Witch Bewitched (New)

Chapter 53

Sitting on his desk, Royle tucked one hand under his cheek and threw up a small pouch with his other. He caught it deftly in midair, feeling the weight of the contents bumping and clicking together.

Should he open it?

He had found it sitting on Misa's bed after she left him in the cadets' dormitory. It was the same pouch she always tied to her belt—the one that contained her loncs. He had wanted to return it to her but thought better of it when he couldn't hear the telltale jingle of coins. Whatever was inside, she likely wouldn't need it in her time in Harthem.

So, here he was. Sitting on his desk, ignoring the scattered paperwork on the surface and playing catch with Misa's pouch, pondering if he should take a peek. He must have lost it. It wasn't like him to be distracted by something so insignificant. With a sigh, Royle forced the pouch into a drawer in his desk, locking it so he could fight the urge to pry through her property like a common thief. He threw the key into his upturned cap, out of his sight.

He took a moment to rewire his mind to focus on the task at hand. There was no reason for him to be so curious about an old pouch unless it involved Nisha. For now, he needed to think about the accident, the bull, and the traces of magic on the carriage. Where to start? He closed his eyes, recollecting his memory of the previous day.

Taketh, Colvin, and Durvan taking the girl—Leira—away. Getting into the carriage. Misa falling against his chest, so soft and warm and—

Focus. What had happened next? She had opened the carriage door, leaping out. Then, she had pulled him out with a strength he hadn't expected. He would have crushed her falling out of the carriage if it hadn't been for the reflexes he'd honed in all his years in the purgehouse. It happened so quickly he could barely put the pieces together.

Rolling on the ground, pressed so close to her. Sensing the terrifying thunder that pounded closer and closer, catching a blur of black ready to ram into her small frame. Blood. Blood pouring like rain. He had a heart-stopping moment when he thought it was hers. And a sickening relief when he realised it belonged to Colvin. His subordinate, someone who looked up to him, who respected him had died, and he had been relieved.

Royle slammed his hands against his desk and stood. This was going nowhere. At this rate, he was going to drive himself up a wall. Nisha. He had to focus on Nisha. Everything he had set up, everything he had worked for was all to find that wretched witch who didn't care what destruction she left in her wake. Nisha was the reason he'd dragged Misa into his mess. And if his suspicions were correct, Nisha was the reason Leira disappeared. A witch attacking a purgehouse carriage in Giligha was too much of a coincidence for Nisha to not have been involved. If he didn't get his head straight, he was going to lose everything. He was going to lose Misa.

He needed to take a walk to clear his head. Riding would have been better, but he didn't want to be on a horse since that incident. Not when they could get so out of control. Not when they panicked.

Panic? Why had they panicked? What had Taketh said again? Royle sifted through his memory. The carriage jerking to a halt, Misa screaming for them to get out. Durvan had told her to calm down, stopping her from getting out of the carriage. Then, Taketh had stuck half his torso out the window.

Are those snakes on the road?

There were snakes on the road. Snakes that had disappeared as soon as the carriage tilted over. It was clear as day. Someone had laid out an elaborate, carefully calculated trap. The intersection, the snakes that stopped them on the road, the bull rushing, tipping the carriage over with its sheer strength. The hole in the roof. It was all too convenient for it to have been an accident a witch had taken advantage of. But why? Why Leira?

Royle grabbed his cap. He needed to go outside and see the streets again. The carriage would have been cleared from the road, the blood covered by salt to ward off spirits that could have been attracted to such a violent death, but he needed to see it and recall every detail of the incident.

The key clunked onto his desk. For a moment, Royle stared at it, contemplating. He slipped his cap on, allowing himself to make a decision in the short time it took.

He grabbed the key, shoved it into the lock, and slid the drawer open. Without a second thought, he pushed aside the pouch and retrieved a sleek, black pistol. It paid to be cautious, even if he probably wouldn't be needing it. He wasn't going to take any chances, not after yesterday. Royle tested the weight, the familiarity reassuring him. He hadn't needed to use it, but he always carried it with him when it involved witches. When it involved Nisha.

Clipping it behind him, Royle began pushing the drawer. The leather strings of Misa's pouch caught his eye, and he froze. No. He had to stop hesitating. He was always so sure of what he'd do next, what steps he had to take to achieve his goal, no matter how indifferent he'd have to be. When did his mind become so fickle?

Royle let out a growl of frustration and snatched the drawstring pouch from its place in his drawer. His fingers clipped the neck, where the strings had gathered around it, ready to pull the wrinkles apart and open the damn thing. Just a little peek. She wouldn't need to know he'd been snooping. It shouldn't be such a big deal anyway. He had to see it, or it would itch at the back of his mind, irritating him to the point he wouldn't be able to concentrate.

He pulled it open, shaking off the strange guilt of invading Misa's privacy. Turning it over his palm, he let the contents drop.

Something clacked against his hand, and Royle clasped his fingers around the items before he could drop them. Wood? He cupped open his hand. A broken swan, an eagle with wings spread wide, and a talisman. It was rather...unremarkable. But what had he really expected? That she'd be carrying around some family heirloom? A gift from a previous lover?

Royle went rigid. Was that why she was so hesitant to stay close to him? Had she been hurt or betrayed or taken advantage of in a way that made her avoid any interest in courtship?

With a sigh, Royle dropped the pieces back into the pouch. No. His thoughts were running in an irrational direction again, carried by the stream of his emotions. Misa likely didn't have a previous lover when she had been locked away all her life. If she did, it wouldn't have amounted to anything. Not with her father keeping a tight leash on everything she did.

And why did it bother him so much? It wasn't like he could do anything about it. He really shouldn't have looked through her belongings, but he felt somewhat relieved by how random they were.

"You're losing your head," he muttered. "All this, over a girl?"

At the very least, his curiosity was satiated. Royle tied the pouch to his belt, refusing to acknowledge that it wouldn't be needed in his investigation—that he just wanted a piece of her with him while he tried to figure out how the string of events were all tied together. He let his thoughts go wild with theories as he left his room and made it out of the purgehouse.

The sunlight had turned golden in the afternoon. Royle wagered the streets would still be bustling. Daitra, the fourth day of the week, usually had the markets open for an extended few hours, closing late into the evening instead of right before sunset. It was a pain to deal with, but Royle wasn't going to let a busy crowd deter him.

Royle paused when he reached the purgehouse gates, where the carriage had been awaiting the prisoner.

Leira had entered first, taking the inner window seat. Colvin had been next, sitting next to her in case she thought of bolting. Then, Taketh, taking his place across from her. Durvan had been next to Taketh, then Misa. Royle had entered last, squeezing in next to Colvin. It hadn't been out of place. Nothing there could have been planned by any witch.

So, Royle followed the path of the purgehouse carriage, calculating every step to determine where the plan had formulated into reality. There were multiple paths to the courthouse, most roads having no intersection that could give such an easy opening for an attack. So, how did they find themselves in a trap? How had they been lured to the perfect open space for an attack?

Going through the intersection was the quickest way to the courthouse, but that didn't guarantee they would take it. Especially when the streets were crowded with people during that time of day. There had to be a backup. Something that would have ensured they took the right path.

Royle took mental notes. Bribery given to the driver to take them through a planned route. It was easy, it was discreet, and it guaranteed success, and as much as Royle didn't like suspecting his own men, he didn't put it past the purgehouse workers to accept an extra lonc for something so seemingly innocent. It was the most likely conclusion, though there were other possibilities. For now, he filed his theory for later, when he could confirm it with Avan.

The marketplace was busier than usual, and despite his best efforts, Royle could not filter out the gossip of the previous day's events. Every corner, every stall he passed, he would hear the word, 'bull.' Most quietened into a whisper when they caught sight of him, but some, a few whose resentment of the purgehouse ran particularly deep, mocked him, jeered at the loss of his men.

And those emotions. Those damned emotions that had somehow been unlocked came bubbling up, sizzling through him like a fire he could barely suppress. It wasn't the first time Royle lost men from his purgehouse, and though he respected them, he had never allowed himself to dwell on their tragedies. So why was he so bothered now?

Royle pushed forward, dispersing the crowd with his mere presence. A few people had gathered around the salted streets to gawk and gossip about the accident, and they fled the scene at the sight of a purgehouse uniform. Royle tried to ignore the eyes on him as he recollected the events that had happened right beneath his feet.

Two roads crossed here, one vertical, the other horizontal—as standard as any crossroad. The horses had been spooked by the snakes that had somehow been released straight ahead, and the bull had crashed into them from the right. He approached a stall that had been set at the corner of the intersection.

An aging woman watched him through narrowed eyes, her pale cheeks sagging as she scowled. She had the perfect view of everything. The line of snakes that had stopped the horses, the carriage, the bull. If there was anything Royle couldn't determine by himself, she would have the answer.

"Pardon me, Miss," he greeted as he stepped towards her stall.

"Why do you always bring such bad luck?" The woman was practically hissing. "Your dealings with witches, your dealings with the evil men have brought this misfortune on you. I have nothing to offer." She touched her chest, where a wooden charm was clasped tightly by her fingers.

"All I want is information," Royle said, keeping his face emotionless. The belief that the purgehouse brought bad luck wasn't a new one, but Royle had long ago abandoned such superstitions. "Just tell me what you saw yesterday, and I'll leave you be."

"What I saw?" She sniffed, drawing the shawl that drowned her tighter around her until she looked like a pile of brown sacks. Her face had become even paler than before. "I saw a man hanging off a bull because he was foolish enough to give his life to a cursed place."

"The snakes on the road. Let's start there." Royle knew Colvin's death was the only thing on people's minds. It had been the most shocking part of the incident. All the blood and violence. It was to the point that most seemed to forget a second officer had died beneath the carriage.

The old woman shuddered, letting out a wispy moan. "Snakes. Bad omens. I knew something would happen the moment they slithered out of those broken boxes."

"Broken boxes," Royle echoed. It couldn't be a coincidence. "Whose boxes? Who brought them here?"

"Bad, bad omens," she murmured to herself. "They brought the mad bull. They brought the black death with horns."

"Who brought them here?" Royle punctuated every word.

The woman shook her head. "Best you left the purgehouse, young man. All that misfortune, all the dark things in that place. It's no surprise such a tragedy took place here with all the purgers snooping around."

"Answer the question." Royle's patience was running thin. He was tempted to pull out his gun and scare the answer out of her, but he knew it would be stupid of him to even try. It would only send a ripple of panic through the distant eyes watching them, and any information he could have gleaned would be lost for good. No, with these people, even the slightest bit of trust was key.

"Mark my words," the woman pointed at Royle, her finger long, wrinkled, and pointed by a filthy fingernail. "This is only the beginning. Bad fortune surrounds you, and if you do not get out of it, you will lose everything."

Royle shook his head, letting out a breath of frustration. He was not going to get anything more out of this woman. It was a wasted conversation, and he had learned nothing useful. He had to leave before he did something he regretted. There were plenty of other witnesses he could interrogate.

"Take care, Miss."

Royle walked away, still sensing the world watching him. He didn't fare much better with anyone else he spoke to, and when the market eventually closed, Royle was left wandering the streets with missing pieces. There was something still nagging at the back of his mind, though he couldn't quite figure out what it was.

His final route was to follow the path of the bull. He followed the road that cut right at the intersection. It went in a straight line for about several hundred meters, with a gentle curve that hooked to the left. Sufficient distance for the bull to start its charge and reach its maximum speed right before it hit the carriage. Royle didn't expect much, but he hoped he'd find more information about the animal.

The bull had been taken down by multiple shots from nearby officers, and after Colvin's body had been recovered, a group of civilians had volunteered to burn the bull's remains away from the city. If Royle hadn't been absent, he would have examined it for clues, and it still frustrated him that the officers had so little sense that they permitted the loss of so much evidence.

There was nothing on the streets that told him anything about the bull, so Royle, frustrated without getting anywhere despite hours of investigation, decided it would be best to turn in for the night.

A night filled with restless thoughts and fleeting dreams about horned, black demons.