Salem's Witches (Neitherlands Book 1), page 13
Antoine got up and left, without giving the conversation a proper end or even bidding his leader farewell. Howard sighed as Antoine closed the door behind him. For all his usefulness, Antoine could sometimes be a downer: He just couldn’t understand how easy it was to get people to join your cult. He was a man of action, when cults needed men of words like himself, and his scorched earth approach to everything meant the church would most likely not last long were he to ever attain control. Said policies, after all, were more in line with politicians than church leaders: Politicians killed and stole their way to power; spiritual leaders charmed their way to it. That was how he had built his little empire and how he planned to keep it.
As long as he lived, the Church of Quackology would remain a pacifist entity.
After their arrest, the witches were treated as any other prisoner—terribly. In New Wakilork there was no distinction between dangerous and non-dangerous criminals because, after all, such distinctions were classist in nature.
Therefore, all criminals were treated the same and whether you had stolen candy or plotted to kill the Dominatrix didn’t quite matter to the guard. The only thing that could save you from being thrown into the alligator pit was the Dominatrix, whose judgment was known to be fair and even better than that of the gods.[18]
The witches had been brought to see her and the audience was going about as well as one could expect from anything involving Madame Xantiplam.
She had spent the better part of two minutes filing her nails, while our three friends stared at her from below her throne. She had made no attempts to acknowledge them, and each of them thankfully knew better than to try gain her attention by other means. Even Veronika wasn’t bold enough to attempt such a feat, deciding instead to spend her time noticing how she looked much younger than she was supposed to be.
Madame Xantiplam finished filing her nails then glanced up and noticed the three women standing there. It took her a second to remember just why she had ordered for three women to be delivered to her throne room. Not what for, the what for didn’t often change. It was the why that sometimes escaped her.
“And you three are?” she said, trying to sound as dismissive as possible.
“Salem’s witches,” said Veronika. She regretted this instantly: Surely speaking to the Dominatrix without first cowering in fear was considered a crime.
“I remember now. You’re the lot that’s running around dissing on religions and trying to get all beliefs outlawed. Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves?”
“What?” said Veronika, risking her life for the second time. She couldn’t recall having done any of those things, and she feared it had actually happened and she had somehow missed out on the fun.
“Just what I said. I have intelligence briefings that confirm this and a lot more. You are all on thin ice, so I recommend that you drop the attitude.”
“May…may we see those briefings?” said Laura. “Just…just to confirm what they say, you know. So we can know everything we’re being accused of.”
“You have been found guilty of being involved in the mysterious disappearance of many citizens. You have also been found guilty of running a vigilante business without proper permission and conspiring to frame a church with murder, arson, and jaywalking.”
“Jaywalking…” said Laura. “How can you frame a church with jaywalk—”
“Madame Xantiplam, do add a count of trashing a church to the list of crimes committed by the band,” said one of the guards. “We found them hiding in a destroyed church, and it’s obvious with their history that they are the only ones who could could have perpetrated the act.” The guards then left the room.
“We weren’t hiding!” said Sarah, “We were attending a funeral. And it wasn’t us who trashed it, it was Miss Bostwick!”
The Dominatrix made a face. The face. The one she made when something was off or a story didn’t quite add up. “Whose funeral was this?”
“Miss Bostwick’s!”
The face remained. In fact, its features seemed to become more marked. “Is this the same Miss Bostwick who trashed the church?”
“Yes!” said Sarah, “But… I mean, it’s not like—”
“So a dead woman trashed a church. How convenient.”
“It’s true, your Highness,” said Laura, “Miss Bostwick kind of…came back to life during her own funeral.”
“I still find your explanation far too convenient. Not to mention it’s all kinds of absurd and not something I’ll even consider believing. Why would a dead woman come back to life?”
“Maybe you should ask the people who were with her,” said Laura. “I’m sure those in the Church of—”
“Thanks for reminding me, you’re all also charged with trying to frame a church of a series of crimes. What do you lot have to say in your defense?”
“That…we didn’t?” said Veronika, after a moment of silence where she endlessly pondered whether opening her mouth was at all a good idea. “I mean, you just have to look at them, they’re shifty and evil. They’re involved in all of this, and—”
“Shut up! I didn’t ask you to tell me a story. Much less one as bad as this one. I had been warned you all didn’t like churches.” The Dominatrix’s stare changed from one of suspicion to one of disappointment. “I can’t believe in this day and age we still have people like this running around, judging people and committing crimes against them for their beliefs. You all should be ashamed of yourselves.”
“But—”
“Shut up! Let’s begin this trial formally. These three women somehow got me to go off the script.” The Dominatrix rose from her throne. “Are you three the group, also described as a vigilante band, known as Salem’s Witches?”
“Well, we are Salem’s Witches,” said Laura. “I’m not sure we’re much into vigilantism, but we do tend to help people here and—”
“Shut up!” said Madame Xantiplam. “Third time. The more I have to say it, the worse off you’ll be. You speak only when spoken to. Now, were you or were you not present at Dominion Square early in the morning after the Midwinter Feast? I already know the answer.”
“We were, your Highness,” said Sarah.
“That’s all I need to know. Now, I declare you all guilty and sentence you to life without parole.”
The doors opened and the guards entered.
“Wait, guilty of what?” asked Sarah, as the guards inched closer to them. “You did read an awfully long list of crimes. What are we guilty of?”
The Dominatrix stared at Sarah, startled. “Excuse me? All that stuff you did, of course. Why would I go around listing everything? You know what you did and accepted the guilt for it. That’s more than enough. To top it off, your lawyer hasn’t objected to anything.”
“We don’t have a lawyer,” said Laura.
“That’s hardly my problem. You should know better than hang around without a lawyer. You never know when you’ll need one. I’ll make sure somebody in the Lawyers’ Guild hears about this and writes a cautionary tale, using you all as an example.”
“You can’t send us to jail without letting us know the reason, your Excellency,” said Laura. “It’s a part of the processing established by the Penal Code of New Wakilork, Chapter Three, Numeral Seventh.”
The Dominatrix gave Mr. Gupita a questioning stare. He assented slowly, in a barely noticeable way. He seemed scared she’d jump on top of him and beat him up.
“Seems we’ve got ourselves a little know-it-all, I see,” said the Dominatrix. It didn’t look as if she was at all used to people knowing the law. “Have it your way. You have all been found guilty of causing the petrification and further disappearance of everyone present in the Midwinter Feast. You’re also guilty of trashing a church and being held in contempt of the Dominatrix. And then there’s all that stuff with murder, arson, and jaywalking. I sentence you to life without parole, and you all should be happy I’m not sending you to the den. Are you happy now?”
“There’s no evidence linking us to any of those crimes, your Excellence,” said Laura. “Or do I need to remind you of the contents of the Twelfth Numeral of the Chapter Fourth of—”
“I know all about it. It says somethingsomething about evidence. Well, it isn’t here because you all have already admitted to being guilty. If a killer walks into the police station and surrenders himself because he’s a killer, you do not doubt him or refuse to put him in jail. Why, you just execute him on the spot. A confession is the biggest proof you can ever obtain, after all.”
“We haven’t confessed a thing. We just admitted to having been to the square, a public place, early on the morning of that day.”
“All right, then, if you lot didn’t make the statues disappear, who did?” said the Dominatrix, whose patience seemed to be wearing thin. “You were around, so it stands to reason that you would know who did it. And we haven’t even mentioned the trashing of the church, for which we have eyewitnesses.”
“Having been there does not mean we had anything to do with what happened,” said Laura. “We ourselves aren’t entirely sure who did it, but at least we have a suspect. Seems to be more than what others are currently working with, considering they just charged us with it…”
“Who is your suspect? Not saying that I believe anything you say, but I’m smart enough to know it’s likely your suspect was originally your accomplice so, ha. We’ll catch you both.”
Veronika sighed. “The Church of Quackology, your Excellency. As we mentioned earlier. We have reasons to believe they are the ones who caused the petrification and disappearance of the people.”
“What is this church?” The Dominatrix asked Mr. Gupita. “Bring me up to speed.”
“They’re a new church,” said Mr. Gupita. “Well, not new. They’ve existed for many years, although they’ve got more press lately than before. Just one of the many churches that make a living in the city under your decree of freedom of faith, your Highness.”
“Have they ever been involved in anything shady? I can’t recall having dealt with them.”
“They haven’t,” said Mr. Gupita. “Their records are as clean as those of any religious group, and we have had no reason to mark them as suspects. As far as we’re concerned they’re just another band of believers.”
“So you’re trying to blame everything on a church?” she said, turning to face the witches. “This is the lowest anyone could go. You have no proof whatsoever of their involvement, yet you seem to tell me about it as if you truly expected me to just take your word for it and go burn the place down.”
“It’s not like that,” said Veronika, who wouldn’t have minded the place burning down. “First, we have never asked anyone to burn anything down. And second, we have reasons to believe they’re acting undercover and planning to make massive amounts of people convert to their religion to—”
“And just who are you to decide what religion people should convert to? Must I remind you, again, that in this city we observe freedom of cult and stick by it? It is illegal to try and force anyone to join, or stay away from, any religion. New Wakilork is a religiously plural city and shall remain so. Honestly, those statements of yours don’t look good when coupled with how you reportedly trashed a church.”
“It wasn’t us!” said Laura. “We were there for Miss Bostwick, who was a part of the Church of Quackology when—”
“I thought there were eyewitnesses,” said Madame Xantiplam. She stared at the officer. “Where are they?”
“We’ll have to look for them,” said the officer. “I’m sorry, your Excellency, I didn’t think of bringing them in for questioning too. I’ll whip myself accordingly.”
“Fine,” she replied. “Guess I’ll have to let you speak in the meantime. Tell me what happened.” She sat back on her throne and sighed.
“Miss Bostwick came back to life during the ceremony,” said Sarah. “And when she saw what the ceremony was, well…”
“It was this crazy thing,” said Veronika, unable to suppress a grin as she spoke of the Cult of John. “There’s this insane woman who created a cult where a supposed deity is waiting until women die to marry them. So the actual funeral was a wedding, or a mockery of one. It’s ridiculous, entirely deranged, and insane. Trust me, you wouldn’t believe it if you saw it. So when she woke up and saw that, she went ballistic and started breaking everything in sight. It would have been funny weren’t it also so sad. No wait, it was still funny.”
“Let me see,” said the Dominatrix. “You first told me that a religion is to blame for a bunch of people being petrified and then disappearing. Now you tell me that you didn’t destroy the church, that it was a zombie who did it, but that in the end another religion is to blame.” She grabbed a cherry from her cup and ate it. “I’m noticing a pattern here, and I’m not liking it.”
“It’s not what it seems, your Highness,” said Laura. “It’s just a huge, odd coincidence. Miss Bostwick, in fact, used to be a part of the Church of Quackology, and we believe they were involved in her untimely death.”
“Lies,” said the Dominatrix. “The Church of Quackology loved her so much they sent hundreds of people to the church. My guards told me about it. No other church would have done that. It was a truly heartfelt display of love. But here you are again, once more blaming a religion for everything.” She stared at all of them, one after the other. “Don’t you feel ashamed of being so full of hatred? Let people believe what they want, it’s their lives. Going around, committing crimes and blaming them on religion, that’s low. I see no other way out of this than sentencing you all to life without parole.”
“But it’s true!” said Sarah. “You should at least try to look into what we say. We aren’t lying!”
“Take them away,” said the Dominatrix while she ate yet another cherry. “I’ve had enough of these bigots, trying to pin every single one of their crimes on churches. They have to be the stupidest lot I’ve ever had to face.”
“Wait!” said Veronika. “You can’t jail us. We’re witches! One does not jail a witch!”
Madame Xantiplam looked surprised. “Indeed,” she said, lowering her voice. “It would be extremely short sighted of me to even consider arresting and jailing three mighty witches who could destroy my whole palace and overthrow me in their anger! Oh, why would I ever risk incurring in your wrath?” She laughed. “It would so be a mistake if I didn’t know you’re not witches, my dear. In fact, I’ll add another thing to your now rather long list of infractions: Being impostors, passing as witches so society would respect you. But don’t worry, I’ll be gracious and leave your sentence as is. You can all just go rot in jail now for eternity.” She got up and motioned to the guards. “Now take them away!”
“You’ll be sorry for this!” said Laura while they were forcibly removed from the hall. “You’ll see we were right. You’ll have to release us!” She insisted. “Laugh all you want right now. It isn’t over until the fat lady sings!”
ACT TWO
The rise and fall of the Maid of New Wakilork
7
It is unnecessary to state that jail is not a nice place. It is redundant and downright condescending to say so, for everyone knows that of all terrible places in which you might find yourself, a jail is often second place only to six feet under. Nevertheless it will be said, because it is fun to state the obvious: Jail is not a nice place. If you can, please avoid ending up in jail.
The witches hadn’t been good at avoiding jail, and they had to pay for it by spending a significant amount of time in it. Their sojourn there lasted many weeks and at several points each of them came to believe they would never be released.
They were, of course, eventually released. It happened during the morning of what they knew to be Sunday, thanks to Laura’s insistence on drawing sticks on the wall to count the days. The three of them were distracted by the delicious smell of the feast coming from the kitchen when a noise came from the tiny window that offered them a small, almost cruel sight of the outside world.
Said sight was just slightly less cruel than the daily feasts they were forced to smell but never taste.
Nonetheless the noise got their attention, because no noise ever came through such windows.[19] Having heard nothing of interest and having nothing better to do because what else is there to do in jail, all three of our friends decided to listen in on the noise.
“Stop it!” whispered Sarah, “You’re stepping on me!”
“Don’t even think of it. Why should you be the one to listen to the outside world? Are you really that special?” said Veronika, trying to get on top of Sarah to hear the noise better.
“You’re the taller one. If anything, I should be the one on your shoulders!” Sarah moved from her place in front of the wall, making Veronika fall.
Laura tried to shush her friends, knowing that standing a few inches closer or farther from the wall wouldn’t make much of a difference, and aware that their own noise was keeping them from being able to hear what was going on outside.
It took Sarah and Veronika a short while to stop bickering and realize they all could listen at the same time.
“I don’t know why she wants this,” said a man. “It doesn’t even make sense…also, choosing this place of all, knowing the dangers involved, it’s ridiculous. She must be crazy, I’m sure!”
A few clanks and thuds accompanied the man’s voice, just enough to let Laura know somebody was doing something, yet not enough know just what it was. Laura tried to pay closer attention to the voice: There was something about it that seemed…familiar.
“Why am I even doing what she says? Is it because she’s pretty? I guess it must be. Pretty women are convincing. And whatever might have happened with the pretty one from the other day? Why I never heard back from her. I hope she’s doing fine. It’s not every day that I get one to help me, although I guess that day I learned that having them around doesn’t change how the gods hate me.”
