Rebecca Smythe: Witch in Training || ONC 2021

Becky the Accomplice

The tunnel was cramped and chilly. Rebecca led the way, shuffling down the steps towards the faint light at the end of the passage. Unlike the rest of the house, the tunnel offered little opportunity to get lost. Along the wall stood sections that looked like they might have once sprouted corridors but it appeared as though those had been sealed up long ago.

"What is this place?" Rebecca hissed to Caldwell.

"Abandoned servants quarters," Caldwell replied curtly. "Apparently they were deemed structurally unsound so they were sectioned off from the rest of the house."

"Structurally unsound?" repeated Rebecca. She braced herself against the wall, mentally preparing for the tunnel to collapse at any second.

"Yeah but that was about fifty years ago and they are still standing," Caldwell said. He prodded Rebecca roughly on the shoulder, urging her to move along.

"How did you find this place?" asked Rebecca. She was still feeling her way along the wall, albeit faster now.

"I've had a lot of time to explore," mumbled Caldwell.

The tunnel spat them out into a dimly lit room lined by large stacks of folded paper. At the center of the room, nestled within a small clearing formed by the mountains of newspaper, was a large mechanical contraption. Caldwell approached it and flicked a lever on its side. The machine sprang into motion- metal arms clacking, wooden slats crossing. Rebecca realized with a jolt that these must have been the sounds she had heard during the night. Caldwell picked up a stack of newspapers to the right of the machine.

"A couple of friends and I run this operation," Caldwell had to shout over the hum of the machine. Rebecca wondered how far his voice would carry into the house above. Caldwell must have had the same thought and, looking a bit sheepish, he crossed to turn off the printing press.

"What is the point of a newspaper that's a secret?" Rebecca had never read the news herself of course but she thought newspapers served their purpose far better if they were made available to the public.

"As you may have noticed," Caldwell's voice was soft now, "the rural counties are less than enthusiastic to integrate members of the magical community into society. These newspapers are our way of communicating with other magical folks. My associates gather stories from their network and I print them," Caldwell said. He gave the printing press an affectionate pat. Rebecca could see the ghost of pride hiding in his stoic expression. "As what we are doing isn't exactly legal, the whole endeavor must remain underground - both literally and figuratively."

"Where do they go once they are printed?" Rebecca asked. She looked around at the stacks of paper. So many symbols she couldn't decipher.

"That's where you come in. You will be making our drops from now on." Caldwell said this as if he had been pondering this very plan since the moment Rebecca got to the Plimpton estate.

"Me?" Rebecca asked incredulously. Moments ago she hadn't known this paper existed and now Caldwell was proposing that she be an accomplice.

"Do you want my help learning to read or not?"

"Yes, of course. What I meant to say was why me?"

"Well," Caldwell hesitated, "if you must know, Melinda's employment is under strain so she can't make the drops. Paul was bucked from a horse three weeks ago and broke both of his legs. And I can't make the drops for uh, personal reasons."

"And what if I refuse?" Rebecca shot back. Agreeing to help Caldwell seemed like a terrible idea but she wasn't sure she had any other options.

"Then I suppose you report back to the agency that sent you because Abigail won't hesitate to fire you once she finds out about your, er, literacy issue," Caldwell's voice grew cold again.