Work Text
Newton Pulsifer pulled up his kerchief, cocking his hat to conceal his eyes. He hefted a pistol, holding Dickon steady.Despite what Sergeant Shadwell insisted about “striking a blow ‘gainst the Powers o’ Wickedness”, Newt was pretty sure holding up coaches was a crime.Dickon shifted, ears twitching. Newt caught the sound of an approaching carriage, and rearranged his grip on the pistol. He urged his horse forward, shouting “H-halt!”The coach didn’t even slow.He couldn’t botch his first solo mission and disappoint the Sergeant! He aimed his pistol upwards, closed his eyes, and squeezed the trigger.The coachman fought the horses to a halt as the carriage door flew open. A face caked with maquillage peered out, garish ostrich plumes askew. “Coo-ee, what’s this about?”Newt peered around her to spy two more ladies. Beneath soft blonde hair, the bright eyes of a plump, motherly figure met his quizzically. The other was slim and dark, her violet dress appearing almost black. She seemed aggressively uninterested in the commotion.Wait. A maiden, a matron, and a… Newt balked at the word crone. Had he stumbled upon an actual coven? No sign of familiars…An angular black cat oozed from a basket. “It’s fine, Nina,” the blonde reassured her with a pat. The cat slinked over to the youngest woman, butting her ankle. She frowned, then looked up at Newt, revealing lovely eyes behind thick round spectacles.Newt’s hands went clammy. What would Shadwell do? No, anything but that! He’d rather submit to the Forces of Evil than inquire into the ladies’ anatomy.“Pardon,” he stammered. “I represent the Witchfinders Army. We’re in need of, uh, donations. Kindly empty your purses and surrender your jewelry.” That didn’t sound too rude, did it?The passengers ignored him. “Ana, look at his horse!” the blonde whispered to her pretty seatmate. “Just like your prophecy!”“Ye Anathema, shall of menne staye free, till one rideth ypon legges three,” the bespectacled one muttered. “But Agnes couldn’t have meant a common highwayman!”“Hate to interrupt,” Newt apologised, “but Dickon here does have the usual four. S’just that his near foreleg is completely black. Hard to tell at night. Sorry.”“See!” Anathema said.“Also, not a common highwayman. Witchfinder Private. Thought I’d clarify.”“And what’ve you found here, hmmm?” The eldest gave him a saucy wink.“Only soliciting donations, ma’am,” he repeated doggedly.“What if we’re not interested?” Anathema tilted an eyebrow.This wasn’t going well. “I shall have to bid you a good evening, then.” Shadwell was going to be extra incoherent at him.“Don’t be too hasty,” the blonde said, looking between him and Anathema. “Accompany us. Tell us about this Army of yours.”“Maggie, don’t,” her friend scolded.“What’s the harm?” Maggie smiled. “Riding beside our carriage, keeping us safe from ruffians and thieves...”“But do take off that silly scarf,” the eldest added. “Let’s see your handsome face.”Anathema’s mouth crinkled up slightly as Newt complied. He hoped that was a good omen.