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“The device.”
In the last half hour Newt had heard some pretty unbelievable stuff and was close to believing it, but you have to draw the line somewhere.
“The device is named after a real person?” he said.
“Oh, yes. Fine old Lancashire name. From the French, I believe. You’ll be telling me next you’ve never heard of Sir Humphrey Gadget—”
“Oh, now come on—”
“—who devised a gadget that made it possible to pump out flooded mineshafts. Or Pietr Gizmo? Or Cyrus T. Doodad, America’s foremost black inventor? Thomas Edison said that the only other contemporary practical scientists he admired were Cyrus T. Doodad and Ella Reader Widget. And—”
She looked at Newt’s blank expression.
“I did my Ph.D. on them,” she said. “The people who invented things so simple and universally useful that everyone forgot that they’d ever actually needed to be invented. Sugar?”
“Er—”
“You normally have two,” said Anathema sweetly.
Newt stared back at the card she’d handed him.
She’d seemed to think it would explain everything.
It didn’t.
It had a ruled line down the middle. On the left-hand side was a short piece of what seemed to be poetry, in black ink. On the right-hand side, in red ink this time, were comments and annotations. The effect was as follows:
3819: When Orient’s chariot inverted be, four wheles in the skye, a man with bruises be upon Youre Bedde, achinge his hedd for willow fine, a manne who testeth with a pyn yette his hart be clene, yette seed of myne own undoing, take the means of flame from himme for to mayk ryght certain, together ye sharle be, untyl the Ende that is to come. [Japanese car? Upturned. Car smash … not serious injury?? . . . take in … . . . willowfine = Aspirin (cf.3757) Pin = witchfinder (cf.102) Good witchfinder?? Refers to Pulsifer (cf.002) Search for matches, etc. In the 1990s! . . .. … hmm … . . . less than a day (cf.712, 3803, 4004)]
Newt’s hand went automatically to his pocket. His cigarette lighter had gone.
“What’s this mean?” he said hoarsely.
“Have you ever heard of Agnes Nutter?” said Anathema.
“No,” said Newt, taking a desperate defense in sarcasm. “You’re going to tell me she invented mad people, I suppose.”
“Another fine old Lancashire name,” said Anathema coldly. “If you don’t believe, read up on the witch trials of the early seventeenth century. She was an ancestress of mine. As a matter of fact, one of your ancestors burned her alive. Or tried to.”
Newt listened in fascinated horror to the story of Agnes Nutter’s death.
“Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultery Pulsifer?” he said, when she’d finished.
“That sort of name was quite common in those days,” said Anathema. “Apparently there were ten children and they were a very religious family. There was Covetousness Pulsifer, False-Witness Pulsifer—”
“I think I understand,” said Newt. “Gosh. I thought Shadwell said he’d heard the name before. It must be in the Army records. I suppose if I’d gone around being called Adultery Pulsifer I
’d want to hurt as many people as possible.”
“I think he just didn’t like women very much.”
“Thanks for taking it so well,” said Newt. “I mean, he must have been an ancestor. There aren’t many Pulsifers. Maybe … that’s why I sort of met up with the Witchfinder Army? Could be Fate,” he said hopefully.
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “No such thing.”
“Anyway, witchfinding isn’t like it was in those days. I don’t even think old Shadwell’s ever done more than kick over Doris Stokes’s dustbins.”
“Between you and me, Agnes was a bit of a difficult character,” said Anathema, vaguely. “She had no middle gears.”
