34

Billy supposed he should have felt some sort of separation from events, out here in the sunlight, but the fact he was out of that strange, breathing building and Slightly wasn't just made it all the worse. Billy climbed the stone where the clothes were drying with unsteady hands and sat himself down there. Below, the creek danced merrily past, flirting with the sunlight and the stones that lined the bottom. Billy's lungs didn't quite want to open all the way. He knew this feeling; it was a bad feeling. He forced his breath in anyway.

"We aren't leaving him here." Mullins growled, snapping his still damp clothes off the rock and redressing himself with quick, angry motions. "She's mad if she thinks we're leaving him here."

"Of course she's mad. She's a witch." Billy said hollowly.

Mullins grunted and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. "Damn fool boy, if you ask me. Damned fool. If she did eat him he'd almost deserve it, putting himself in this mess."

"You don't mean that."

"No." he said. "But I should. The second she finishes the spell we're grabbing the boy and getting ourselves out of here."

"She could kill us from anywhere on the island. We can't run away."

Mullins, who knew this, swore quietly to himself and tucked in his shirt tails. He retrieved his hair ribbon from the rock and hastily tied the mess back. "You I'm surprised at." He grumbled. Billy caught the vague accusatory note and turned his hands into fists, not looking at Mullins. "Ya just stood there."

"So did you!" Billy snapped.

Mullins growled "'Course I did! What the hell d'ye think I'm going to do? Save the Lost Boy's hide and let you go mad?"

"It's what you SHOULD have done!" Billy shouted. He was loosing that careful control that was letting him breathe.

"You STILL think I could do that to you?! Dammit, Billy, I faced the Captain for you, I jumped ship for you, I'm risking my god damned soul for you, and you still think I could leave you?!"

Billy didn't answer. He stared at the light in the creek until the lines blurred, then scrubbed his eyes with the back of his wrist. He blamed the weakness on the sun.

Mullins sighed and leaned his hips back against the stone. "Dammit Billy. I don't know what yer thinkin' but it's wrong. Alright?"

Billy nodded. Mullins DIDN'T know what he was thinking. If he did, he'd be swearing a lot more.

His chest ached dully and he ignored it. What was he doing? Why was he out here when Slightly was giving up everything for him, what was wrong with him?

Was he so afraid of Mullins? Of that look he knew he'd give him, that disgust? Was he so weak he couldn't take the man's hatred?

Yes. God...he was.

Pathetic.

Billy dropped his forehead against his knees and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He could feel Mullins behind him. He could feel Mullins looking at him.

God...

"Mullins?" he called, softly.

Something shifted. "Yeah?"

Billy gave up on breathing in the expectant silence.

"I'm queer." He blurted, quickly.

His chest seized, forcing the air out of him. It hurt. He sucked it back in.

"Have been since I was on the Walrus." He continued hoarsely. "That's why I didn't stand up for Slightly, that's why I hit him this morning. That's why."

He might as well have gone momentarily deaf; for a moment it seemed like even the creek stopped burbling. Billy felt like he'd swallowed a lightening bolt. Everything between his tongue and his hips were in a fright of writhing, nervous panic, and it felt good that way. It felt deserved.

After a long stretch of seconds, he heard Mullins swear softly to himself under his breath. He couldn't really bring himself to look at the man; he didn't want to remember Mullins ever looking at him that way, the way he had looked at that sailor and that boy at the inn.

"You can go, if you want." Billy said. His voice sounded small even to him. "I can do the rest on my own."

Mullins, for whatever Billy had feared, remained absolutely silent, and this was worse than if he'd started shouting. Billy's fingers clawed up fistfuls of his damp trousers and he finally hissed "Leave! Hit me! Yell at me! Do something, damn it! I'm not so disgusting you can't even hit me!!"

The outburst had sounded as pathetic as it felt. Billy shoved his face into his arms and tried to pretend he wasn't crying.

"...Billy..."

The house shifted, the door opened, and they were no longer alone by the creek. Billy shut his eyes.

The Old Witch had at least a hundred books, all lined up in neat, clean rows, and she chose the one she wanted without even pausing to look at the binding. Slightly, suddenly standing by himself at the hearth, fidgeted.

"Go to the shelf and get me the bottle of crocodile tears." She said absently, flipping through the book quickly until she found the right page. Slightly startled and jumped to the shelf, staring at the rows square glass jars.

Most of the bottles were made of a thick green glass, too dark to let in much light, and some were made of cranberry glass that looked all too bright and cheery. Only a few were clear enough to see the contents. On the front of each bottle was a neat paper label, pasted on, with neat, spidery script across it. On the shelf above that were a row of colorful apothecary bottles, secured tightly to the wall, with labels on each murk- filled bulb. Slightly had no idea what was what. He pulled a jar down at random and yanked out the cork with a soft pop. The powdery mess inside gave off a vague, floral smell. He replaced the cork and tried a different jar.

"What are you doing?" The Old Witch asked acidicly, keeping her place on the page with one long fingernail. Slightly blinked at her.

"I-I'm slightly looking for the crocodile tears." He said.

The Old Witch frowned. "The bottles are labeled, dear. Just bring me the one that says 'crocodile tears' on it. You CAN read, can't you?"

Slightly looked at her blankly. The woman sighed. "Oh, you will be a trial. I'll have to teach you to read if you're ever going to help me." she paused. "Well, if you can't read jars, get under the bed. There's a box tied there that I need you to get out. I've never been able to find a better place for it."

That he could do. Slightly got his bare belly down against the floor and fumbled around in the dark until his hand found sharp corners and rough cord. He tugged the box out of its strapping and pulled it out after him. It was fairly heavy, made of pale wood that had gotten stained with age and sporting heavy iron hinges and latches. He picked it up and hauled it to the table. The Old Witch had gone to the shelf and begun to pick down bottles, still reading the book, and stuffing them into the pockets of her dress.

"See the largest knife there by the starling?" she said, gesturing mostly towards the table. Slightly did; the bird and all its violators were still laid out. "Drop it in the cauldron. After a minute, take the tongs in the poker stand and fish it out again. Then put it in the box. Don't touch it with your hands, now, or it'll have to be boiled again."

Slightly obeyed. The knife boiled until the count of sixty and he carried the thing back to the table, and unlatched the box. Inside was an assortment of smaller boxes, bags, and a bundle of grey cloth. He set the knife on top of the bundle and closed it again.

The Old Witch mumbled and tapped the final line on the page. "I knew I'd forgotten something after all these years! I tell you, Slightly, the written word is a witch's best friend! Take the box and follow me, dear, we're going outside." She put the book under her arm and opened the door, her pockets clinking against each other, they were so laden with little bottles. He followed her outside and stumbled down the paws of the house.

It was obvious, even to him, that something was going on. Mullins and Billy were both completely silent, and there was a tension in the air far worse than what he knew about. Billy was perched on the stone facing away from them, folded in on himself like a sleeping flower. Mullins was leaning against the stone stiffly and a little pale. The Old Witch, apparently oblivious, charged on in cheerfully either unnoticing or uncaring.

"I suppose I couldn't keep you naked forever." She said brightly to Mullins, brushing her apron off with her hand again (it was quite the habit) as she eyed him. "Though the idea certainly is tempting. Put the box down there by the stone, Slightly, dear. And Billy, you need to move yourself off, that's where we'll be working. Shoo!"

Billy scrabbled down and Slightly came forward, setting his burden down on the pebbles. Billy was hiding his face from him, and Slightly felt a dull pang of hurt as he collected his clothes from the rock, still damp, and redressed himself.

The Old Witch shooed them all a bit further away with a wave of her hand, humming to herself, and proceeded to sprawl her workings out around the stone as though she were entirely unobserved. The jars and bags meant nothing to any of them, neither did most of what came out of her box, but when she unrolled the bundle of grey cloth everyone but Slightly knew exactly what it was. Inside was a white blindfold and a stripped stick of wood with human teeth marks in it. Lain aside with the knife Slightly had cleaned, their purpose wasn't much left to the imagination.

The old woman nodded smugly to herself and gave everything the once over. She seemed satisfied. Smirking entirely out of place with the situation, the Old Witch stripped her long gloves off like a burlesque dancer and tossed them to Mullins with a wink, who was a little too rattled already to do anything but move out of their way. Slightly picked them up off the ground diligently and tucked them in his belt; he had absolutely no idea why Mullins and Billy were acting so strangely. Billy had put a good ten feet between himself and Mullins, still half folded in and looking utterly ashamed about SOMETHING, and Mullins was stiff as a fence post and looking vaguely ashamed himself. Neither would acknowledge Slightly, so the boy stood aloof between the two of them, fiddling with the fingerless ends of the witch's gloves.

On the smoothest surface of the stone, the Old Witch carefully laid out the grey cloth, and constructed at each corner a tiny cairn of five different pebbles. She stopped humming.

"I'm going to need all of you to help me with this." She said calmly, turning to them. The cheerful old woman had mysteriously vanished, replaced by something with cool, steady eyes that would never be caught absently brushing the dust from her apron. The sudden change was enough to get their attention.

"When I tell you to do something," she said "You will do it immediately, without hesitating or asking me why. Billy, when I call you forward, you will lie on your back in the middle of the cloth, your left side to me and your hands above your head. Slightly, when I call you forward, you will hold his wrists so he can't flail. Mullins, you'll keep his legs still. I don't think I need to tell you how dangerous this can be if you don't keep him from moving, do I? Good. Now do you all understand what I want?"

Mullins grunted acknowledgment, and the boys nodded. The Old Witch nodded back. "Alright then. Billy, take off your vest and your bandanna so I don't have to do it when you get up here. Throw them behind you out of the way."

It was a sensible request, but Billy hesitated, if only for a moment. He untied his neckerchief and tossed it behind him, looking back to make sure it didn't fall in the creek, then took a puff of air and shrugged out of his damp vest. Slightly let out a startled noise, and Mullins knew too well why. With the vest on, sometimes you could see the pale, faded tail ends of a scar or two peeping out from the shoulder of the vest, or behind his neck if he lifted his hair. Billy had grudgingly admitted to him, after Hook had tried to flog him and decided against it, that he'd gotten 72 lashes on board the Walrus, but he'd never told him why. Billy's back showed an obvious truth to this story. Around the edges the scars were pale, flat lines that would probably fade with the years, but towards the middle they became tangled, knotted messes that never would smooth out. The mess of scars disappeared down the back of his trousers and went half way down his legs. Considering Billy couldn't have been more then ten when it happened, it was amazing he'd survived such a thorough de-fleshing.

The witch showed absolutely no reaction to the scars. "Clear your thoughts and clear your eyes." She said. "If anything shows up, don't talk to it. Be ready."

She started to hum again, but a different sort of humming, a sort that made their insides uncomfortable as a boy's fist lie. Out of the bottom of the box she pulled a long, double edged dagger with something etched heavily into the blade, piercing through here and there to make eyelets in the metal. She absently spun it in a circle above her head. The ground and the water in a wide radius around the witch suddenly jumped like it had been struck, including the ground beneath and immediately behind the trio, causing all of them to startle. Something began to buzz in their middles, like a continual shockwave from a cannon fire, and the witch's humming became a low singing in a soft, rhymed language none of them understood.

"...metthel ai...contono ai......"

With a sudden act of violence the Old Witch stabbed the dagger into the ground, and spat at it. The singing rose in volume until the buzzing in their middles became impossible to ignore. Around them, at the circumference of the figure, they could hear something scratching like a cat at a window. She walked somberly to the apparent barrier and drew a square in it with her finger, and scrawled something above it. Where her finger moved, it trailed a faint color, like diluting blood in water, and the door stood; a solid, upright figure on the edge of the circle.

Something came through it.

If any of them had any doubt they were dealing with a witch, it was gone now. Stepping through gingerly, like a mouse through a bolt hole, came a faint, colorless figure like the phantoms on the sides of your eyes. The overall impression was something like an emaciated greyhound, made thin as a wasp with the protruding bones rising out of it like spiked armor. The only part that stayed consistently in focus was its eyes, which were thick and yellow as old cataracts, leaving dim light trails as it moved.

The thing hobbled to the altar stone and hauled its questionable bulk up onto it, seating itself as though throned, and whatever was left on the other side of the wall continued to scratch.

The Old Witch turned her back on them then and moved gracefully to the stone. Her singing never faltered. With one hand she reached out and brushed against the shadow thing's chest, her fingers going through the bone instead of over it and coming away slimy. It was like a morbid gesture of affection, and the thing's head came down beside hers and she began to work.

"...utuk xul cal verente...tar ardata..tar ardata..."

The sun began to fade into the muddy red color of an egg yolk, and split. Tendrils of it dripped down towards the earth as a noise like a birdsong chirruped through the door. The shadow thing drooled onto the altar cloth.

Billy went pale as he became suddenly, brilliantly aware that they were irreversibly damning themselves. At the altar the Old Witch began to clash together bottles, bits of miscellany being pressed in there and dripped on here as she worked with her back to the spectators. She sang, and the shadow thing put its mouth against her cheek, tongue lolling out harmlessly though the bones of her face. She didn't notice.

Slightly, who had absolutely no concept of damnation, was fascinated.

A smell like a body left too long on the deck began to swarm in the circle, and the shadow thing put its lips to the altar cloth and slurped in clean. Her singing trailed off and the shadow thing pulled away from her, sliding down the side of the stone to stand with its hind legs in the creek, its paws at the boarders of the altar cloth. The Old Witch turned part way towards them and said distractedly "William Jukes. Come forward."

Billy, who had never told the witch his full name, obeyed with an unhappy tremble in his stomach. The thing that had come through the door did not pull back, and slowly, wishing he had the nerve to pray, Billy laid down in the middle of the altar cloth and put his hands above his head. He could feel the beast's claws against his ribs, sometimes through them. Its claws were very cold.

The Witch nodded. "Slightly. Come forward."

The boy did not look any happier to be going near that monster than Billy was, but he did obey, and scrabbled up the side of the stone to pin Jukes' wrists down flat. If Billy did flail he didn't have much hope of holding him still; Billy had done a man's work since he'd been old enough to hold rope, and had more strength in one arm than Slightly had in his whole body. If Billy was determined to get away, Slightly would have no choice but to let him.

"Robert Mullins, come forward."

Mullins, showing more brass than he actually had, didn't flinch. He walked towards the stone without hesitation and put his hands on Billy's knees, ready to hold him down. He ignored the beast completely. Billy's chest was moving in shallow, erratic breaths, and in the growing dark within the circle he could see the sweat starting on his belly. Outside the witch's walls, the world seemed to be fading away in a premature twilight, highlighted by the sounds of clawing. With each scratch a row of marks appeared in the air, sharpened, and faded away into nothing.

The Old Witch did not sing now, and its absence made them all very aware of the other things trying to get into the circle. With brisk, efficient movements, the Old Witch lifted Billy's head and tied the blindfold over his eyes, an action that did nothing to calm his growing panic. Thus impaired, he failed to cooperate when she tried to pry his jaw apart and put the bit in.

"Slightly, get him to take this." She said calmly, thrusting the piece of wood into Slightly's face. Startled, the boy let go of Billy's wrists with one hand and took the thing. He stared at it blankly for a moment.

Switching his grip to pin his wrists down with one knee, Slightly put one hand carefully on the side of Billy's face and leaned down until his mouth was against his ear. The shadow thing stuck its nose into Slightly's hair and snuffed at him. He tried to ignore it.

"Breathe, Billy." Slightly whispered. "Come on, Billy, you have to breathe. Just one."

Billy forced his teeth apart in a great shuddering gasp that refused to come out again. Slightly jammed the bit between his teeth and the boy clamped down on it, puffing shallowly around the wood as the shadow thing shifted its paws against his ribs. Hesitant to let go now, Slightly moved himself, pinning Billy's arms down with his folded legs and keeping his hands on either side of his friend's face. Though he couldn't see his eyes, Billy looked absolutely terrified, though whether it was of the coming pain or the shadow thing or of damnation, Slightly had no idea.

Keeping a careful eye on them both, the Old Witch wiped down his chest, just below where the ribs split, with a thick grey leaf that tingled in its wake. She drew out the line where the cut would be with her finger, for Billy's benefit, braced it between her fingers, and pushed the knife down into his skin with a soft hiss.

Billy let out a sharp, shrill bleat like a shot rabbit and jerked, his tongue rising up in the back of his throat and blocking any shouts, or any breathing. The Old Witch did not slow down; she made the slit as wide as three fingers and set the knife aside, blood oozing up from the wound like a powerless artesian well. It was obvious Billy was putting forth a great effort not to move, but his limbs tried to flail spasmodically on their own, and Mullins dropped his full weight down against the boy, getting kneed in the stomach for his effort.

They only saw the charm for a moment; the Old Witch had been holding it to her palm, out of sight. It was the size and general shape of a glass marble, but a little lopsided, with something thick and red in the middle like settling blood. She rolled it up between her fore and middle finger, murmured something alien in a soft, low voice, and slipped the fingers up into Billy's ribcage like burrowing worms. All attempts on Billy's part to be quiet and stoic disappeared, and he let out a shriek that grated the ears and began to struggle in earnest, a long chain of strangled, inhuman sounds falling out of his throat. The few seconds it took to place the charm seemed the longest Slightly had ever experienced.

The Old Witch grunted and her hand slipped out of the boy with a wet squelching sound, letting the wound shut its lips like a new mouth. Billy's back fell against the stone and he panted, not relaxing, involuntary noises spilling out of him. The witch wiped her hand on her apron and watched the wound ooze steadily, running trails down his ribs and down the line of his abdomen, staining a dark muddy spot on the front of his trousers and puddles on the altar cloth. The shadow thing lowered its muzzle to the wound and smudged its nose in it. Billy gave a yelp and went still, and when the beast raised its head the witch wiped Billy's chest off with her apron. The wound had become a shallow, bloodless slit; hardly the gaping mess it had been moments ago.

Billy, fortunately, seemed to be unconscious, though from the 'surgery' or the beast, Slightly didn't know. The Old Witch abruptly smiled and patted him on the stomach, the cheerful old woman firmly back in place. Around them, the circle faded out, returning the sunlit world to them and blasting both the scratching and the shadowy Familiar from existence.

The Old Witch beamed and put her fists on her hips, looking positively bouncy with glee.

"That went well!" she said brightly. Slightly and Mullins stared at her. "But we can't leave him out here, oh no! Pick him up, Mr. Mullins, pick him up! We shall go inside, put the boy to bed, and discuss some things over tea. Shall we?"

Slightly pulled the bit from him mouth, infinitely relieved he was breathing, and tugged the blindfold over his forehead. It was wet with involuntary tears. Mullins paused just a moment seeing Slightly so intent there and when the boy looked up, looking rattled and terribly young, he managed a shaky smile, though he didn't feel much better off than Slightly did after that. He collected Billy up like an enormous rag doll and plodded back to the traveling house with his burden.

The Old Witch smiled at Slightly, still kneeling up there on the stone, and her smile was a more easy smile, though much more wet than Mullins'. She brushed her hands against her bloody apron.

"Go get Mr. Jukes' clothes." She said. "And then you can go inside. I'll pick up the rest of this myself."

Slightly clambered down, then hesitated, seeing the sprawling mess of tiny bottles.

"You'd just put them in wrong anyway." She said, and waved her hands. "Shoo! Go away!"

Slightly collected Billy's vest and kerchief, and ran back to the house. The Old Witch watched him go, but as she began to dismantle the tiny cairns she saw her bare hands, and frowned.

"That boy's still got my gloves."