Underground, the walls and floors and ceilings were stone. It was like being locked inside a chiselled mountain. What little light existed came down the crack under the stairs and barely reached an arm’s length into the depths of the chamber. Patience Penrose had never been underground before, and was not enjoying it.
The others here, the two Williams, Edward and Agnes, they all seemed happier to be here than Patience was. They were feeling good, riding high on remaining after Lady Irene had sent away most of them already. They had volunteered eagerly, for glory, money, or the chance to live forever.
Patience would have loved to be one of those sent away, but being sent away also meant going home, going back. To life as a woman. To marriage. To some man. So this was the alternative, and he’d give it a shot.
“Ah,” he said, sitting on the floor as the others, too, lounged around and waited for something to do, “I hope we don’t miss the May Day dance.”
Heads turned. Eyebrows rose. Miss the selection of the May Queen? The chance to dress up and dance with the whole village? It was one of the rare highlights of country life, and the most fun to be had before harvest season came.
Many of them didn’t know that maypoles had been made illegal, of course. There would be no May Day this year, thanks to the war. But if they didn’t know it, Patience could bring it up. He leaned back against the cold, rough stones, and looked between faces in the dim light. “You didn’t think of that? ‘Tis soon. We’ll miss the food and the revels. Edward, isn’t your pa going to be Jack of the Green this year?”
“Quiet, Patience,” Agnes said, ever the leader. “There’s no need for that.”
Patience was about to respond when the sound of the door cast ice across the room, freezing them all in place. Agnes was first up, standing to attention as one would for the King, and the others followed her lead.
“Good morning,” she said. Her voice carried effortlessly around the room. Patience suspected it was not morning. “Well done for making it to the third day. Come.”
She turned, and led the group upstairs. There was only a little nudging and bickering about who got to be where in the line. Patience took the back, because honestly, it wasn’t like those little power plays meant much. He would be noticed for other reasons, anyway.
Into the body of the church, where the air was fresh and the light was natural, the group ascended at her heel. A table was waiting for them with a meagre breakfast, which they ate in silence as she conferred with her servant. Judging by the angle of the light from outside, it was midday, if not later. She gave them long nights and short days. Ages were spent in the crypt, in the darkness, waiting...and then a brief moment of light.
Patience was finished first and so the first to rise when Lady Irene returned towards them. He kept his back straight and eyes respectfully lowered. For a moment, her dark eyes rested on him, before they moved over the others.
“Follow me,” she said, in her regal way, and led the group up the aisle to the bell tower. Patience swallowed, realising the task for today, as she stepped into the lines of dark red-brown painted on the stone flags.
Up, up in the tower, on a long chain, in a thick metal cage, was the demon. Shaggy dark hair, a jagged, scarred face, ragged clothes and bony limbs piled into the corner of the prison. Patience thought the demon looked like a person, but that was its aim, wasn’t it? To be seen as a person.
“You are the final five,” Lady Irene said sombrely. “You are ready to face the demon directly. Test your faith upon its lies, and be judged.”
There were noises of unease and shuffling around the group. Thankfully, Patience was at the back, again.
“William,” Lady Irene said. She knew all of their names by now. “Come over the line. Do not touch it.”
William stepped forwards.
“Lower the cage,” Lady Irene told her servant, and he did so. The demon came down towards Patience, moving forwards a little in its enclosure, fixing dark, almost black eyes upon them in turn. Patience felt, for a moment, like prey might.
“Approach the demon, William,” Lady Irene commanded him. “See what temptations it offers you.”
William moved forwards gingerly, staying at a distance from the cage as though the creature within would bite him. Nothing happened; the demon looked back at him, and then turned its gaze away, disinterested.
“What?” William said, bemused. “You’re meant to test me. Say something.”
The demon shook its head slowly, hair hanging over its face. William pulled a face, and stepped back.
When Agnes stepped forwards, she took the lead. “Demon, address me.”
The demon stared. It squinted. Then it rolled its eyes, and Patience almost, almost smiled. He managed to stop when he realised the demon was glancing his way. No smiles. This was serious, and he didn’t want the demon’s attention prematurely.
The second William had the same treatment. Silence, derisive looks. Edward pushed, reached out and rattled the cage. “Speak! Do you know our tongue, demon, or are you mute?”
The demon’s eyes focused with sudden sharpness. “Not mute,” it said. “Wish I was deaf, though.”
“You – what?” Edward paused, disarmed. “What does that mean?”
The demon sighed. There was no reply.
And finally, it was Patience’s turn.
He looked down, and carefully stepped over the streak across the floor that looked suspiciously like blood. Demon blood, of course. Demons, when they were appearing as humans, even bled the same shade. He looked up, prepared for the stare and the silence, now, with tactics planned.
Then the demon’s head cocked to the side, and smiled a disarmingly honest-looking smile. “Hello,” it said, in a very normal voice.
Patience blinked in surprise. Was it...being friendly?
No, that was its game. It was almost exactly human, except that it would not die, no matter how much it was bled. It could lie like one. Better, even.
Still...was there any harm in greeting it back?
“Hello, demon,” Patience said quietly.
“You’re different,” the demon said. “Clever. And you’re a man, aren’t you?”
Patience froze. “P-Pardon?”
The demon smiled again, more gently. “It’s alright. I have seen futures of acceptance for those like you. Like us. Please live your life how you would like.”
The demon – the demon saw into his soul. That was the only way. Patience hadn’t cut his hair or even been able to wear different clothes. But somehow the demon could see inside him, see the hidden truth of who he was, and...
Accepted it? Reassured him?
It didn’t matter. Patience had to stay focused on his goal. “That has nothing to do with you, demon,” he said flatly. Flattery from a creature of evil was meaningless. The favour of a woman who could give him freedom? That was the goal.
“Will she accept you for a man?” the demon asked.
“Yes,” Lady Irene said, and Patience turned. Their eyes met, and her thin lips moved into a smile. “A man stands before me.”
Despite his determination to stay calm, Patience’s heart beat faster at the affirmation. He smiled back at her, and she inclined her head. He turned to the demon. “I do not need your temptation,” he said, his voice stronger. “But you have told me much. You have seen the future, demon. Tell us of it. Who wins the war?”
For a long moment, the demon was silent. It almost seemed sad.
“You die four years after joining her service. You save her life from a stampeding horse. She does not give you the elixir. She leaves your body at the side of the road, unburied.”
Lies. It would be lies. A demon was a demon.
“You don’t want me to join her,” Patience said slowly. It was lies. It had to be. “If you do not want it, demon, it must be for the good, mustn’t it?”
“For her good. Not yours.”
Patience shook his head. His long, strawberry-blond braid thumped into his back as he did it. “I do not serve your wishes, demon. I serve only hers.”
He stepped back, out of the line. After a moment, the cage was hauled into the air again.
Patience turned around, and saw that Irene was still watching him. She was smiling.
Patience watches from his position at the wall, hands folded, expression drawn to blankness, as Lady Irene interrogates the villagers.
He’s claimed it was fully-grown men who broke into the church, broke the jars and hit him. She has had her followers, those loyal in the village, round up those who are not. Whoever wasn’t at her announcement is surely regretting it now.
One by one, she speaks to them, quiet and focused like a fox stalking a rabbit. Patience pretends not to listen, but he hears her as she threatens each one sweetly. Tell me who your accomplices were. Then you can prove you are still worth saving.
She has not told the village that the elixir was lost. She claims it is to avoid panic.
Your son James, she says, having been given the name by one of her devotees before the man arrived. He could have an accident tomorrow. What would you do then? Who could you turn to but me?
Patience refills her cup of water. He stokes the fire. He moves back against the wall. He watches the sick panic twist up the faces of men who have no idea what crimes they committed.
An innocent would have no trouble joining his fellow man, she says, her voice softened in a familiar way. Tell me, who else could have committed this crime, if not you?
Not a single person points the finger towards the apprentice in the corner of the room.
Devote yourself to me, she tells the men, grown men, each terrified by this frail woman with her fine-boned hands and low, sweet voice. Show you are not tainted.
Patience could save these men. He could save them all, by confessing, explaining his reason, telling her that he knew the truth and had to test it. He could pierce the lie of her benevolence. But he knows what will happen if he does.
He will not give her the truth.
We will be watching you, she warns, as each man is found blameless in turn. We will be watching. We will be watching.
