The Witch Watch by Shamus Young Page B

again. The candles had all expended themselves. The curtains were drawn, and fingers of daylight reached between through the gaps. Her fingers were blackened with ink.
    The abomination - Gilbert, she reminded herself - was sitting in the middle of the room. The men had left, save for poor Archer, who had once again been chosen to guard her in the last hours of the night. But he had inadvertently abandoned his duty by falling asleep in his chair.
    Another series of pounding blows came, followed by a bell. The door! Archer was startled from sleep by the sound, and military reflex compelled him to leap to attention. His rifle, which had been reclining in his lap, now clattered to the floor. He wobbled slightly and rubbed his eyes. “I’ll answer it,” he said blearily.
    What time was it? Alice often thought she should add a clock to the room. It would make her more able to see when it was time to go to bed, and make it less confusing the next morning after she had failed to do so. But she only ever thought of it in moments like this, and forgot about it once she was fully awake.
    She heard the door open downstairs, followed by the sound of something heavy being dropped. There was the sound of raised voices, which did not belong to anyone she knew.
    She motioned to Gilbert to keep quiet and hurried downstairs.
    “Get off!” shouted Archer as Alice reached the entryway. Two young men in shabby clothes were sitting on him. A few more were standing by, rummaging through her things. All of them wore red sashes about their waist. Those that did not bear swords were carrying rope. An old man, whose face was stern and encumbered by great hanging jowls, stood in the center of the room holding a high scepter. The scepter matched his height, and at the top was a great bronze circle with a star affixed in the center. The Church had come to visit.
    “What is this?” Alice demanded. “You are all trespassing on the property of His Royal Highness Prince Albert, Duke of Saxony. Furthermore, this organization is under the leadership of Ethereal Affairs Minister Sir Robin Moxley, and you have no authority or right of arrest over us.”
    The man looked at her disdainfully and snorted, as if he believed these were the most blatant and offensive lies she could possibly have contrived. “You have named many honorable titles, but none of them are yours. I take it you are Alice White?”
    “I am,” she said defiantly.
    “I am Hierarch Prothero. We are here seeking the unholy abomination you and your associates willfully brought into this house only yesterday. It must be destroyed.”
    “You have no authority,” she repeated, but her voice faltered. She knew her words could not turn away this many armed and determined men.
    “The church has tolerated your blasphemous collection of unholy knowledge, but you have tested God’s patience one time too many, Miss White. You are a witch and a transvestite. Give over your contraband and you will be shown mercy.”
    Alice struggled to master her fear and anger. She saw her situation was hopeless. Archer was overpowered, she was unarmed, and their adversaries had come with tools of violence. Her only thought was that she could perhaps delay the Hierarch until other members of the watch happened to arrive, or until she could contrive an escape. “God has not expressed any impatience to me,” she told him. “Perhaps you are mistaken. Perhaps you should ask again. And while you are at it, you could find someone to teach you the proper meaning of the word ‘witch’.”
    “You are perverse,” he said hotly. “And your words will be added to the charges against you.”
    “Perverse? I would say that an organization that murders suspects and burns evidence in the course of conducting an ‘investigation’ is perverse. And again, you have no right over us.”
    “We have the right to seek out and execute witches throughout the British Empire, which includes your borrowed house. A house which you