Free Witch Hunt by Devin O'Branagan

whole matter and pretended it hadn’t happened.
    He pushed himself up into a sitting position, and despite his swollen tongue, said, “So, now you know.”
    “Do you ship and trade in slaves?” William asked.
    What kind of fool question was that, out of the blue? “In my youth — about a dozen years ago — I dabbled in the slave trade. It was distasteful to me. I don’t do it anymore.”
    “How long have you had this affliction of yours?”
    “Since …” The connection dawned on him for the first time. “Since about a dozen years ago.” He looked at William. “What are you getting at?”
    “Island magic. Voodoo.”
    Jansen waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Superstitious shit, all of it.”
    “I know of … an old folk remedy to deal with such things, if you’d like me to try it on you. I mean, you’re right that it’s probably all just shit, but it couldn’t hurt, could it?”
    It was obvious that William was choosing his words carefully and deliberately trying to be nonchalant about the matter. Could he really be a wizard? Could there truly be such things? Hell, what could it hurt, indeed?
    Jansen shrugged. “It would give us something to do with our miserable time, at least.”
    The men’s drinking water was stored in a large wooden barrel, and the water level was low. They emptied the remainder of the water and kicked the bottom out of it.
    After William chanted some strange words over it, they laid it on its side. With a few handfuls of straw, William made a small poppet, which he hung from a short rope on one end of the barrel. William stood back proudly, surveying their creation. “Well, there it is.”
    Jansen looked at the scene with amusement. “All right. So, there what is?”
    “The place for your passing through.”
    “All right.” Jansen’s skepticism grew. Now he’d have to slip the guard a handsome bribe to get another water barrel. What had he got himself into, anyway?
    “See, if you pass through a specially prepared hole — although usually it’s in a tree or a rock — then the parasite will be pried loose and take refuge in the poppet that’s hanging there.”
    “Ask me if I believe you,” Jansen said.
    William shook his head. “It doesn’t matter if you believe.”
    Jansen was slightly touched by William’s sincere desire to help. He sighed. Well, if it would make him feel useful, he’d humor him. “So, I just crawl through, huh?”
    “Yes, but you must be naked, of course.”
    “What? Are you daft? What if the guard comes along?”
    William thought about it for a minute and then smiled. “We’ll tell him you’re trying to take a bath.”
    Jansen looked at the open-ended barrel and burst out laughing. “Hell, I’ll do it just so I can see the guard’s expression when we explain ourselves.”
    Jansen stripped his clothes, and feeling like the village idiot, crawled into the barrel and out the other end, beneath the hanging poppet. Once Jansen had passed through, William quickly snatched the poppet and set a flame to it.
    “There.” William ground the ashes beneath his feet and gave Jansen a broad grin. “It’s gone.”
    Jansen sat on the cold floor, naked, looking at William with his triumphant foot on a pile of ashes, and felt like a total ass. “I can see how you managed to get yourself arrested for witchcraft.”
     

     
    Jansen’s wife and son were finally notified of his plight, and they visited him. Alida Van Carel was a comely woman, with dusky blond hair like Jansen’s own, and gray eyes, which mirrored some deep, unexpressed pain. Or at least that’s how William read her eyes; as a rule, he was quite good at discerning such things. Peter Van Carel was a friendly and open fourteen-year-old. William enjoyed their visit nearly as much as Jansen seemed to.
    It wasn’t an affectionate reunion of husband and wife, but it was friendly. Alida passed a small satchel through the bars to Jansen. “A pipe and tobacco, some fruit, a change of