Chapters (76)
- Cover
- About the Author
- Also by Karen Brooks
- Title Page
- Dedication
- EXPLANATORY NOTE
- PART ONE
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- PART TWO
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- PART THREE
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- PART FOUR
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Epilogue: Autumn 1706
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- GLOSSARY
- LIST OF CHARACTERS
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Sorcha became completely still, utterly calm. Someone had to be. Someone had to bear witness. Apprehension tramped inside her chest, making it difficult to breathe.
A great shout exploded as Janet was released, hauled through the water and towards the side of the ship. The men raised her into the air until she was level with the deck, then paused and, with a great shout, released the rope. Like a rag doll, Janet struck the side of the ship before the swirling sea swallowed her.
The folk lining the harbour erupted, slapping each other’s backs, roaring approval, their eyes wild, their mouths wide in ecstasy.
Once more men began to heave on the rope tied to the Sophia’s mast and, in moments, the ocean spat Janet back out. Yanked from the water, Janet coughed, spluttered and then opened her mouth in a pitiful scream. Laughing, the men tugged and pulled until she was suspended above the waves, then let her go again.
With a cry that echoed in Sorcha’s ears, Janet plummeted back into the water. Her scream cut off when she smacked the surface and sank.
‘Witch! Witch!’ The incantation was taken up. Folk shouted at the top of their lungs, raising fists, pitchforks, knives, bottles of half-drunk whisky. Words punctuated the night, dark stars that echoed along the street. Sorcha turned to look at Peter, hold him to account. There was no sign of him. Not near the houses, not on the wall or the shore. He was gone.
Some of the men jumped from the harbour wall onto the sands, running towards the edge of the sea with sticks and picking up pebbles and rocks. Seeing what they were doing, others bolted to the cottages along the foreshore and searched among the fishermen’s gear, snatching hooks, nets, weights, anything they might use. It was like a wicked spell had been cast, transforming ordinary people into something evil. Sorcha couldn’t credit what it was she was seeing. What she could feel all around her.
When Janet was pulled out of the sea again, they were ready. Running as close to the water as they dared, the men flung whatever they’d found at her. Some missiles struck their target, hitting with sharp cracks, causing Janet to wail and those watching to crow in delight. Others struck with dull thuds, tearing brittle skin, causing fresh blood to flow.
Bile rose in Sorcha’s throat. She looked in disbelief at the faces around her, lit by the combination of the moon’s radiance and the torches. Who were these people? They were demonic strangers, twisted, hardened, possessed.
Janet was dragged out of the water again and again, the men tugging on the rope handing the chore to others when they grew weary. Those willing to take their place lined up along the pier, climbed onto the ship. With each ducking there were calls to keep her submerged longer.