m sure it’ll come to me, eventually.
“Then we require your assistance, Rector. Don’t look so shocked! We won’t bite! Not unless you want us to! Oh, John! Don’t look at me like that! It’s just a bit of fun, choochie-kins. Aww, don’t pout?”
“Sorry, do you two need a minute, or -“
“Oh, it’s fine. Ignore Mr Grumpy Face here. Lead the way, Rector.” If only I could ignore him, but Mr Stearne seems to have taken a dislike to me, it seems? Still, I’m so good looking, I suppose, I’m irresistible to men too. Hey, I could be, you know? You’ve no idea what I look like!
Oh, I see how it is. Look at these idiots who gather around the man Hopkins, just because of his fame. Cult of personality, I suppose? Still, it doesn't take much to garner fame in these days. Remember Potato Ken? No? He used to eat potatoes and have them squirt out of his ears? Really? He was the biggest sensation of 1632, you know? Travelled the country. That was until his tragic death. Tried to renew the act after he began falling out of favour. Picked up the wrong potato, one from a Lord’s table. The Lord had him stuffed with potatoes, top to tail. Killed him eventually. Or was that a dream I had about a fortnight ago? You know, I’m not sure, but the point stands, whatever it was.
Look at this? They all want something signed, or their babies kissed. Very odd, if you ask me, but then I’m not big on the famous. Leaves me cold. Although - I wonder if Flit could make some Hopkins Dolls? He could use those Cromwell ones we haven't been able to shift, pull the warts off, give it a cross - should do the job? I’ll get him onto that. Strike while the iron’s hot. Or at least while people give a crap that Hopkins was here. I think we’re at our destination. Fury Lane.
Looks quiet enough to me. If I remember, there’s a community meeting house up here on the - oh, that seems to where we’re heading? You know, I’ve got a bad feeling about this?
“John, dear? If you wouldn't mind?” Woah! I’m not sure we need to kick the bloody door in! Oh, right, in he goes. Wait. I remember now! Sisters of the Meadow? It’s that support group set up by those widows! And the meadow refers to the picnics they go on occasionally - who on Earth thinks these ladies are witches? Besides, I remember something else. I’ve had - dealings - with every one of them. I do hope they don’t remember me? Imagine, if I get caught up in all this mess!
How’s all that for exposition, eh? I know, I’m good.
Isn't that Thomas Crempleton over there? Didn’t he try it on with the ladies, and was soundly rejected? I wonder if that could be a motive for writing a letter to Mr Hopkins? I wonder if I could make this any more obvious?
Here comes that man, Hopkins, “Ladies! Your evil has been found out! Your Coven is discovered! The Devil may now run and hide, as Witchfinder General, Matthew Hopkins, is abroad! Arrest these witches and take them to their trial!” Almost like he’s said that before. And just look at the people of Vaxham? Like sheep, doing Hopkins’ bidding, dragging these women through the streets to - ooh a coin! Pick it up and have good luck. Well, something like that.
Here we are at The Frozen Arm. Surely they haven't - okay, I take that back. They've shifted the pub furniture about for an impromptu court. Almost like they expected this to happen. Poor women. Who am I kidding? At least it’s not me. Well, technically I’d have to have a sex change first, but you get the point? I’ll sit here, somewhere near the back. Oh, look! There’s Dash and the other Council Members. You know, I don’t like the way Dash is grinning at me like that? Shh. Here comes Hopkins.
“Gentlemen! Ladies - hmm. Thank you all for coming - and let the trial begin! You are accused of witchcraft; that you five did form a coven here in Upper Vaxham, named ‘Sisters of the Meadow’ - a vile attempt to deceive God-fearing people like these gathered - and that you did allow your familiars to sup at your teets - the one given to you by the Devil himself - so that you could perpetrate your evil acts!”
“Guilty!” Who was that? Oh, Shouting Steve. Still, if you do allow him into an environment like this, what do you expect?
“No, not yet. Wait. You are accused, both individually and as a collective, of poisoning the milk of the cow in the field, giving birth to a dog and deliberate acts of fornication with the dark figure of a man thought to be the Devil himself.” Erm, I think that last one might’ve been me. I’m a bit of a night creeper, see? Anyway, shh, “We have numerous witnesses to the evil you have perpetrated within this town of Upper Vaxham and the land beyond the gates. The County of Moistershire has had the displeasure of dealing with you women for some time. Call the first witness, Mr Stearne.”
“Anna Witterson.”
“You are Miss Anna Witterson, of Kingly Gardens, Upper Vaxham, are you not?”
“I am, your Lordship.”
“I’m not a Lord, madam.”
“And I’m not a Madam, Your Lordship.”
“Please, if you could recount in your own words your accusation?”
“Right, well, I was once acquainted with Hazel Cleary, back when her husband was alive. She was alright, a bit snooty, but -“
“If you could stick to the facts?”
“What you think I’m bloody doin’? Anyway, when her husband died, she got in with these other - witches. I heard tell that they all had a pact, to kill their husbands so they could form a group and exclude people who were once their friends, from knowin’ them anymore.”
“So, you say you overheard word of a pact? How sure are you?”
“As sure as the - whatsisname - in front of my - thingy.”
“Thank you, Miss Witterson. Next witness.”
“Richard Sumptish.”
“Richard Sumptish. You were once a lover of Daisy Hibbins, were you not?”
“Yeah. Right up until she put a spell on me.”
“And how did this spell manifest?”
“She turned my winky into a dinky, so she did.” Well, at least that’s what he tells all the girls. To the best of my knowledge, he’s always had a penis about the size of a small, wild mushroom. Anything else is purely nature and nothing to do with curses and spells, let me tell you.
Who’s this now? Oh, Ursula Fontague. Apparently it took four men just to get her out of bed this morning.
“Please, tell us how you were affected?”
“It was Lilith Gardiner. She made my legs wither and become useless. I were an athlete before her spells. Now I’m confined to this chair.” I think the mountains of cakes and pastry did that to you, Miss Fontague.
“If we could have the next witness -“
Oh, bloody Hell! Look at this creature! “Just look at my boy! That there Fay Proctor did that to him!”
“Did what to him?”
“The rash! Just look at it! It’s spreadin’, so it is! It were her, the evil witch!” That’s woken up the crowd.
“Quiet, please! Quiet! Alright, the final witness for the prosecution - Mr Stearne?”
“Olivia Tanner.”
“Ah, Mrs Tanner. You are of Gobley Square? Please, tell the court what Violet Waterhouse perpetrated on your house?”
“She ruined my flowers, she did. She was envious of my blooms and wanted ‘em herself. So she withered ‘em with a glance and made her familiar, a black cat, piddle on my doorstep. My Nigel came down with a pox, after that. He’ll never walk straight again, I’d imagine.”
“You hear these accusations? You hear how these evil witches have terrorised this town for far too long? They are a blemish on the face of an otherwise beautiful town!” Seriously, is he talking about the same place as I know? Upper Vaxham? Because it doesn't sound that familiar to me? “But, even before the sight of God, here in the body of the Rector,” Shit! Spotted! Stop staring at me, people! “We must give the accused the opportunity to reply, even if every sick evil word that will come from their mouths is nothing but lies from the very pit of Hell, where their Lord and Master waits for his time to rise! Mr Stearne, do the honours?” God. Even I’m scared, and I know I’ve got nothing to do with this. Not directly.
“By command of the Witchfinder General, Matthew Hopkins, you are allowed, in the witness of your accusers and God ’imself, a few words in yer defence.” This should be - interesting. I do hope they don't pick on me.
“You people are ridiculous! Myself and the ladies here are no more guilty than the next!” This is Fay Proctor - the loudmouth, “I mean, Gertie Ford! Remember when I sat next to your daughter’s bed all night? We waited, we cried and hoped her fever would break? And Paul Hunley? Do you not remember how my husband payed you right up until he died, and how I managed to find the money to continue paying, so you did not starve? You all accuse us of witchcraft, when we are nothing but widows of very fine, upstanding men of the town? And why? Because we set up a little group, just so the five of us didn't feel lonely? And you say we are evil, simply for not taking on new members? I see you in the back there! I see you and know your lies!” Shit! Is she looking at me? I better stand and mount some religious defence, before - oh God. It wasn't me she was referring to. It was Thomas Crempleton! Maybe if I just make it look like I was trying to get out anyway -
“And you, Rector Posster! Need we remind the people of Vaxham the despicable things you've made each one of us do? Yes, Wilfred! We talked about you in our meetings!”
“Well, actually I remember saying I didn't mind it awfully -“
“Quiet, Daisy! Now -“
“Alright! That’s enough!” Oh, thank you, Hopkins! I would kiss you, but - you know - “Not content with your evil acts, you try and destroy the reputation of a fine man of the cloth! God protects the Rector here! God protects him, because he does God’s work! So sorry, Rector.”
“Oh, don’t mention it. But you’ll understand if I step outside a moment?”
“Of course! Clear the way if you please!”
Oh great. Fresh air. Well, as fresh as it can be here, I suppose. Look at that? They've even already built the gallows! With scaffold and nooses! Boy, if the craftsmen of this town spent half their time building rather than carousing, the town would be a work of art - it would have a gallows motif, however, as this seems to be where their skill lies. Still, that’s a step up from the shit-smeared walls we’re used to in this town.
“Rector? What’s going on?” Shitsticks! It’s Sticks! Shit! Well, he might be my kid, remember? If they catch a whiff of him around here, there’ll be an extra rope.
“Ah, how can I help? Let’s walk.”
“Rector, they have heard, and so have I, that evil spirits lurk within the town! Is it true?”
“Well, sort of -“ Bugger it. It’d take too long to explain.
“They wait still, Rector! They wait for you, upon the mound! See? See as they show in illusion that which would come to you?” Is he pointing to the gallows? I hope not, though the only other thing in the way is Edwin Shitstain, our resident - erm - shit stain. Oh, that’s a story for another time, another person and someone who would actually be interested in telling it. And that’s not me, I can tell you. Still, I got Sticks out of the way. Perhaps I should return to the trial? At least to the pub, which at the moment is the same thing.
“The sentence of this court is that the five witches are guilty of witchcraft, and shall be taken yonder to hang until they are dead, so that their evil dies with them and the Devil has one less foothold in the world!” Right. Seems I came back in the nick, and it’s all done. I’m wondering if I should have a word with Hopkins and Stearne? Wait, where have they gone? Is it, I don’t know - witchcraft? No, there they are, going out the back door. Don’t blame them. Don’t want to be around when everyone comes to their senses, do they?
In a way, I’m kind of glad those women are hanging. Let’s me off the hook. What do you mean, selfish? Sod you!
Out they come. Up the steps, up to the nooses, and - “Posster! I will haunt you for the rest of your miserable life!” There goes that gobby cow again. Of course, I’d be scared if, indeed, God existed. Whoa! That brick nearly hit me! Who was it? Oh -
Sorry, Your Godliness! It was a slip of the tongue! Of course you’re real, Your Greatness! Shit! Take Flit, instead of me! I’m too pretty to - oh, it’s done. Uhm - speak later, Boss? Phew. Think I got away with it.
Duck! Thunderbolt!
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