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pulled it open and saw more dresses. ‘These are children’s clothes.’
    The woodsman took them from her and clutched them to his chest. ‘My wife was a healer,’ he said. ‘Some said she used magic. Perhaps they were right. And my daughter . . . she
looked
so much
like her.’
    Hazel watched with dawning horror as he began to feed the clothes into the fire.
    ‘I did what I was told. I would have been killed if I disobeyed,’ he said. ‘I built the pyres and . . . I had to watch as . . .’ His voice trailed away.
    Hazel sat in stunned silence until he eventually tore his eyes away from the crackling fire and looked at her.
    ‘Don’t go into Watley,’ he said. ‘Just knowing Blind Mary’s name may be enough for someone to denounce you.’ His face lit up and he held out the last of his
daughter’s dresses. ‘You could stay here with me. This might fit you. Won’t you try it on?’
    Hazel shook her head, feeling trapped; the woodman’s broad shoulders seemed to fill the cabin, blocking her way to the door.
    ‘I’m sorry for what’s happened to you,’ she said, as gently as she could. ‘But you must let me go.’
    ‘Please stay,’ he begged, taking a step forward. ‘I can’t bear to be on my own.’
    Hazel tried to dodge past him but he moved with her. The wild look in his eyes chilled her blood, but she mastered her fear.
    ‘No,’ she said, stamping her foot. ‘You’ll let me go, or you’ll be sorry.’
    ‘Please,’ he said, then the strength drained from him and he crumpled into his chair.
    ‘I’m sorry, but I really can’t stay here with you,’ Hazel said, laying her hand on his shoulder.
    ‘Go then, if you must, young sapling.’ He reached out and wrapped his fingers around Hazel’s hand. ‘Go to the gaol in the market square. Find Captain Price and ask him to
show you the execution list. If Mary Applegate’s name is on it . . . you know that you need look no further for her. Just remember this: don’t tell
anyone
that you’re
friends with her. Trust no one –
ever
. England is now a place where people betray their own families. Now go.’
    Hazel paused by the door. ‘What were your wife and daughter’s names?’ She didn’t know why, but she needed to know.
    ‘Rose and Meg. My Rose and Meg.’
    ‘Goodbye,’ Hazel said. ‘I hope we’ll meet again.’ She stepped out into the dark and closed the door behind her.

8
A TOWN IN TORMENT

    When a Witch Hunter purges a township,
    he is allowed to treat the population as he sees fit.
    Amendment to the Witch Laws, passed by Parliament, 1646

    H azel picked her way through the clearing. ‘That poor man,’ she said, releasing Bramley from her pocket and settling him on her
shoulder.
    ‘Poor man?’ Bramley replied. ‘I thought he was going to keep us both prisoner.’
    ‘He was desperate. Couldn’t you feel it? It came off him in waves.’
    She stroked Bramley’s head as she gazed down the valley. Pools of white mist gathered in the deeps and gullies scarring the land. In the distance, a wolf howled. With a deep breath, Hazel
settled her bag more comfortably on her shoulder and set off down the hill towards the town.
    ‘You still mean to go there, then?’ Bramley said.
    ‘We need to know if Mary’s still alive. She’s our only hope.’
    ‘Why didn’t I just stay in my nest?’ Bramley groaned. ‘This does
not
feel like a good idea.’
    The valley sloped steeply and Hazel had to be careful not to lose her footing on the stony ground. Hardy-looking goats watched her descent until she eventually reached a track running alongside
the river. Ahead, the smoke pall stained the sky a dirty grey.
    Wattle-and-daub huts with sagging roofs lined the track, and boats bobbed and knocked against rickety jetties. The moon was high and casting a ghostly glow by the time she reached the walls of
Watley. The main gate was closed but a side door next to a guards’ hut stood open. Inside, a snoring soldier in a tatty red uniform