Gunwitch by David Michael

He gave her a big smile. “That was an adventure, wasn’t it?” Then his smile changed, as he leaned close to Margaret. “Miss Rose will never admit it,” he whispered, “but I taught her how to do that. Long ago.”
    Margaret started to smile back, but something on Ducoed’s face made her stop.
    * * *
    The lights Margaret had seen became lanterns illuminating a wooden dock that extended into the lake from a long, low house on the shore. A handful of empty pirogues and fishing boats, were tied to the dock. No one was visible. Some of the windows of the house glowed with light, but Margaret saw no movement there either.
    She and Janett no longer clutched each other, but Margaret held her sister’s left hand with both of hers. The events they had just lived through already seemed unreal, as if the lights of the docks drove a nightmare back into the darkness. But a receding nightmare lingers even in the full light of day, and this had been real. Margaret kept her knees together, to prevent them from shaking.
    Da had worked with gunwitches, Margaret knew, though that had been before she was born. She had even seen gunwitches, in their red uniforms, faced with black and jagged lines of yellow thread, like long lightning bolts down their chests. When other children had told her what they had heard about gunwitches and their magic, she had quoted Da with confidence: “Don’t believe everything you hear.” But she had never had a gun pointed at her before. And she had never felt the touch of magic before. All the horrible, half-whispered stories came back to her. She could not stop the trembling.
    In front of her, Major Haley leaped out of the pirogue and onto the dock, holding the tie line. He secured the line then gestured to the girls. “Come along,” he said. “If what I have heard is true, you’ll have one more night of sleeping in a bed before you have to nestle down under the stars.”
    “You go first,” Janett said to Margaret. “I’ll–I’ll hold the boat steady for you.”
    Margaret stared at her sister. After a long second, though, she mastered her limbs enough to let go of Janett’s hand and scoot to the bow. She took the hand that Major Haley offered, and stepped on the dock. She moved to the side, to let Janett follow her.
    She looked at the house again. There was still no sign of movement. She looked back along the dock and saw Miss Rose stepping out of her pirogue. She saw the woman catch her rifle, check it, then set it butt first on the dock and lean on it. Miss Rose saw Margaret looking at her, and straightened, slinging the rifle over her shoulder. Margaret turned away before their eyes met.
    “Where is everyone?” she asked Major Haley.
    “They heard the shot,” Miss Rose said behind her. “So they’re making sure we’re friendly before they show themselves.”
    “Why would we not be friendly?” Janett asked.
    Miss Rose moved past them toward the house. “Why should they think we are?” She faced the house then. “Chico!” she shouted. “It’s me, you bue grande stupido . Stop hiding behind your bambinos and come see to your guests.”
    Margaret let out a yell of surprise as men and women seemed to materialize from the shadows around the dock and in the windows of the house. They were all dressed in drab, shabby clothes, most of it worn leather. The women’s heads were bare, their hair pulled back. The men wore wide-brimmed hats. All of them had weapons. The light of the lanterns reflected on pistol barrels and long rifles and the flat sides of knives. Not all of them were full grown, Margaret saw. Some were hardly older than herself.
    The door of the house opened and Margaret took a step back, pressing against Janett. The largest man she had ever seen stood silhouetted in the door frame.
    “Rosa!” a voice bellowed from out of the silhouette. “ Benvenuto! ” The arms opened wide and the figure stepped forward.
    The man’s features were at once terrifying and cheerful.