Kit seated himself behind the table and dipped a quill pen into an inkwell, writing something meticulous on thick sheets of parchment. He glanced up and gestured Malcolm to the front of the table. Malcolm led Margo to the open space between table and audience. Kit sat back and looked up at her. Margo felt a chill. If she hadn’t known he was playing a part, she would have despaired.
He spoke in Portuguese. Malcolm said in English, “You are on trial for witchcraft, girl. What is your name?”
There was at least one man in that audience who understood a little English. Margo lifted her head. “Margo Smith.”
”And you are English?”
”I am.”
Malcolm spoke briefly to Kit in Portuguese. Kit scribbled something onto his parchment. Then he began to speak. Malcolm translated a list of charges, which began with “You are accused of consorting with the devil to make yourself and others fly through the air by means of foul magic” and ended nearly half an hour later with “and lastly, you are accused of summoning storms by the combing of your hair, which did cause the wreckage of a Portuguese ship and the loss of all hands but two.” They even threw in summoning demons to make the sheep bleat at the wrong hour of the night.
”How do you plead to these serious charges of witchcraft?”
Margo turned her head just far enough to stare directly into the military governor’s eyes. She curled her lip.. “Even if I were a witch, I would not waste such powerful magic on these men. They are not worthy of it. I am innocent and they are liars, murderers, and rapists.”