Page 33 of The Knucker King

Avice could see patterns others could not. It was how she could tell a hemlock root from wild parsnip. They were indistinguishable unless you looked at in a certain light, or you had the sight.

Her stomach growled again, pulling her from her ruminations. She pressed a hand there, willing it to shush. Avice heard Trewoofe’s throaty chuckle behind her as they made their way up the garden path. Her cheeks flushed in response. The trio stopped at the front of her cottage. Apprehension clawed at her throat at the thought of climbing down.

She turned to Trewoofe. “Would you like to join me for something to eat?”

The way his jaw was shaped did not allow him to grin, but his eyes lit up at the question.

“I would love to,” he replied.

She managed a small smile and resolute nod, before turning her attention to her familiar. “Will you help me, Bramble?”

The Grim wagged his tail. Always.

Avice rounded to the back of her cottage. She eyed the wooden hatch, protecting the space beneath from the worst of the elements. Squatting, she wrapped her gloved hands around the frigid handle.

She yanked. The door did not budge. The wood had frozen solid against its frame. Avice tugged and pulled again. Her biceps burnt and strained with the effort, sweat even peppered her upper lip.

Bramble whimpered. Stop, you will hurt yourself, let me—

“Allow me,” Trewoofe interrupted.

Avice stepped back. The Knucker whipped out a talon and slotted the tip of it beneath the bronze handle. With a quick flourish, he yanked it open, revealing the black hole beneath.

“Thank you, Lord,” Avice mumbled, unable to tear her eyes from the cellar.

Bramble jumped down into the pitch and appeared at the bottom in a blink. His red eyes stared back up at her through the darkness.

I am here, Avice, climb down, he encouraged.

She swallowed the lump at the back of her throat, squashing down the anxiety clawing at her chest. Trewoofe lowered his head so he could meet her eye, his expression curious.

Avice clenched her jaw. If you want to eat, you need to do this.

She gave the Knucker a false smile before beginning the descent down the ladder embedded into the rammed earth wall. As each boot stepped to the next rung, the roaring in her ears grew louder.

The black swallowed her whole.

She fumbled around in the last fragments of light that penetrated the dark. Pulling out the tinderbox she kept in her satchel, she felt around the closest shelf for the candle she kept there. After several more moments of hearing only her thudding heart, she finally lit it.

Bramble’s eyes were no longer the only thing illuminating the space. She titled her head up the ladder. Trewoofe poked his snout into the entrance.

“Are you alright, little witch?”

Avice placed her hand on her pendant. “I am fine,” she reassured the Knucker. “I will not be long.”

“If you say so…”

She smiled at the concerned note in his voice. She took a deep breath and eyed Bramble in the gloom. The space was small. Stuffed full of wooden shelves stacked with jars. Each held a different type of preserved or pickled vegetable, mushroom, or herb.

Her hands began to shake. This is your space, Avice. Not his. This is not the tavern. He is not here. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memory of a glinting knife, grabbing hands, and meaty fists. God’s blood, pull yourself together. Get some food and climb out.

Bramble let out a yip, pulling her back into the present. She held up her candle and squinted through the gloom, spotting a charcoal etching of a vegetable on one of the jars.

Cabbage.

Avice eyed the one next to it.

Onion.