The Ghosts of Heaven by Marcus Sedgwick Page A

so.”
    *   *   *
    Father Escrove doubted very much whether a wench like this Anna Tunstall would have a coffin for her funeral, but if she did, the first nail had just been hammered into it.

 
    17 GAINING WATER
    Father Escrove made his way down the track that wound through Horsehold Wood. Wood pigeons called to each other through the leaves of the scrub oaks, tall flowers thrust rude parts up from the darkness of the forest floor to find light and insect lovers. Golden Beck rang louder and louder as he approached, and with that sound, the sound of hammering grew louder, too.
    He turned the final corner in the track to see Gaining Water smithy directly by the waterside, a large pool spreading beyond it, which quickly narrowed into the neck of a waterfall that dropped down toward Deepdale.
    Through the open door of the smithy he saw the fire of the furnace, and in the hands of the smith, the fall of a hammer on glowing metal. Escrove enjoyed this infernal picture. He was at God’s work, after all, and any malefactors he found would soon be enjoying the same scenes in Hell.
    The way forward, of course, was to pick people off, one by one. The way to do that was to start at the weakest end of the chain. And Father Escrove had heard some things about Jack Smith.
    He watched for a long time, through the door, waiting for Jack to finish his hammering. At last, the metal he was beating grew too cold to work. He thrust it into a glowing bed of coals, then stalked out of the door to cool off while it softened again.
    He saw the minister right away, standing. Waiting for him.
    â€œFather?” asked Jack Smith.
    â€œWould you talk to your priest, Jack?”
    â€œOf course, Father. What would you talk about?”
    â€œI would talk about a girl named Anna Tunstall.”
    The minister noted that the blacksmith stiffened slightly at the name.
    â€œWhat of her?”
    â€œYou swam her in the pool at Fuller’s Mill?”
    â€œThere were many of us did that,” Jack Smith said hurriedly. “It was not only me did that.”
    Jack saw that the minister was nodding. He sounded understanding.
    â€œOf course, of course. And you must have good reason for doing what you did.”
    Jack Smith felt his mouth dry.
    â€œWe did,” he said.
    The Father was smiling at him, broadly.
    â€œAnd what were your reasons?”
    Jack Smith felt his tongue like a rough ball in his mouth.
    â€œShe’s a witch,” he said, very quietly.
    â€œHow do you know that? Did the water reject her?”
    The blacksmith looked back inside his forge, and the minister coughed, just once, to get his attention back. He swung round and found that the minster’s eyes were fixed on his.
    â€œNo, Father. That is … She was saved before we knew whether the water had made its choice. But she is a cunning woman, all right.”
    â€œYou know that?”
    â€œEveryone knows it!” cried Jack. “A cunning woman, just as her mother was. Everyone goes there!”
    â€œEveryone?” asked the minister, and Jack knew he’d made a mistake.
    â€œMany do.”
    â€œDo you ?”
    Jack Smith thought about the pots of herbs sitting on the shelf in the smithy kitchen.
    â€œNo,” he said. “Never.”
    â€œAnd you would testify to this? About the girl?”
    Then Jack Smith thought about Anna—her long hair, those slender legs he’d once seen as she danced the spiral dance and the wind lifted her dress. He thought about those wide lips and he thought about the number of times he’d imagined them on him. He remembered how she’d felt under his hands as they’d dragged her to the water. He’d managed to feel her softness. Oh God, how he wanted her. Oh, how he hated her. Bitch.
    â€œYes, Father,” he said. “I would.”
    *   *   *
    The second nail. And the third was even easier to come by.

 
    18 WHAT FEAR CAN