Salem's Witches (Neitherlands Book 1), page 27
And as she left the curtain burned on, completely unaware that it was expected to put itself out.
Or perhaps it wasn’t.
Leggy struggled to see what was going on down there. Fortunately, Sergeant General McCormick had brought a spyglass, but he still couldn’t make head or tail of the situation. People were cheering and there were two who seemed to be dead and nailed to stakes, but he couldn’t see the maid anywhere. Had she not been brought out yet? Was she already out, but in a separate location he had missed?There he was, taking the place of the leader in a battle he hadn’t planned and had no clue how to lead. And, for some reason, people were expecting him, of all people, to do so. The actual leader, meanwhile, was MIA and he was starting to think she wouldn’t show up at all.
He couldn’t see why someone would lead a resistance and plan an attack just to not show up…unless she had planned to get them all killed, of course. But some things were better not to think about, and that one was at the top of the list. Trying to pull back at that point would likely only get him killed by the army surrounding him, everyone believing him to be an undercover Quackology agent when in truth he was just an undercover Dominion agent. And in this case where your true allegiances lay probably made the whole difference.
He looked through the spyglass again, trying to figure out what was going on there. He wasn’t used to using a spyglass, which meant whenever he moved it, he did it a little too much and missed his mark by a few miles.
Nonetheless, he had locked onto the courtyard at least. Nothing odd there, although he couldn’t understand much of what was going on. Suddenly the doors opened and someone came out. Was it the maid? He couldn’t remember what the maid looked like, possibly as a side effect of having been drunk during nine out of every ten meetings. And on the tenth one he got drunk right after.
Never mind, that didn’t matter. Morrìgan had instructed them to look for a fire in one of the windows that—
The damn spyglass moved too far. Now he was staring at the horizon, where a pink kite was flying while a storm raged and lightning struck it over and over. How curious.
He moved the spyglass a bit, this time missing by much less. There was the roof of the main Quackology building. He could see an overhead window and an inordinate amount of crows apparently nesting on it.
By the way, what was it with crows and the city lately? It seemed one couldn’t swing a stick without hitting one or two of those. Or were those things ravens? It wasn’t important—it wasn’t as if anyone could tell them apart.
Finally he positioned the spyglass correctly and could see the windows and the stage. Indeed a naked woman stood there—that was probably the maid. As for the windows, they were—
There was a fire in one of them.
Leggy lowered the spyglass and looked at his group, hoping Morrìgan would have arrived. As expected, he had no such luck. In those around him he saw the thirst for battle and more than a little bloodlust: They were ready, just waiting for the order.
He closed his eyes, not knowing what to do. He couldn’t lead a battle—why, he could barely lead his own life—and experience had proved he wasn’t quite effective at it. If he dared lead a battle, chances were they’d get massacred and he’d get killed by an old lady wielding a cooking fork. He knew that was going to happen.
Then again, if he didn’t call the attack he’d have to report to the Dominatrix, who would ask what had happened and why he hadn’t led the whole thing when as a member of the Dominion he was trained to do so.
Leggy sighed and yelled for everyone to head to the compound. On second thought, perhaps dying at the hands of an old lady with a cooking fork wasn’t such a terrible fate after all.
16
Eustace always knew a squire’s life wasn’t for him. Still, he had joined the Church of Quackology and its army because the perks[41] were too good to pass over. He never expected he’d have to face a battle or a fight or anything like that. New Wakilork hadn’t seen a war in almost forty years,[42] when Madame Xantiplam had taken over, and he wouldn’t have expected the first in so long to happen in a church of all places.
At that moment, life wasn’t so much proving him wrong as it was dancing around him singing ‘I told you so’ interspersed with healthy doses of ‘Na-na-na-na-na-na’.
Then again, he didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself or his situation. He was already far too busy being consumed by fear as he reached the top of the watchtower where Bardsley waited.
“Took you a while to come back,” said Bardsley. He was a general or something, Eustace had never bothered learning the organization of Quackology’s inner army. What mattered was that he had power. “I expect everything went as planned?”
Eustace was shaking so much he would be the only thing in history ever stabilized by an earthquake. Not that he was lucky enough to have a timely earthquake come and put an end to the whole battle nonsense. “I… I went there, yes,” he said, looking for places to hide. He wasn’t bringing good news, and Bardsley was holding that crossbow of his like he’d been wanting to try it for years.
“Then the first line is about to arrive…right?” said Bardsley, his one eye fixed on Eustace. Whatever had happened to make Bardsley lose his left eye Eustace didn’t know and also didn’t want to know. Some people only became more terrifying once you learned how they got maimed.
“They…” Eustace considered jumping off the tower. It would be a merciful death, better than being killed by who knows how many crossbow bolts. “The barracks are…were…are…” His voice grew softer with each word, nearing a whisper at the end. “Empty…”
“What?” said Bardsley, somehow not screaming. The lack of a scream was worrying, but Eustace wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the man scream. He was small, fat, one-eyed, and somehow the most terrifying man he’d ever met.
A glance outside at the stage proved him wrong. Bardsley was the second-most terrifying man he’d ever met.
“It’s…there…” Maybe if Eustace made a run for it, he’d escape with his head still attached to his shoulders. And nobody would know or judge him for it, or would they? Well, unless the church won the battle. Then he’d be in trouble. “There was nobody there…sir…”
“Are you telling me we have an army knocking on our doors and we have lost our first line of defense?”
Eustace looked outside. There certainly was an army out there, but they didn’t seem to be knocking on the door. They were more aptly trying to dismantle it, some groups carrying battering rams and all. If they were just knocking they sure were the rudest visitors ever.
“I…guess?”
Bardsley looked outside at the army, then to the stage on the other side, then at the army again, then at Eustace. “Well, somebody needs to report this, and it can’t be me because I’m on watchpost duty. So will you please go let Antoine LeFlay know we have lost our first defenses?”
Eustace could feel his blood running cold. He wondered if perhaps now hypothermia would claim him, sparing him from whatever it was LeFlay did to people who told him his main line of defense was gone. “Like, me? Go there, on the stage and…”
“Yes, of course. He needs to know right now, after all. Else what will we do?”
Eustace pondered his options. He could go and be flayed alive by LeFlay who, now that he thought of it, was very aptly named, or he could say no and get bolted to death with that crossbow that was curiously pointing at his heart.
“I’ll go,” he said, hoping to find a third option soon, then left the room immediately.
The third option, of course, came to him just as he reached the ground. He got mixed up in the crowd, to keep Bardsley from discovering where he was, then found his way to the back of the compound, where he hoped to find somewhere safe to hide while the inevitable battle happened.
Standing naked on a stage while thousands of people stared wasn’t nearly as horrible an experience as Annabella had expected.
Or perhaps it just didn’t matter when compared to what the future held. She stood there, unsure of what was going on or where to go from there. The moment she walked out everything felt surreal, as if it all was just a dream.
Then the slash of a whip on her back woke her. She threw herself to the ground, as whoever was administering the punishment kept going, either unaware of her change of position or just not caring. Lying there, hugging her legs, she became aware of the cold air, the smell of the blood oozing from her wounds, both old and new, and…
The cheers of the crowd. Thousands of people cheered each time the whip struck her. Thousands of men and women who considered themselves decent cheered over the humiliation and eventual execution of a woman. These people, all of them, got up every day and considered the world would be a better place if everyone was like them—then they went and celebrated others getting murdered.
Perhaps the Church of Quackology had been rotten all along. Perhaps what Peter Howard had built wasn’t good at all and she hadn’t only been tasked with making sure LeFlay didn’t get it. Perhaps she had been tasked with destroying it to its core.
She got up once her twenty lashes were over and stared at the crowd, her breath shallow yet controlled. Then she looked beyond them, beyond the gates and at…
There was an army outside the compound. And since every quackologist in the city was present for her execution, it wasn’t at all difficult to know what that mob outside was, or what they wanted.
“You’re done,” LeFlay whispered in her ear.
Annabella didn’t bother turning to see him. “No, you are done,” she said without looking away from the mob. “See my army out there? I may or not survive, but your cult won’t. That much I know.”
LeFlay’s expression was the kind normally reserved for evil masterminds who realize their evil plans might not come to fruition, and everything they have worked so hard for will likely be for naught.
Which is to say it was perfectly fitting for the occasion.
Instead of answering, he did what many a man without morals has been known to do: He slapped Annabella. The sheer force of the unexpected strike pushed her, and she ended up on the floor.
“I will kill you, you little bitch,” he said, jumping on top of her as she attempted to get up. “I will kill you, and then I will kill every single member of your ridiculous army. And then, anyone who remains alive will be judged by the Dominatrix for the horrible crime of child-killing.”
“Child…what?” Annabella managed to raise her head just a moment to see the incoming action again. There were no children anywhere, except for perhaps the children of Xianuu, but then again, that was a figure of speech and LeFlay wasn’t known for using those. “There are no children there.”
LeFlay turned, presumably to see the army of children. Presumably he also saw nothing, for his next step was to slap Annabella again. She didn’t bother recoiling, or giving him any reaction whatsoever. It would all be over soon anyway, and if she was to go she would rather not give that horrible man any more pleasure.
“I’ll deal with you first, and then with the rest,” he said, getting up. He kicked her and called the hangmen. They arrived immediately, put a stake on her side, then grabbed her hands and feet.
Then Annabella Bostwick lost control. To know she’d be staked was one thing, but to have it happen brought out her primal survival instincts. Immediately she started screaming and thrashing, hoping to break free from her captors, to obtain at least a few more minutes before her inevitable fate arrived. Meanwhile the crowd cheered wildly as if the most amazing trick was being performed.
The guards wouldn’t let go. They were likely used to dealing with resistance, since it stood to reason that nobody had ever wanted to be staked. No matter how much she tried to break free, she couldn’t, and soon enough she found herself lying atop the stake. Atop her stake.
She closed her eyes, her breathing shaky as the men positioned her to be staked. The men extended her hands above her head and placed them on top of each other, both hands open, then did the same with her feet. Knowing what was to come, she tried breathing in.
A nail ripped through her right palm, sending a jolt of pain through her body and forcing her to scream. Suddenly the crowd, the sun, and her own nakedness didn’t matter, and all she could feel was the nail in her palms, then another one going through her feet. She screamed while her palms got nailed together and to the stake below, hoping something would make them stop and the pain go away.
Nothing came to her aid. She lay there, unable to prevent the assault, and in a matter of seconds her hands and feet were nailed to a stake. LeFlay then knelt in front of her, his face millimeters from hers.
“This is what happens when you defy me: You lose. You had a chance to join me, and had you taken it, we both would be on our way to rule over the city. But you had to throw it all away, see me as the evil one, and start a resistance. You just sentenced thousands of men to death. I hope you’re proud of it. And now, before this is over… I must let you know I forgive your trespasses, I do.” He grabbed her jaw to keep her from moving, then kissed her lips. She tried to pull away, but she was being held and the pain made her weak. “Now, they’re about to raise your stake. Once they do, you’ll realize your current pain is really nothing in comparison.”
He seemed to be about to get up, then thought better of it. “Oh, I almost forgot. Let’s tighten your crown one last time, for we don’t want it to fall off or do we?” He tightened the screws of the device on Annabella’s head. Whether it hurt more or not, she couldn’t tell. She no longer knew what parts of her body ached and which ones didn’t. It was all pain, her breath shallow and interrupted.
“There,” he said once he was done, “now you are complete. Staked and crowned as the queen you are. The queen of quackologists, aren’t you?”
LeFlay got up and ordered the hangmen to raise the stake. Annabella tried to ready herself as the men grabbed it, but nothing could have prepared her for the pain that took over the stake was lifted. Her feet and hands flared up in agony when the need to support her weight arose, and her breath became more shallow and irregular along with it. Even screaming in pain became impossible.
“This,” said LeFLay to the crowd, pointing at Annabella, “this is what happens to those who defy Quackology. This is the fate of anyone who fancies themselves strong enough to fight against the truth and to fight against morals. Everyone, look at this: This will be your future if you even think of going against us.”
He turned to see her, then departed for the main building. Annabella couldn’t see where he went, but the crowd was cheering and screaming with joy at her staking. She could also see her army trying to breach the gates. It was just a matter of minutes before a battle broke, although it would be too late for her.
She raised her head a bit, hoping to get one last glance at the world before her strength fled. She looked at the sky, the clear sky crowned by the sun. Birds had even dared to come out and sing, all the while horrible things happened. She took one last glance of it all, wondering if perhaps she would indeed be saved. Maybe, just maybe she would faint and wake later on, safe and sound after being rescued.
As her strength waned, just before closing her eyes, Annabella wondered why it was that Xianuu hadn’t helped her. But more than that, she doubted that Xianuu existed at all.
Betelgeuse always knew there were few things for which he’d put his life on the line, and he was glad to be yet to find the first one. However, at times his thirst for fame and fortune got in the way. Like now.
He repeated this to himself as he reached the library containing the secret exit. He also tried reminding himself that, if successful, he’d be known far and wide for stopping the big quackologist threat…and said fame would bring money and women along with it. This idea alone was more than enough to wake up his Inner Hero.[43]
“Stop!” he said, for the lack of anything better. He hadn’t planned things that far ahead.
Antoine LeFlay turned and regarded Betelgeuse with a puzzled stare, including a raised eyebrow. “And who are you?”
Betelgeuse stepped back, trying to figure out a strategy. It was much more difficult than it had at first seemed. “I’m Betelgeuse,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
LeFlay stared at him, impassive. “May I know what you stopped me for? You don’t even look like a Quackology member. Did you come with the riffraff that tried to rush our beautiful church?”
Betelgeuse nodded. However evil the man might have been, he was also imposing.
“I see. Then I guess you came to try and deal with me, did you not? Did you think you could take on good ol’ Antoine LeFlay on your own, perhaps get an award for stopping him?”
Betelgeuse assented again. He felt quite stupid standing there while LeFlay told him his own plan.
“You see, the problem is, that won’t work. I don’t like it, because…what’s in it for me? I get beaten up, jailed, possibly fed to the alligators… Mind you, I have nothing against any of those things. I’m just too busy for any of that right now, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll have to leave. Can we agree on this? Howard is on the top floor, if you want him. The gods all know he’s in dire need of a good beating anyway, that poor sod.”
Betelgeuse found himself agreeing to LeFlay again. LeFlay, watching him assent, inclined his head and turned to leave the building.
Then Betelgeuse remembered he was supposed to stop the man, not let him go. In a split second he jumped and went for LeFlay’s neck while his back was turned, expecting him to be defenseless.
His attempt was met with a swift strike from LeFlay’s cane. His ribs took the brunt of the attack and replied with a loud, worrisome crack.
“I see,” said LeFlay, looking anything but surprised at Betelgeuse’s failed attempt at heroism. “And here I was hoping we could part ways amiably. Guess that’s too much to ask of the motley crew poor ol’ dead Annabella gathered.”
