At least Peter’s da had the sense to call for him. He could scarce believe it when his lad, Seumas, came a-huffing and a-puffing into the kirk with the story. When he finally saw Peter stretched out on the bed, his back arched as if he were about to break in two, his neck so distended and corded with veins, his eyes set to pop, he knew what he was witnessing and did not fail to name it: malice. Was it not his godly duty to smite witchcraft and all who practised it lest they harm good Christian souls? It was. And so he named it and made sure, despite the doctor’s call for caution, that the word spread.

Malfeasance had returned to the Weem.

Even though the day was cool, the lad was pale and sweaty against his pillows, his dull eyes fixed straight ahead. Patrick reached for his hand. As he held it, the lad blinked and tried to say something.

‘There now, Peter, be not afeared. God is with you, and so am I.’

‘Th… th… thank you, reverend,’ said Peter hoarsely.

‘Don’t speak. Not yet. Let me get you a drink.’ He fetched a cup of milk and put it to the boy’s mouth, tipping it gently. As he did so, he thought about all the lad had said since he’d taken ill. He’d blethered about a charm, about the pain in his limbs, as if a thousand rats were biting him with sharp teeth. He said he could hear voices in his head, chanting, whispering, luring him into a dark space where the light went to die.

Patrick knew God had sent him a challenge. It was one he accepted with grace and pride. He would find who was responsible for this devilment and fell them. And this poor lad, this once hale fellow whom he’d known for years, would help him.

Having slaked his thirst, Peter fell back on the pillows. ‘Thank you, reverend.’

Patrick smiled and brushed aside the appreciation. ‘’Tis naught, lad, ’tis naught. There’s no need to talk, I want you to save your poor wee throat. But it’s important I ask some questions. I have to ken what happened, find out who’s responsible. Your ma and da are relying on me to get to the bottom of this. Are you up to that? Nae. Don’t speak. All you have to do is nod or shake your head. Can you do that?’

‘Aye —’ began Peter, then pressed his lips together and nodded.

‘Good lad,’ said Patrick approvingly. ‘Tell me, do you still hear the voices?’

Peter thought for a moment. He shook his head.

‘Do you still feel the pain in your legs and arms?’

Peter hesitated, then nodded.

‘May I take a look?’ asked Patrick and lifted the blankets when Peter acquiesced.