I am ready.
This is the killing ground.
And far beyond the circle of blades, the kretch is still waiting, the mage at its side.
Oh, Mr. Wolf! Soon it will be your turn!
The bravest witches come in hard and fast. They die first. I whirl and cut and spin, slicing and stabbing until the air is filled with the shrieks, curses, and screams of my enemies, until the grass is slick with their blood.
Others press in behind them: Lisa Dugdale, Jenny Croston, and Maggie Lunt. These are the three from Pendle who have lashed blades to long sticks. They seek to jab and stab from a distance, with less risk to themselves. These are the ones who cut and slayed Wynde, the lamia, when she lay helpless with a broken wing in the jaws of the kretch; these are the cowards who tried to pierce the armor of the knight when he was down and at their mercy. So I find it satisfying to pay them back in kind.
So these I maim rather than kill outright. They limp away, hoping to reach safety. I will hunt them down later. It will be something to savor.
My enemies fall back and begin to flee. Now there is only the mage and the kretch to deal with. Bowker steps forward, the leather sack on his shoulder, and points the small rodent skull at my head. He chants, and something invisible but deadly surges at me; I hear a ringing in my ears.
I stagger and almost fall, and suddenly I am weak and defenseless. Bowker laughs and comes toward me, the weapon still pointing at my head, a blade readied in his other hand.
“It was I who took the bones of the girl, Grimalkin! And now I will take yours!” he cries.
He is less than ten steps away when I rally, drawing upon the magic that Alice has given me. It is stronger than the weapon he has used against me; stronger than anything he has at his disposal. I show my teeth, draw a dagger from its sheath, and hurl it toward him. It buries itself in his leg, and he drops to one knee. Seeing the death in my eyes, he turns and flees, limping toward the trees, leaving a trail of blood on the grass. He still has the Fiend’s head but will not get far. Soon he will be mine.
“Mr. Wolf!” I cry. “Now it is your turn! I am here! I am Grimalkin! Now we fight to the death!”
The kretch bounds toward me, forelimbs outstretched, eager to rend the flesh from my bones. It rears up, towering over me, and slashes at me with its talons.
I whirl and spin, avoiding their sharp poisonous tips, and the hilt of my blade smashes hard into its mouth, making of it a bloody ruin. It reminds me of what I did to the Fiend, and I smile.
Oh, Mr. Wolf! What big teeth you had!
I laugh as it shakes its head and the shattered teeth fall from its mouth. Some of them are red with blood, and it is enraged as I spring away; now it is snarling and spinning like a mad dog trying to catch its elusive tail. But it is slow, so very slow, and I am lithe and nimble. We dance together; the dance of death that it promised me.
Oh, Mr. Wolf! What big eyes you had!
My words are true because my blades have taken them both, stabbing faster than a blink, straight in under the bone shields. Now the kretch is blind again. This time it will not be given the chance to recover. This time only death awaits it.
I stab and cut as if in a frenzy. But each blow is measured; each slicing of its flesh calculated and precise—until it is weak and the ground is soaked in its blood.
Oh, Mr. Wolf! What a big heart you had!
Now I hold the heart of the kretch in my hands. At first it still beats, but soon it is still and begins to cool. I cut it into tiny pieces and scatter the bloody fragments on the ground. Finally I dismember the body and scatter it to the wind.
The crows will feast well.
But its thumb bones I keep. Later they will join the others that I wear around my neck.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE HUNT
MY favorite weapon is the long blade:
I use it for fighting at close quarters.
Think you can beat me?
It is already buried in your heart!
The kretch is dead, and now I keep my promise:
The ones who slew Thorne must all die too.
So I begin the hunt.
I break the back of Lisa Dugdale.
I hang her from an oak by her toes;
I drain her blood;
I take her bones.
I drown Jenny Croston in a deep, cold pond.
I hold her head underwater while her limbs thrash;
I drain her blood;
I take her bones.
Maggie Lunt begs like a frightened child.
I kill her quickly; my knife splits her heart;
I drain her blood;
I take her bones.
Finally I catch and slay Bowker, the mage;
I take his bones;
I drain his blood.
Thus Thorne is avenged—
For who is left to say:
“We took her bones”?
None, because all are dead,
And I took theirs.
I am Grimalkin.
CHAPTER XXV
A SORRY SIGHT INDEED
I sense your threat!
How strong are you?
Are you worth my time?
Shall I look for you in my mirror!
I sit cross-legged, sheltering by a hawthorn hedge, and remove the Fiend’s head from the leather sack. I place it on the grass before me.
It is a sorry sight indeed, and I smile. They have not attempted to unpick the stitches from his remaining eye, but the green apple and rose thorns have been plucked from his mouth. The head groans, showing the yellow stumps of teeth.
“I win again!” I cry. “Despite all that your followers attempted, you are still in my power. The kretch and your servants are dead!”
The Fiend does not reply. Even when I prod the lid of the stitched eye hard with a stick, it does not flicker. The head is cold, still, and silent, almost as if the Fiend has deserted it and returned to the dark. But that cannot be, because he is trapped within it.
He does not reply because, for now, he is defeated. I have won, his followers are slain, and he cannot bear to confront the victor. I have damaged him badly, and I feel deeply satisfied.
I no longer have an apple or thorns at my disposal. Instead I use a tangle of nettles and hawthorn twigs, ramming them into the Fiend’s mouth with considerable force. Then, with a smile of triumph, I thrust the head back into the sack.
This stage of our battle against the Fiend’s servants has ended successfully. No doubt soon there will be another threat. So now it is vital that Tom Ward travels to Malkin Tower to study what his mother has bequeathed to him. I will offer him all the help he needs so that he can discover the means by which we can destroy the Fiend forever!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JOSEPH DELANEY lives in Lancashire, England, in the middle of boggart territory.
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CREDITS
COVER ART © 2012 BY PATRICK ARRASMITH
COVER DESIGN BY CHAD W. BECKERMAN AND PAUL ZAKRIS
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
The Last Apprentice: Grimalkin the Witch Assassin
Text copyright © 2012 by Joseph Delaney
First published in 2011 in Great Britain by The Bodley Head, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, under the title I Am Grimalkin.
First published in 2012 in the United States by Greenwillow Books.
The right of Joseph Delaney to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Illustrations copyright © 2012 by Patrick
Arrasmith
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Delaney, Joseph, (date.)
Grimalkin the witch assassin / by Joseph Delaney ;
illustrations by Patrick Arrasmith.
p. cm.—(The last apprentice ; 9)
“Greenwillow Books.”
Summary: Provides insights into the life of Grimalkin, one of the deadliest witches in the country, if not the world, whose uneasy truce with the Spook’s apprentice, Tom, unites them against the ultimate evil of the Fiend.
ISBN 978-0-06-208207-7 (trade bdg.)
EPub Edition © MARCH 2012 ISBN 9780062082091
[1. Witches—Fiction. 2. Apprentices—Fiction. 3. Supernatural—Fiction. 4. Horror stories.] I. Arrasmith, Patrick, ill. II. Title.
PZ7.D373183Gri 2012 [Fic] —dc232011029552
12 13 14 15 16 LP/RRDH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
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The Last Apprentice: Grimalkin the Witch Assassin Page 19