Speaks the nightbird torrent

He tied the reins to the hitching post as Matthew eased himself down. Even losing two inches to the mud, Matthew was taller than his companion; he stood ten inches over five feet, an exceptionally tall young man, whereas his companion was a more normal height at five feet seven inches. A bolt was thrown.

He wore a stained buckskin jacket over a brown shirt, gray-striped breeches and gaudy yellow stockings that showed above calf-high boots. He was smiling broadly, displaying peg-like teeth in a face as round as a chestnut.

Matthew and the older man scaled two steps to the porch. The tavern-keeper stepped back and held open the door for their entry. The door closed at their backs and gone was the light. It was so gloomy in the place that neither of the two travellers could see anything but the red glimmer of fitful flames.

Matthew had the sensation of other shapes moving around them, but his eyes were blurred by smoke. He felt a knotty hand press against his back. They shuffled closer to the hearth. Someone — a muffled voice — spoke, someone else laughed and the laugh became a hacking cough.

The older man had to cough several times too, to relieve his lungs of the tart smoke. He stood at the flickering edge of the firelight and peeled off his wet gloves, his eyes stinging. The older man was aware that a hand had been offered to him through the haze.

Woodward had noted that the tavern-keeper was a squat, burly man maybe five-foot-six, with wide powerful shoulders and a chest like an ale keg. Shawcombe had an unruly thatch of brown hair streaked with gray and a short, grizzled gray beard, and he looked like a man not to be trifled with. His accent — a coarse lowborn English yawp — told Woodward the man was not far removed from the docks on the river Thames. Woodward glanced in the direction of the Bible-reader, as did Matthew, and made out through the drifting smoke a gnarled and white-bearded figure sitting at one of several crudely fashioned tables set about the room.

The old man started to open his mouth for a reply but had enough elder wisdom not to let the words escape.

When Woodward looked at the tavern-keeper again, Shawcombe was smiling sheepishly and the brief display of anger had passed. A new figure emerged through the murk into the firelight, brushing between Woodward and Matthew to the edge of a large hearth rimmed with black-scorched stones. This person — slim, slight, barely over five feet tall — wore a patched moss-green woolen shift and had long dark brown hair.

A chunk of pinewood and an armload of cones and needles were tossed into the flames. Matthew found himself looking at the pallid, long-chinned profile of a young girl, her unkempt hair hanging in her face. She paid him no attention, but moved quickly away again. The gloom swallowed her up. Get these gentlemen draughts of rum! A chair scraped back across the raw plank floor, a cough came up followed by another that ended in a hacking gasp, and then Maude — a skinny white-haired wraith in clothes that resembled burlap bags stitched together — dragged herself muttering and clucking out of the room and through a doorway beyond the hearth.

Got a bed with a good soft mattress, ease your back from that long trip. Girl, you go too! The girl had been standing motionlessly with her back against a wall, her face downcast and her bare arms crossed over her chest. He saw something in them — ignorance, pettiness, pure cruelty perhaps — that sickened him.

He had seen this man before — with different faces, of course — and he knew him to be a bully who revelled in power over the weak of body and feeble of mind. He saw also a glint of what might have been recognition of his perceptions, which meant Shawcombe might be more intelligent than Matthew had surmised.

Shawcombe was smiling slightly, a twist of the mouth. The tavern-keeper, still smiling, would not release him. Now at last Woodward, who had been shrugging out of his coat, realized some small drama was being played out before him.

Matthew gave a grunt and turned away, walking out the door into the last blue light and what was now blessedly fresh air. Her end of the trunk smacked down into the muck. She stood there in the rain, her shoulders hunched over and the lank hair covering her face. In this clearer light, his skin was as dull gray as wet parchment.

Abner was silent, his scabby brow furrowing. He laughed again as if this were the most foolish thing any man had ever been asked, and then he carried the wig box inside. Matthew watched the girl for a moment. Your Comment:. Read Online Download. Hot Baal by Robert R. McCammon by Robert R. Great book, Speaks the Nightbird pdf is enough to raise the goose bumps alone.

Add a review Your Rating: Your Comment:. Hot Gone South by Robert R. Hot Mine by Robert R. Baal by Robert R. There are 15, copies of the first printing of the trade hardcover edition of Speaks the Nightbird. The cover artwork is by Michael Dolinger. Thanks to Naomi Hoida for that information. Is there a witch in Carolina in ? The people of the town of Fount Royal think so. Her name is Rachel; she's foreign, beautiful, and brave--no wonder so many people hate her. Comes a traveling magistrate to hold a witch trial, and his clerk, Matthew.

The evidence spells doom for Rachel: witch's tools are found in her home, she will not speak the Lord's Prayer, and witnesses swear they've seen her commit unspeakable acts with the Devil himself. But Matthew hears the call of the nightbird. He wonders--is there any such thing as witchcraft? If Rachel can fly through the night on wings of evil, why hasn't she escaped from the town gaol?

And the town itself--who murdered Rachel's husband? How did the ratcatcher learn to hypnotize his prey? Who stands to gain if the witch is burned? God and Satan are indeed at war in Fount Royal, and even the innocent are not safe. In the end, Matthew follows his head and his heart, and Rachel keeps an unlikely appointment with destiny. Reviews and Comments New!! From Acriedel's Journal, September 2, Click here to read the review. Review by Daniel Allen. Review by Christy Lockstein.

From Sandstorm Reviews, February 5, Click here to read the review. Click here to read the review of Book 2 by Martina Bexte. From Louisville Cardinal Online Click here to read the review.

From Buried. From Sabledrake Magazine , May Click here to read the review. From Ryan MacMichael, Laze. Click here to read the comments. McCammon has recreated 16th century Carolina in his mainstream look at a beautiful and brilliant foreign woman on trial as a witch. From author Gary A.

Braunbeck , October 15, Click here to read the review by Gary A. Thanks to Bev Vincent for providing the scan. Bev now has a site, Onyx Reviews , collecting all of his book reviews, including his review of Speaks the Nightbird.

Thanks to Ali and Shots eZine for providing the review.