Chapter 66: Scheming Against a Witch
So, the witch knew the poor sod who had died of charcoal poisoning. Of all the damned luck in this godforsaken world, we had to pick his hovel to call home.
“That man, Ash,” Jared stammered, his face still pressed to the filthy floor. “He’s… he’s dead.”
“What?” The witch's voice was sharp, a whip-crack in the small space. A flicker of genuine alarm, of panic, crossed her features. “Dead? How?” It seemed Ash possessed some secret she desperately needed. But it was too late. Ash was not only dead, but his body was now at the bottom of the canal, his secrets lost to the foul, dark water. Jared opened his mouth to speak, then realized he had no idea how the man had died. He only knew that I did. His eyes, wide and fearful, flickered towards me for a fraction of a second. It was a tiny movement, but the witch saw it. Her head snapped towards me, her gaze sharp as a shard of glass. “Did you kill him?”
“No! No, my lady, he was already dead when we found this place,” Jared explained hastily. “I don’t know how he died. But… Ruth might. You can ask her.” Ruth? He had given me a false name. A clever, desperate move. Was he afraid she might use my real name in some curse? In that moment, I saw him clearly. The groveling, terrified boy was a mask. Beneath it was a mind as sharp and quick as a thief's knife, already calculating, already scheming to keep us alive. He wasn't just deflecting; he was trying to get her to release my tongue.
“Do you know?” the witch asked, her attention now fully on me. I could only nod. A flicker of weariness, of profound exhaustion, crossed her face, then the invisible fingers that held my tongue vanished. “Tell me how Ash died,” she commanded. “And do not lie. Do not forget that I can use my arts to know if you speak falsehoods.” A thought, cold and sharp, cut through my fear. She kept insisting I not lie, kept threatening me with her "arts." If she could truly detect falsehoods, why the need for such threats? It was the desperate gambit of someone who held all the power, but lacked the one thing she truly needed: information. It was a bluff. The risk was immense, but the question she asked required no lies. For now.
“He was lying on that bedding when we arrived,” I said, my voice hoarse. I pointed a trembling finger towards the corner where the body had been. “The brazier was still warm. I believe he died of charcoal poisoning.”
“Charcoal poisoning? What nonsense is this? You’re lying to me!” she snarled, her eyes flashing with anger. I stared at her, genuinely surprised. This powerful witch, who could kill with a thought, had no knowledge of something so simple? I had deliberately avoided the scientific term "carbon monoxide," assuming she wouldn't understand. But the basic danger of burning charcoal in a sealed room… that was common knowledge, wasn't it? Her reaction confirmed it. My gamble had paid off. She couldn't detect a lie if it bit her on the nose.
“I’m not lying!” I said, forcing a pathetic, pitiable tremor into my voice, my eyes wide with feigned innocence. “The… the smoke from the fire… the bad air… it filled the room while he slept. He couldn't breathe.” I explained it in the simplest terms I could think of, the way one might explain something to a child. My explanation seemed to work. Her eyes narrowed, but the accusation was gone, replaced by a frustrated confusion. She didn't press me further. Her attention was no longer on me, but on the room itself. She began to search, her movements frantic now, tearing at the mouldy bedding, running her hands along the cracks in the stone floor. She wasn't just hiding; she was looking for something Ash had left behind. And we were squatting right in the middle of it.
Comments (0)
Please login or sign up to post a comment.