Matilda's Arc

Chapter 5 of 7

Two days after she tested the hide, Matilda sat in the shed with the lane empty and the barn quiet across the field. The old witch had passed with her basket an hour ago. Matilda had one hour left, maybe less. The hide worked. The window worked. The barn door still had its heavy iron lock, and she still had no key. She had turned the problem over for a week. A crowbar would splinter the wood. A pick would leave scratches on the plate. Any mark on the door would tell the old witch a stranger had come, and the book would be moved before Matilda could try again. She pulled the wand from inside her coat. It was thin silver, worked at the hilt into the shape of a key. She had bought it years ago from a peddler and never used it. The peddler had said it opened any lock once, cleanly, and left no trace. Once. She had saved it for something worth the cost. Matilda crossed the thirty strides at a walk, not a run. Running drew eyes. She kept her head down and the wand flat against her sleeve. At the barn door she pressed the silver tip to the lock and spoke the word the peddler had taught her. The lock clicked. No smoke. No spark. The shackle fell open in her hand. She caught it before it struck the wood. Inside, the barn smelled of hay and honey and old paper. Jars lined the shelves. On a low table under the loft window sat a book bound in dark leather, a small brass clasp holding it shut. Matilda took it. She weighed it in her palm, tucked it under her arm, and stepped back out. She fit the shackle into the plate and pressed it closed. It held. From the lane it would look untouched. She was halfway across the field when she saw the smoke. Not from the cottage chimney. From her own, across the trees, a thin gray line rising where no fire should be burning. Matilda stopped in the grass with the book against her ribs. Someone was in her cottage. She thought of the shelf where she kept the half-brewed potion, and the empty jar where the raven feather had been, and the door she had left latched but not locked. The wand was spent. The book was in her hands. She turned toward the trees and began to run.