The Merchant of Vengeance (Shakespeare & Smythe 4)

"I thought that we agreed to speak no more of it."

Antonia threw down her needlework. "Oh, Elizabeth, be reasonable, for mercy's sake! You simply cannot tell me that you have been to see a fearsome witch and then not tell me what it was like! 'Tis hardly fair!"

Elizabeth suppressed a smile. "Well, for one thing, she was not fearsome. "

Antonia leaned forward eagerly. "You mean to say that you were truly not afraid?"

"Oh, I was afraid… at least a little," Elizabeth replied, "but when I met her, I did not find her fearsome."

"Was she very ugly?"

"'Nay, she was beautiful."

"Beautiful?" Antonia asked with surprise. "But I had heard that she was old!"

"Well, beautiful in the way an old woman can be beautiful," Elizabeth said. "Her hair was white and very long, and her face was aged, and yet nearly unlined by age. Her eyes were blue as periwinkles, clear and bright, and you could still see what a beauty she must have been when she was young."

"I had thought that all witches were ugly old crones," Antonia said. "Do you suppose 'twas a spell? That she had made a pact with the devil?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "I could not say. But she did not seem evil in the slightest. Quite the contrary, she was very kind."

Antonia pursed her lips and nodded knowingly. "'Tis how they get you," she said in a low voice.

"I do not think she got me," Elizabeth replied. "After all, I am here, am I not?"

"I meant… your soul," Antonia said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I do not recall pledging my soul or signing anything in blood," Elizabeth said. "There was no talk of the devil, nor did she demand any tokens of me. 'Twas nothing at all like what I had expected. 'Twas more like going to visit a kindly old maiden aunt or grandmother."

"That must be how they fool you," Antonia said, nodding. "I did not have the sense of being fooled," Elizabeth replied.

"Well, of course not! For if you knew that you were being fooled, then you would not be fooled, for to be fooled, you must not know it, whereas if you knew that you were fooled, then you were never truly fooled, were you?"

Elizabeth glanced at her with an irritated expression. "I have absolutely no idea what you have just said. And in all likelihood, methinks, neither have you."

"Well, at least it has taken your mind away from contemplating Portia's wedding."

Elizabeth grimaced. "Indeed, it had, until you just mentioned it once more."

"Oh. Drat. Well then, let us speak of something else."

"Aye, let us do so, by all means."

"Have you heard what they say about her intended's father?"

"I am glad to see that we are not speaking of Portia's wedding any longer," Elizabeth said wryly.

"I was speaking of Thomas Locke's father, not Portia's wedding."

Elizabeth sighed. "Very well, then. What do they say? That aside from owning a tavern, he is also a brothelkeeper? That is hardly news, Antonia, we all knew that already. 'Tis certainly no secret."

"Nay, this is something different." Antonia leaned closer and added in a conspirational tone, "They say he is a ruffler!"

"What, you mean a criminal? A thief?"

"Not just a thief," Antonia said, pleased to see she had once more surprised her friend. 'They say…" She leaned still closer, looking around cautiously as if they could be overheard. "They say that he is a master of a thieves' guild!"

"A thieves' guild!" Elizabeth frowned. "Antonia, that is absurd! How could thieves possibly have a guild? 'Twould be against the law!"