Page 25 of Night of the Witch
The kapitän juts his chin at me. “Now secure the hexe,” he commands and stomps off.
The campsite is little more than a clearing with a charred pit for a fire. The hexenjägers set to work efficiently, putting out bedrolls, gathering wood, stoking flames to life. Soon, the clearing is a sole orb of warmth against the encroaching dark and chill of night.
And I’m lashed to a tree at the edge of the clearing, hands above my head, just far enough from the fire that every stray wind makes me shiver. But I’m sitting, at least, and I’m not in the direct line of sight of any of the jägers, so as they start dividing evening chores—doling out rations, tending the horses, organizing a watch—I take stock of my surroundings.
The manacles are looped to the tree via rope—easy enough to get through, if I can find something sharp. I can just make out bumps of vegetation on my left, but the firelight doesn’t reach—are there herbs I can use? Likely just grass. But there are plenty of rocks on this flattened space, and one is bound to be sharp enough to saw through the rope.
How will I grab one? If I can bend, maybe I can use my foot to flick one up and catch it…
Four of the hexenjägers are centered around the fire, eating, passing a sheepskin, and bellowing the type of laughter that comes with camaraderie. The kapitän is off talking with the three hexenjägers who were searching the area for Hilde. They didn’t find anything, and I smile. At least that innocent woman is safe.
One of the jägers by the fire jostles the shoulder of another who can’t be older than fifteen. “Johann—the witch looks hungry. Why don’t you feed it, eh?”
Ah, the scared one.
Johann’s face pales. But he picks up a bowl and extends it for another to ladle in stew.
His arm is shaking. He spills some of the stew, and the men roar laughter.
“Schiesse, Johann, how green are you?” Bertram roughs his hair. “Barely off your mother’s breast!”
More laughter. Johann’s face reddens, but he stands, dutifully, and his eyes flash up to mine.
He balks.
“It isn’tthat,” he says to the men, fighting for composure. “I’ve never—it’spowerful. Isn’t it? I’ve never seen magic like that.”
There’s a wash of silence through the men. Despite their banter, I see Johann’s terror in all of them, briefly, and I can’t stop my feral grin.
Their fear is holding.
Good. I trust their fear more than I trust their kapitän’s order.
They’re all trying not to look at me and failing. When I bare my teeth at one, he crosses himself.
The kapitän chooses that moment to stomp into the firelight. He takes the sheepskin from one of his men and the bowl of stew from Johann. If he’s aware of their tension, their conversation, he doesn’t show it.
“First watch, take your stations. The rest of you, sleep. We have an early start tomorrow.”
No one argues, and they disperse. I clock where the two on patrol go—one to the north, one to the south, and they’ll likely walk in a slow rotation until they’re relieved. But there’ll be enough space between them to slip through. I can even wait until Johann is on watch and use his fear to my advantage.
I just have to get out of this verdammtrope. Even manacled, I’ll be able to run away.
I look up at it, shifting for a better view—
When a shadow slashes over me.
“You won’t escape.”
Slowly, I shift to frown at the kapitän, but he’s backlit by the fire. I can’t see his face.
A blink, and I see Mama. Standing over the cellar hatch. Her face in shadows.
My pulse surges into a gallop, and I fist my frigid hands.
“Your sister won’t be the only woman running free from you today,” I snap.
His shoulders go rigid. “She did not run. You did something to her. And you will tell me what, exactly, you did.”
