Goblin Moon (28 page)

“And yet do not dare to act on them,” said Dr. Crow,
leaning up against a towering granite slab. “The Circle, I take it,
is a large one—twice or thrice the usual thirteen?”

“Yes, sir, I reckon so, though nobody seems to know
exactly how large. It don’t do to inquire too close, there being so
many of them, and all so spiteful,” said Ezekiel, balancing back on
his heels. “A man says or does anything that one of them takes
amiss, the next thing he knows his cows are dry and his sheep got
the staggers and . . . and sometimes worse things as well. T’here’s
been children died, and nobody rightly knew what ailed them. But
the worst of it is, it ain’t always something that somebody’s
done
to rile ‘em—sometimes they’ll ruin
folks just for pure wickedness. Maybe you don’t know this, sir,
being city-bred, but a farmer or a herdsman living off the land,
you kill his crops and his stock ‘tis the same as killing him, it
ain’t no different, excepting he dies slow. And once it’s known
they’ve got it in for a family, there’s not hardly anybody who
dares to lend a hand.”

“And the local authorities?” asked Dr. Crow. “They,
too, are powerless?”

Ezekiel clenched and unclenched a big fist. “Three
years ago, afore them witches grew so bold, the magistrate over to
Pfalz sent some of his men. They caught Hagen Jansen with a wax
doll stuck full of pins in his pocket, and they . . . they tried to
beat the names of the other witches out of him. It didn’t do no
good, though, and maybe it made things worse. There was a spell on
Hagen and he
couldn’t
betray the others,
not if them constables tortured him to death. They finally left-off
beating him, and tried him and hung him. But after that . . . them
witches got real busy, and things ain’t been the same since. You
won’t do anything, to stir them up?”

The flowers in Ezekiel’s hands grew limp, due to the
tightening and squeezing of his enormous hands. Apparently, the
young farmer was entertaining second thoughts. “Tilda said, if you
set out to stop them, they’d
be
stopped.
She said you was a match for the whole lot of them. She said you
could bust up any Coven, Magic Circle, or Secret Society that ever
was. But I don’t know . . .”

“I have enjoyed considerable success in the past, and
against more sophisticated sorcerers than your local Circle. Yet it
is unlikely that I am infallible,” said Dr. Crow, smiling faintly
at Tilda’s exaggerated opinion of his capabilities. “But succeed or
fail, I shall make very sure that nothing I do appears to be the
work of any mortal agency.

“I intend,” said the supposed clergyman, “to put a
very considerable fear of Divine Retribution into your Lüftmal
witches.”

Midnight found Dr. Crow and Ezekiel Karl on the road
to Woodruff’s farm.
“It would be wise,”
the parson had said,
“to learn the lay of the
land in advance, and plan our campaign carefully.”
They made
the journey on foot, and Ezekiel carried a covered lanthorn, for
they would want a light later, but did not wish to attract
attention if anyone passed by on the road.

The waxing moon was still high and bright when they
arrived at the abandoned farm. The barn was a sturdy structure,
standing weathered but firmly upright, its boards gleaming silver
in the moonlight. The huge double doors were closed and barred.

Dr. Crow stepped forward to lift the bar, but Ezekiel
stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Look up, sir . . . this
ain’t no way for the likes of you and me to enter.”

Suspended from a beam over the door dangled what
first appeared to be a dirty scrap of tattered cloth; but when Dr.
Crow stepped sideways, to view it with the moon at his back, he
discovered that it was a crudely fashioned rag-doll, of uncertain
sex, hanging like a felon from a noose. “An unpleasant piece of
business, to be sure,” said Dr. Crow, frowning up at the fetish.
“But we need not fear so awkward and crude a device. Indeed, it
were child’s play for me to—“

An uneasy movement on the part of his companion
caused him to look around. Ezekiel’s rusty hair was bleached by the
moonlight to a commonplace straw, but it was not the moonlight that
drained his face of all color or drew his features into a mask of
apprehension.

“Ah, well, as you say, it would perhaps be better not
to take unnecessary chances,” Dr. Crow decided. “We can come back
tomorrow with the proper tools and loosen one of the boards.”

“There’s a loose board at the back,” said Ezekiel.
“Fact is, that’s why I brung you here, because I knowed about the
poppet already. If you’ll just follow me, sir, I’ll show you what I
mean.”

They circled around to the back of the barn, where
Ezekiel counted five planks from the northwestern corner. “This’ll
be the one.” A single wooden peg held the board in place, allowing
him to rotate the plank and reveal a narrow entry into the
barn.

“I would not wish to appear suspicious,” said Dr.
Crow, “but how did you come to know this?”

Ezekiel allowed the board to fall back into place. “I
told you old Matt had a bad reputation, that some folks say his
ghost still walks? There was many a night my friends and me spent
in this barn when we was boys, just hoping to catch a glimpse of
Woodruff’s ghost. There was no reason in them days we couldn’t of
entered by the door,” he added, with an embarrassed grin, “but once
we knew about this loose board . . . it just seemed more
romantical, somehow, to enter by the secret way. “

“I understand perfectly,” said Dr. Crow. “I might
have done the same thing myself, when I was a boy.”

He lifted the plank and passed sideways through the
gap, and so into the barn. There was ample width to accommodate his
slender frame, but it made a tight squeeze for Ezekiel, who had
clearly added to his bulk since his ghost-hunting days.

Once inside, the young farmer rotated the metal
covering on his lanthorn, allowing the light to shine out on one
side. He held it high, to reveal the vast, empty interior of the
barn. “I see no stalls, no grain bins,” said Dr. Crow.

“Guess they tore them down to make room for . . . for
whatever it is they does here. Then they used the wood to feed
their fire.” Ezekiel indicated a large heap of blackened boards in
a kind of firepit at the center of the building. He lifted the
lanthorn again. “The loft’s still there. Hope they didn’t burn the
ladder.”

A lengthy tour of the premises did not yield the
ladder. “No matter,” said Dr. Crow. “I have simply to bring a rope
ladder with me on the night of the Sabbat and draw it up behind
me.”

Ezekiel shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, sir,
as I can come up with one. At least, not the kind with grappling
hooks on the end, which I reckon is what you’re after.”

“Do not trouble yourself,” said Dr. Crow. “I can
provide the ladder. You might be surprised by the variety of things
I carry about in my baggage.”

He had been carrying the light, but he passed it back
to Ezekiel. “I have seen enough. This place (though you may not
think so) offers ample possibilities, more than sufficient scope
for my talents. I shall arrive here early on the appointed evening
and make my preparations. You may come with me, if you like. There
will be considerable danger involved, but I believe the
entertainment I provide will be well worth the risk.”

While Dr. Crow returned to the Head of Cabbage,
Ezekiel went home to his own small farm. The next two days passed
quietly and they did not communicate again until the night of the
full moon, when they met behind the inn an hour after sunset.

Though the night was a sultry one, they were both
wrapped in long, dark, concealing cloaks, and wore their tricorns
pulled low to shadow their faces. Ezekiel again carried the covered
lanthorn, while Dr. Crow brought with him a leather satchel,
resembling a physician’s handbag.

“You actually got a rope ladder with grappling hooks
in there?” asked Ezekiel, eyeing the leather bag doubtfully.

“I have,” came the soft reply. A chance movement
caused the cloak to fall open, revealing lighter-colored garments
below. For whatever reason, “Dr. Crow” had apparently abandoned the
clerical pose for the night.

“My ladder is very light, but exceedingly strong, for
it was woven of the roots of a stone, the hair of a virtuous woman,
the shadow of— But I wax fanciful. It was not, in truth, made of
any of those things, but neither was it woven of any common hemp. I
carry, besides, everything else that we are likely to require . . .
including these.” And he opened his cloak and his coat to reveal a
brace of pistols in a belt around his hips.

The walk to Woodruff’s farm took about an hour. When
they reached the barn, the doors were still closed and barred, but
Dr. Crow insisted on a stealthy circuit of the building, just to
make certain that he and Ezekiel were the first to arrive. Then
they entered again by way of the loose board at the back.

Ezekiel uncovered the lanthorn, set it down on the
floor, and opened his coat. “I reckon I ought to tell you that I
brung a pistol, too.”

“I expected nothing less,” replied Dr. Crow. His
face, by lanthorn light, was uncharacteristically grim. He opened
the satchel and extracted a small clay pot covered with a thin skin
of leather. “This contains an explosive.”

Then he took out another object, about the size and
shape of a pomegranate. “This, also, is an incendiary device, a
kind of grenado. You are a big man, but you appear agile. I assume,
therefore, that you have an accurate eye and a good throwing arm.
Yes? Then you will oblige me by taking this device into your
keeping, and throwing it onto the witches’ fire at the appropriate
moment.”

“Yes, sir,” said Ezekiel, gingerly accepting the
explosive. “But how will I know the appropriate moment?”

“You have revealed yourself as a man of some wit and
imagination,” said Dr. Crow. “I believe you will recognize the
moment when it arrives.”

He knelt down beside the firepit, removed several
blackened boards, and scraped away the ashes underneath. Producing
a trowel from his satchel, he dug a hole, and buried the covered
pot about ten inches deep. Then he rearranged the wood and the
ashes, so that everything looked undisturbed.

He stood up and dusted off his hands. “The hour is
growing late. We had best climb up to the loft.”

With the help of the “uncommon” rope ladder they
ascended to the half-floor above. Dr. Crow pulled up the ladder
after them, depositing it, along with the satchel, in a corner of
the loft. Then he took the lanthorn and examined the floor
minutely, until he found a large split in the wood, wide enough for
him and his companion—if they knelt on the floor and peered through
it—to view most of the floor below. “Now we can only wait,” said
Dr. Crow, as he extinguished the light.

It was not very long before they heard voices and a
fumbling at the bar on the barn door. And there was nothing furtive
about the approach of the Lüftmal witches. Those who arrived first
spoke in loud, slightly tipsy voices, as though they had fortified
themselves with ordinary spirits, for their meeting with the
supernatural ones.

A creaking of hinges and a draught of fresher air
announced the opening of the doors; there was a flicker of torch
light, and two men and three women, cloaked and hooded, entered the
barn. Once inside, they lowered their hoods.

Up in the loft, Dr. Crow heard Ezekiel draw in a
sudden sharp breath, as though he had recognized someone and
received an unpleasant surprise. One of the men carried in an arm
load of twiggy wood, which he proceeded to place on top of the
remains of the previous fire. He stepped back and allowed the other
man to kindle the blaze with his torch.

The next to arrive was an ancient dame in a black
shawl and dirty yellow dress, an ugly, lumbering old woman with a
twisted lip and pendulous breasts. From under her shawl she drew a
thick book bound in crumbling black leather.

“That will be the book in which new members of the
Circle are required to write their names,” whispered Dr. Crow. The
witches were making so much noise down below that he and Ezekiel
might have spoken aloud without fear of discovery, but he remained
cautious. “The act binds them as no spoken vow could. There is many
a poor man in Thornburg, unable to make a living for his very
illiteracy, who would cut off his arm for this same skill with
which your neighbors, fortunate in the attentions of some honest
country clergyman, sign their miserable souls away.”

Ezekiel nodded grimly. “Mr. Ulfson, the parson at
Pfalz, I guess he’d break his heart, if he knew some of the names
in that Black Book.”

Members of the Circle continued to arrive: a woman
and four men; and close on their heels, a sweet-faced girl and a
handsome, swaggering youth, who came in hand in hand. “Isabel
Winkleriss! I knowed she’d suffer through that scoundrel Martin
Bergen, but I never thought he’d lead her into nothing so bad as
this!”

About a dozen more came in, and then one of the men
pulled the doors shut. “I make the count six and twenty,” said Dr.
Crow. “Something less than I had feared.”

Ezekiel shook his head mournfully. “Less than I
reckoned, too. But most of them I never suspected. Old Granny Hügel
(that’s the dirty old hag), I ain’t surprised about her. But as for
some others—“

“It is possible,” said Dr. Crow, “that some are here
merely because they feel safer within the Circle than without.

“But hush,” he added, “I believe they are about to
begin.”

The witches continued to be as rackety as ever.
Several of the women carried baskets or covered wooden pails, which
they now began to open. Out of these baskets came chickens and
rabbits, which the Circle proceeded to sacrifice in a series of
rituals so lewd and bloody, they shocked poor Ezekiel to the very
core of his honest being. Dr. Crow, however, watched
impassively.