The Witching Hour

I sat with Crispin and Olive in the magistrate’s office and fumed. I tried my best to keep my beak shut as I heard Walden Crane’s deal slip through our claws, but I just couldn’t help myself.

“That wasn’t the deal!” I spat and slammed my fist down on Walden’s desk.

“Ah,” said the magistrate. “Ah, yes, I do realise this is a small change to our arrangement.”

“A small change?” I cried. “You’re refusing to give us what you promised!”

“Ah, no. That’s not accurate.” Walden held up a finger in a gesture that would pacify precisely no-one. “I am perfectly willing to uphold my obligation. I am, however, not ready to do so quite yet.”

“Yet?”

“Not yet,” said Walden. He leaned across his pristine desk towards us. “I am most reassured by you returning young Kenna to the village unharmed. But there is still another peril that threatens our way of life here, and I am afraid I simply cannot concentrate on letter-writing until it is addressed.”

I slouched back in my chair and scowled. Olive wisely took this as an opportunity to lend some assistance.

“A threat to the Winnowing Reach?” she asked.

“Precisely,” said Walden, and then continued in hushed tones. “There is a witch that lives in the swamp nearby. Ah, a devilish woman. I would not be at all surprised if she was wrapped up in this business at Ashbarrow.” His eyes narrowed. “She should never have been allowed to settle here. She’s too much of a risk for me to stomach. I want you to get rid of her. Discreetly. Only then will I be able to rest easy.”

“Just one last job.”

“Naturally.”

“Payment?” Olive asked casually.

“The town coffers can spare a little for this public service,” said Walden without hesitation.

“One hundred gold pieces.”

I almost coughed up my breakfast. What was Olive thinking asking for this gigantic sum?

“Five,” Walden said firmly. “But the letter will be prepared already ahead of your return.”

“Fine,” said Olive and got to her feet. “But I should warn you that will only cover our most basic service package. It doesn’t include discretion.”

“Did I say five?” Walden’s expression soured. “Ah, I meant five each. But that is my absolute limit.”

“Done.” Olive winked. “We’ll make the witch disappear.”

We left the magistrate’s office quickly after that and, true to our word, didn’t mention our new mission to anyone. After bidding another temporary goodbye to Eliza we headed back into the swamp.

---

As it turned out, the witch’s house was not hard to find.

I followed animal tracks through the swamp which kept us to stable footing. In this way we avoided the worst of the pools of brackish water that pervaded the area. Soon we found a path to a pretty little cottage with flowers under the windows, dead lizards strung out at the front, and a giant skull-shaped cloud emanating from the chimney.

“Right,” I said. “This must be it. Be on your guard.”

“I don’t know,” said Olive. “This could be anyone’s cottage in the swamp. No need to be on your guard, Crispin.”

“What?”

Before I could intervene, Crispin, ever the pillar of the community, waddled up to the cottage and knocked.

The door swung open almost immediately. We were met by a small old Hedge with leaves carelessly stuck in her spines and a wide smile. She wiped her paws on a red and white checked apron and greeted us all.

“Hello, dearies,” she said. Her voice was creaky but warm. “Just as I thought, you’re right on time.”

“You’re… the witch?” I managed.

“Of course, dear,” the witch replied. “I prefer the term “Seer”, but you can call me Susan.“

Susan ushered us inside and closed the door behind us. The cottage was warm and there was the fragrant smell of lavender and woodsmoke coming from a small fire set in the center of the room. A giant beetle scuttled across the floor. It was almost as large as Olive and seemed to communicate with Susan through a series of clicks and clacks.

“What a delightful familiar,” said Crispin.

“Isn’t he just!” Susan beamed with pride. “I’m sure that without him I would have gone quite mad, all alone out here. Thank goodness I have Bert for company.”

Bert the beetle did a little dance, tapping its legs against the floor before rushing back off to attend a giant snailshell-shaped cauldron bubbling above the fire.

“You must be here to help me with my visions,” said Susan.

“Well, not really.” I said. “We were sent by Walden Crane.”

“Walden?” At first, Susan looked puzzled. “Well, yes, I suppose he would want to gather information on the fires.”

I looked at the elderly Hedge with her homely apron and cheerful smile. Could this really be who Walden Crane wanted us to deal with? How was I meant to threaten her?

“Actually, he wants you gone…” I gulped. “Or else.”

Susan stared at me, her eyes dark glinting with reflected firelight. The whole cottage felt very still. Then the silence was broken.

“Oh, I see!” Susan laughed so much she had to pull out a tiny embroidered handkerchief and wipe tears from her eyes. “It’s like that, is it? Well don’t you fear, brave warrior, my business in this part of the Wood is almost finished. I’ll be out of Walden’s feathers just as soon as I finish this last Draught of Divination.”

I sighed with relief. I didn’t particularly want to evict and/or maim poor Susan the Seer.

“What sort of divination magic is that?” asked Crispin.

“Just a little something I’ve been reading about,” Susan replied. “I’ve been having visions lately that the Wood is in grave danger. I hope this magic will help me clarify and understand them.”

“Perhaps we could help you out?” Olive offered. “Speed things up a bit?”

“You could, you could.” Susan smiled. “That is, if you’re good at catching frogs?”

---

Olive, Crispin, and I stalked the swamp outside Susan’s cottage, our eyes peeled for slimy amphibians. Olive was getting quite invested in the search. She hopped from tussock to tussock, occasionally splashing one of us if she landed too close.

“So, do you think she’s telling the truth?” I murmured to Crispin.

“I am somewhat of a divination expert myself,” Crispin replied distantly, lost in unusual thoughtfulness. “But none of my rituals require ‘a sacrifice’.”

“Maybe it’s some method you don’t know about,” said Olive.

“No need to be rude.”

“It’s not rude, it’s just—”

“Rude.”

“Alright,” I said wearily. “Let’s stay on our guard.”

“There—!”

There was a sudden splash as Olive dived into the mucky water ahead of us. She raised a single paw aloft. In it she held a tiny croaking specimen.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” said Crispin and looked away, deep into the swamp.

---

“Thank you so very much,” said Susan as she carefully took the slimy creature from Olive. “Nowadays, I’m too old to go chasing these little devils across the swamp.”

“Let’s just get this divination over and done with,” I said.

“Just as you like,” said Susan. She bent down and passed the frog to Bert’s questing feelers. The beetle collected it and scuttled over to the pot.

“This won’t take a moment,” Susan explained and approached the cauldron. “I just summon a little demon to help clarify my visions, then I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait.” Olive looked up. “A demon?”

“Just a little one,” said Susan with a smile.

There was a nose-wrinkling crack of magic as the spell began. It was as if all the natural light was suddenly sucked out of the room and replaced by a vivid green glow from the snailshell cauldron.

“Give me the power I desire!” Susan screeched and cackled in a high-pitched laugh. She continued to laugh as she disemboweled the frog directly into the bubbling cauldron. The effect was instantaneous. Susan immediately began to foam at the mouth and collapsed, writhing on the floor.

We looked on in horror as two hairy pink arms burst from the bubbling liquid and grasped the rim of the cauldron. They were followed by a horned head, fiendish yellow eyes, and leering grin. Susan had summoned a lesser demon, and it sprang forth from the cauldron and chattered maniacally in its demonic language.

“Oh great,” I sighed. “Crispin was right.”

Olive struck first, swinging her rapier and slicing deep into the demon’s arm.

It yowled in pain and leaped forward aggressively to retaliate. The disgusting creature opened its mouth and breathed out a sudden cloud of noxious gas.

“I told you,” said Crispin, cheerfully. “I said I had a bad feeling—ohno.”

Crispin inhaled more than he could stomach and doubled over, puking up his breakfast. But he didn’t let that stop him, and fought back, summoning a floating spiritual weapon shaped like his cooking ladle.

The demon recoiled from the glowing light and its eyes twitched toward the cottage door.

“Don’t even think about it.”

I let loose my pent-up rage and swung “Crispin’s Mighty Great Pan” in a vicious overhead arc, splitting the foul creature in half.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over.

“Oh dear me,” Susan coughed faintly from the floor. “Did it work?”

“Unfortunately not,” said Olive briskly. “I’d tear that page out of your spellbook if I were you.”

“That is a pity,” said Susan with a sigh. “I was so looking forward to a nice little chat.”

We left soon after that, taking Susan at her word that she would not attempt such magic again. But, as we walked away from the cottage, Crispin stopped in his tracks. He swore he heard a curious crunching cracking sound, almost as if a beetle shell was suddenly torn open and devoured.