“Can you drive out the devil?” she asked.

“Only you can drive out the devil within you,” said Quill, “by denouncing Satan and those who follow him. But I will help you shake off the fear of Satan and replace it with the fear of God by mortifying the flesh.”

Now she understood. “Oh, please sir, in the name of God, I beg you, do not torture me.”

“Oh really,” he said impatiently. “We’re not the Spanish Inquisition, now, are we? No, the flesh can be mortified better through exhaustion than through pain.” He smiled. “Oh, when you’re free of this, when you can stand before this community of Saints and declare that you have named all of Satan’s followers here, how happy you will be, filled with the love of Christ!”

She bowed her head over the table. “Oh God,” she prayed, “what have I done? Help me. Help me. Help me.”

Waldo Emerson saw the men at the back of the classroom. “We have visitors,” he said. “Is there something in the teachings of Thomas Aquinas that I can explain to you, goodmen?”

“We’re tithingmen of the witch court of Cambridge,” they said.

Waldo’s heart stopped beating, or so it seemed. “There is no witch court in Cambridge,” he said. “Not for a hundred years.”

“There’s a witch girl naming other witches,” said the tithingman. “The witcher, Micah Quill, he sent us to fetch you for examination, if you be Ralph Waldo Emerson.”

The students sat like stones. All but one, who rose to his feet and addressed the tithingmen. “If Professor Emerson is accused of witchery then the accuser is a liar,” he said. “This man is the opposite of a witch, for he serves God and speaks truth.”

It was a brave thing the boy had done, but it also forced Emerson’s hand. If he did not immediately surrender himself, the tithingmen would be taking along two, not just one. “Have done,” Waldo told his students. “Sit down, sir.” Then, walking from his rostrum to the tithingmen, he said, “I’m happy to go with you and help you dispel any misconception that might have arisen.”

“Oh, it’s no misconception,” said the tithingman. “Everyone knows you’re a witchist. It’s just a matter of whether you do so as a fool or as a follower of Satan.”

“How can everyone know that I’m a thing which I never heard of until this moment?”

“That’s proof of it right there,” said the tithingman. “Witchists are always claiming there’s no such thing as witchism.”

Waldo faced his students, who had either turned in their seats to face him, or were standing beside their chairs. “This is today’s puzzle,” he said. “If the act of denial can be taken as proof of the crime, how can an innocent man defend himself?”

The tithingmen caught him by the arms. “Come along now, Mr. Emerson, and don’t go trying any philosophy on us.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Waldo. “Philosophy would be wasted against such sturdy-headed men as you.”