"Jus' two doors," Buckner said with a snort. "Back 'n front. I was behind the house, so I must'a gone in the back un."

"Was it cold that night?" Matthew asked, as he dipped the quill once more.

"It was February, like I say."

"Yes, sir. But my question to you is: was it cold that night?"

"Sure it was. Had to be cold, a February night!"

"You don't know for certain whether it was cold or not? You don't recall it being cold?"

"I'm not on trial here, am I?" Buckner looked to the magistrate for help. "What's he poundin' the nail for?"

"Is there some point to this, Matthew?"

"Yes, sir, there is. If you'll bear with me?"

"All right, then." Woodward nodded. "But please remember that Mr. Buckner is a witness, not a defendant."

"Mr. Buckner, when you rose from bed to go outside in the cold February night, did you pause to put on any outer garments?"

"Outer garments? What're you goin' on about?"

"A coat," Matthew said. "A cloak. A hat. Gloves. Surely you paused to at least put on shoes."

Buckner scowled. "Well... of course I put on shoes!"

"And a coat?"

"Yes, I reckon I put on a coat too! Do you think me a fool?"

"No, sir, I do not. But you don't sound very certain about those details. Tell me this, then: when you heard the c.o.c.k crow, were you lying in bed with your shoes and coat still on?"

"What?"

"You testified that you were lying in bed, sweating and shaking. Did you pause at some point to remove your shoes and coat before you got into bed?"

"Yes." It was said with faint conviction. "I must'a."

"You don't recall?"

"I was scairt. Like I said, scairt half dead!"

"What about your cane?" Matthew asked. "You did take your cane outside with you, did you not?"

"I did. I cain't hardly get 'round without it."

"Where did you put your cane when you returned from the orchard?"

"I... put it..." He pressed his fingers against his mouth. "I put it... in the corner next to the bed, I reckon. Where it always is put."

"Then that's where it was when morning came?"

"Yes. Right there in that corner."

"Where did you put your coat and shoes?"

"I... took off my coat, and laid it and my shoes... at the foot of the bed, I believe."

"That's where they were the next time you had need of them?"

"Wait," Buckner said, his forehead deeply creased. "No. I must'a hung up my coat on the hook by the front door. That's where it was."

"By the front door? Yet you entered by the back door? Was there a lantern lit within the house, or was it dark?"

"Dark. I don't recall no light."

"You were-as you put it-scared half dead, a witness to demonic wickedness, and yet you walked from one side of the house to the other in the dark to hang your coat on its proper hook?" Matthew held up a finger before Buckner could respond. "Ah! You did so because you didn't wish your wife to know you'd been outside, could that be correct?"

"Yes, it could." He nodded vigorously. "That must be the why of it."

"Sir, if you had decided to do so, why did you believe you took it off and laid it at the foot of the bed? Is it so unclear in your mind where you left your coat?"

"I was conjured! Must'a been. Like I say, after what I seen I ain't right in the head no more."

"Mr. Buckner?" Matthew stared forcefully into the man's eyes. "You have given us a story of amazing details, seen without the benefit of illumination. Why is it, then, that your grasp of details is so hazy both before and after the incident in the orchard?"

Buckner's face tightened. "You think I'm lyin', don't you?"

"Mr. Buckner," Woodward spoke up, "no one has said that."

"Don't have to say it! I can read it in these d.a.m.n questions you're askin' me! All this 'bout coats and shoes, and did I have my cane and whatnot! I'm a honest man, you can ask anybody!"

"Please, sir, there's no need for an outburst."

"I ain't no liar!" Buckner had fairly shouted it. He hobbled to his feet and pointed at Rachel Howarth. "There's the witch I seen with them three demons from h.e.l.l! I seen it was her, no mistakin' it! She's evil to her black heart, and if you think I'm lyin' she's conjured you, too!"

"Sir," Woodward said quietly, trying to calm the man. "Please. Won't you sit down and-"

"No, I will not! I won't be called a liar, not even by a magistrate! G.o.d knows I'm tellin' the truth, and He's the only judge matters!"

"In Heaven, yes," Woodward said, feeling a bit wounded by this last remark. "In the courts of Earth, however, justice is the responsibility of mortals."

"If justice is served, that witch'll be dead 'fore another day goes past!" Buckner had white spittle on his lips, his eyes enraged. "Or hav'ya already decided it's the town that dies and the witch that lives?"

"I still have a few questions to ask, sir." Woodward motioned toward the stool. "Won't you sit down?"

"I've had a fill of this! I ain't answerin' nothin' more!" The old man abruptly turned and walked out of the cell, leaning heavily on his cane.

Woodward also stood up. "Mr. Buckner! Please! Just a few moments longer!" His entreaties were in vain, however. Buckner stalked away and was gone from the gaol altogether.

"He can be convinced to return," Matthew said. "He'll listen to Bidwell."

"I only had two or three more questions to ask." Woodward cast a dark glare at his clerk. "What was the meaning of badgering the man like that?"

"I don't think I was badgering, sir. I was clarifying."

"You took that man to task, Matthew! You just as well said you believed him a liar!"

"No, sir," Matthew replied evenly, "I never said such a thing. I simply desired to know why he couldn't recall some specific details, when other specifics were so very clear. I should think he would remember putting on and removing his coat and shoes, no matter what kind of fright he'd experienced."

"Well, the man's not a liar!" Woodward vowed. "Confused, possibly. Frightened, certainly. But I don't believe him the stripe of man who would make up such phantasms, do you? I mean... dear G.o.d, if he was concocting such a tale, I'd fear his mind was diseased beyond all salvation!"

There came a laugh. Matthew and Woodward looked into the next cage. Rachel Howarth was sitting on her bench, her back against the rough wall and her head uptilted.

"You find this amusing, madam?" Woodward inquired.

"No," she said. "I find it sad. But as I am far past tears, I must laugh instead of weep."

"Laugh or weep as you please. This is d.a.m.ning evidence."

"Evidence?" Again, she laughed. "What evidence is there? An insane tale told by an old man? Oh, there is some truth in what he told you."

"Are you admitting your concordance with the Devil, then?"

"Not at all. I'm admitting that I attended church on three Sabbaths, and the third time I sat with a rotten egg in my hair. But I was not going to give them the pleasure of watching me run home, or seeing me sob like a wounded child. That's the only truth in Buckner's story."

"Of course you would deny the incident in the orchard. I wouldn't expect you to do otherwise."

"What was the point of it, then?" She turned her amber gaze upon him. "If I am such a witch, why did I choose to invite Buckner to watch my... indiscretions? Why would I not want to do such things in private?"

"I don't know, madam. Why did you not?"

"Evidently, according to Buckner, I can walk through latched doors. Why am I still here in this cage, then?"

"It would be an admission of witchcraft to leave this gaol."

"And allowing Buckner to witness that profanity was not not an admission?" She shook her head. "If I really were a witch, I'd be much more clever than that." an admission?" She shook her head. "If I really were a witch, I'd be much more clever than that."

"Oh, I think you're clever enough. Besides, madam, who is to say you do not not leave this gaol at night, and roam where you please with your master? Possibly you inhabit some spectral world of which G.o.d-fearing citizens dare not imagine.'" leave this gaol at night, and roam where you please with your master? Possibly you inhabit some spectral world of which G.o.d-fearing citizens dare not imagine.'"

"You might ask your clerk tomorrow morning," Rachel said. "He'll find out tonight if I have the power to walk through walls."

"I doubt that you would show any such power while Matthew is present," Woodward parried. "Again, it would be an admission of guilt that would lead to your appointment at the stake."

She suddenly stood up. "You must be as insane as the rest of them! Do you honestly think, after what you heard today, that I am not not going to burn? There are other witnesses-other liars- yet to speak against me, I know. But who will speak going to burn? There are other witnesses-other liars- yet to speak against me, I know. But who will speak for for me? No one. Oh, they hated me here before they took me to be a witch, so they made me into one, the better to hate all the stronger!" me? No one. Oh, they hated me here before they took me to be a witch, so they made me into one, the better to hate all the stronger!"

"They made made you into a witch? How could you be made into what you are not?" you into a witch? How could you be made into what you are not?"

"Hear me well, Magistrate. Someone murdered Reverend Grove and my husband, and then fashioned me into the blackest witch south of Salem. Someone made poppets and hid them in the floor of my house. Someone spread these filthy lies about me, so that now the people here don't know their own minds!"

"I believe Mr. Buckner," Woodward said. "I've seen liars before, in many courtrooms. I've seen them spin webs from which they cannot escape. Mr. Buckner may be confused about some small details, due to his advanced age and the experience of that night, but he is not not lying." lying."

"If he's not lying," Rachel answered, "then he's either in need of an asylum or he's been cursed by some witch other other than the one I am painted to be. I never set foot in his house or that orchard. I swear it before G.o.d." than the one I am painted to be. I never set foot in his house or that orchard. I swear it before G.o.d."

"Beware your mouth, madam! A bolt of holy fire might end your games."

"If it would be a quicker death than the stake, I would welcome it."

Matthew said, "There's a simple way to end all of this. Madam, if you would recite the Lord's Prayer, I think the magistrate might consider your case in a different light."

"I'll speak for myself, thank you!" Woodward said. "After what I've heard here today, I think even a recitation of the Lord's Prayer might be a trick provided by this woman's master!"

"I will save you the wondering," Rachel said, "because I refuse to speak such a thing that has no meaning in this town. Those who babble the Lord's Prayer day and night would be first to grin when I'm set afire. Like Lucretia Vaughan, for instance. Oh, there's a fine Christian example! She would've given Christ on the cross a drink of vinegar and called it honey!"

"She was kind enough to provide you a cup for tea. I didn't find it vinegared."

"You don't know her as I do. I believe I know why she wanted the cup broken and returned. Ask her yourself. You might be enlightened."

Woodward busied himself by putting the teapot and the remaining cups back into the basket. "I think that will do for today, Matthew. I'm off to visit Dr. Shields. On Monday morning we shall resume our interviews."

"I'd suggest, sir, that our next witness be Mrs. Buckner. I have some questions I'd like to pose."

"Do you, now?" Woodward paused, his cheeks showing a flame. "Who is presiding over this court, you or me?"

"You are, of course."

"Then shouldn't I be the one who determines the next witness? And since I I do not have any questions for Mrs. Buckner, I suggest Mr. Garrick come to court on Monday morning." do not have any questions for Mrs. Buckner, I suggest Mr. Garrick come to court on Monday morning."

"I understand that you are the authority in this court, as in any other," Matthew said, with a slight bow of his head, "but shouldn't Mrs. Buckner be asked to describe her husband's mental state during the period of time that-"

"Mrs. Buckner should be left alone," alone," the magistrate interrupted. "She was asleep during both incidents her husband related. I daresay Mr. Buckner has never told her what he saw. Would you bring a decent Christian wife into this gaol, within earshot of Madam Howarth?" the magistrate interrupted. "She was asleep during both incidents her husband related. I daresay Mr. Buckner has never told her what he saw. Would you bring a decent Christian wife into this gaol, within earshot of Madam Howarth?"

"She would be brought into any other courtroom."

"At the discretion of the judge. In my opinion, she has nothing to add, and indeed might even suffer harm by being called to appear."

"Magistrate," Matthew said quietly, "a wife knows her husband. I would like to learn whether Mr. Buckner has had... shall we say... delusions of any kind in previous years."

"If you're saying that what he witnessed was a delusion, remember that it was a delusion shared by another person. Stephen Dunton, wasn't that the man's name?"

"Yes, sir. But as Mr. Dunton is no longer present, we only have Mr. Buckner's word."

"Sworn on the Bible. Delivered in a rational manner. Told in as stomach-churning detail as I ever hope to hear. His word is good enough for me."

"But not good enough for me," me," Matthew said. The rawly honest thought had left his mouth before he could constrain it. If Woodward's teeth had been false, they might have dropped to the floor. The silence stretched, as the magistrate and his clerk stared at each other. Matthew said. The rawly honest thought had left his mouth before he could constrain it. If Woodward's teeth had been false, they might have dropped to the floor. The silence stretched, as the magistrate and his clerk stared at each other.

Woodward's throat was ravaged, his air pa.s.sages swollen, and his bones aching in the damp, close heat. He had just heard a reliable witness relate a story of both fascination and horror that brought a woman-a human being, even if she was a notorious witch-nearer the stake. He felt sick to his very marrow, and now this audacity added to his freight was enough to lay him low. "You've forgotten your place," he rasped. "You are a clerk, not a magistrate. Not even-though you seem to wish it-an attorney. Your duty is as a scrivener, not a questioner. The former you do very well, the latter undoes you."