Wulfert’s bones could be of no use to anyone. Perhaps if he really got down to business and examined the bauble, he might be able to pick up some clue to its purpose. Although, he thought, he would be a poor one to do that. An infernal machine, Andrew had called it. Although that could be discounted, for it was the kind of reaction to be expected of the hermit. Should it be a machine, as the hermit had said, infernal or otherwise, he, Duncan Standish, knew nothing of machines. For that matter, he thought, comforting himself, neither did many other people.
Head down, thinking, he ran into Beauty’s rear end. Startled, he backed away and the little burro, cocking her head to glance backward at him, unloosed a playful kick that caught him in the knee. It was a light kick, with little power behind it.
Everyone had stopped, he saw, and was staring down the valley. Coming toward them, hobbling, limping and complaining loudly, was an old woman. Behind her, shagging her along, came Tiny.
Conrad said proudly, “Tiny’s got him something.”
No one else said anything. Duncan walked forward to join Conrad.
The old woman came up to them and flopped down on the ground in a sitting position, pulling her rags about her.
She was a hag. Her nose was sharp and pointed, with hairs like spiderlegs growing out of it. More hairs sprouted on her chin. She had no more than half a dozen teeth, and her gray hair hung about her eyes.
“Call off your hound,” she shrilled at them. “He drove me like a cow. Gentlemanly about it, I must say. He took no chunks of flesh out of this poor body, as I suppose he could have. But he routed me out of that foul nest I call my home and herded me up the valley. And I don’t like it. I don’t like being herded. If I had a tithe of the power I once had, I would have frazzled him. But now I have no power. They took all the things I had got together — the owl’s blood, the bat’s brains, the eyes of newts, the skin of toad, ash from a fire in which a witch had burned, the tooth of a dog that had bitten a priest …”
“Hold up, grandmother,” said Duncan. “Who took this great hoard from you?”
“Why, the Harriers,” she said. “Not only did they take them, but they laughed at me gruesomely. Yes, that is how they laughed at me — gruesomely. Then they kicked my big butt out of there and set the torch to my humble hut.”
“You are lucky,” Andrew told her, “that they didn’t hang you or toss you in the blaze.”
She spat with disgust upon the ground. “The brutes!” she said. “The bullies! And I almost one of them. Almost of their own. They shamed me, that’s what they did. They said, short of saying it, that I was not worth a length of rope or the disturbance of the fire.”
“You should be glad they shamed you,” Andrew said. “Shame is a preferable alternative to death.”
“I had worked so hard,” she lamented, “and for so many years. I tried hard to build a professional reputation as a witch upon whom my clients could depend. I studied the cabala and I practiced — I practiced endlessly to perfect my art. I worked hard and sought endlessly for materials needed in my craft. I hate to think of the midnight hours I spent in graveyards, seeking out the various kinds of grave mold….”
“You tried hard to be a witch,” said Conrad.
“Laddy, that I did. I was an honest witch. An honest witch and there are not too many honest witches. Evil, perhaps. A witch must have some evil in her. Otherwise she would not be a witch. Evil, but honest.”
She looked at Duncan.
“And now, sir, should you wish to run that great sword through me…”
“I would not think of it,” said Duncan. “Through another witch, perhaps, but not an honest witch.”
“What do you intend to do with me? Since your dog brought me here, what will you do with me?”
“Feed you, for one thing,” said Duncan. “That is, if you are in need of food. You look as if you might be. Why should not one be courteous to an honest witch who has fallen on hard times?”
“You’ll regret the courtesy,” Andrew said to Duncan. “Pool around with witches and some of the witchery is bound to rub off on you.”
“But this one is scarcely a witch any longer,” protested Duncan. “You heard her say so. She has lost all her paraphernalia. She has not a thing to work with.”
Tiny had sat down and was regarding her quizzically. He acted as if he thought she belonged to him.
“Get that horrid beast away from me,” said the witch. “Although he hides it in a seeming humor, he has a wicked eye.”
“Tiny is no wicked dog,” said Conrad. “He has no badness in him. Otherwise you would be without an arm or leg.”
The woman put her hands on the ground and tried to lift herself. “Here,” said Conrad, putting out a hand. She grasped it and he hauled her to her feet. She shook herself to make the rags fall back in place.
“In truth,” she said, “you two are gentlemen. The one does not run a blade through me and the other helps me to my feet. Old Meg thanks you.”
She switched her gaze to Andrew.
“This one I do not know about,” she said. “He is a sour character at the best.”
“Pay no attention to him,” Duncan said. “He is a sour old hermit and the day’s not gone well for him.”
“Witches I have no love for,” said Andrew. “I will tell you plain. Nor goblins nor gnomes nor wizards nor any of their ilk. There are too many such in this world we live in. We’d be better off without them.”
“You said something about food,” said Meg, the witch.
“We have another hour or two of travel before the day is done,” said Duncan. “If you could wait that long.”
“I have in my pocket,” said Andrew, “a small bit of cheese, carrying it in case I should feel faint. If she wants it, she is welcome to it.”
“But Andrew, I thought…”
“For a woman,” said Andrew, “not a witch. Anyone who hungers …”
He held out the piece of cheese and she accepted it demurely, if a creature such as she could be demure.
“Bless you,” she said.
“I do not accept your blessing,” Andrew told her stiffly.
11
Well before the sun had set, they camped, gathering wood, building a fire, bringing water.
“There’s no reason to go without a fire,” said Duncan. “If there’s anyone around, they’ll know that we are here.”
Meg had ridden Daniel, who had been inclined to prance when she’d first been boosted to the saddle, but later quieted down, going at a deliberate pace to accommodate the rack of bones that rode upon his back.
Conrad, squatting before the fire, raked hot coals off to one side and cooked oaten cakes and rashers of bacon.
Their camp was situated at the edge of a small grove, with the stream in front of them and a sandy stretch of ground running from the water to the grove.
They ate as darkness was creeping over the land. A short time later Ghost came floating in.
“So there you are,” said Andrew. “We had been wondering what had happened to you.”
“Much afraid,” said Ghost, “still I travel very widely. In the open daylight, which is unpleasant for me, I spied out the land.”
“How far have you gone?” asked Duncan.