The Spooks battle wc-4

by Joseph Delaney

  But Tibb was too strong and used one of those Mouldheel mirrors to scry and spy for himself. He's seen that I'm here, but more importantly he knows that Tom rescued me. Ugly, he is, with sharp teeth. Small but strong and dangerous. Only got three toes on each foot, too. No, he ain't human-that's for sure."So where's he from? I've not heard of him before," said my master."Last Halloween the Malkins called a truce with the Deanes, and both covens got together to make Tibb. Put a big boar's head in a cauldron and cooked it. Boiled off all the pig flesh and brains and made it into brawn. Each member of the covens spat into it thirteen times. Then they fed it to a sow. Seven months or so later they slit open the sow's belly, and out crawled Tibb. Ain't got much bigger since, but he's stronger than a fully grown man."Sounds more a tale of dreaming than waking," said the Spook wryly, an edge of mockery in his voice. "Where did you hear it? From your aunt?"Some of it. The rest from the Mouldheel sisters -Mab, Beth, and Jennet. They caught me while I was skirting Bareleigh. But for Tom, they'd have put an end to me for sure. Tried to talk them into setting me free. Said I no longer belonged to my family. But they hurt me really bad. Made me say things I didn't want to say. Sorry, Tom, but I couldn't help myself. Told em about you, I did, and how you'd come to Pendle to try and rescue your family. Even told Mab where you were staying. I'm really sorry, but I couldn't help myself…"Tears began to glisten in Alice's eyes, and I went across and put my arm around her shoulder."No harm done," I said.

  "One other thing you should know," she went on, biting at her bottom lip before taking a deep breath. "While I was a prisoner of the Mouldheels, the Deanes and Malkins came a-calling. Just a couple of each, that's all. Talked round the fire outside, they did-T was too far away to hear most of what 'was said, but I think they 'were trying to persuade Mab to help them do something. But I clearly saw Mab shake her head and send them away."The Spook frowned in puzzlement. "Why would the Malkins and Deanes speak to a mere girl about something like that?" he asked."A lot's changed since you were last here, John," Father Stocks observed thoughtfully. "The Mouldheel coven is growing in power and starting to present a serious challenge to the other two. And it's a new generation that's responsible. Mab can't be much more than fourteen, but she's more menacing than a witch twice that age. She's already the leader of the whole clan, and the others fear her. It's said that she's an expert server and can read the future better than any witch has ever done before. Perhaps this Tibb is something the Malkins have bred to counter her growing power."Then let's hope she doesn't change her mind and join with the other covens," the Spook said gravely. "Tibb sees things at a distance, you say," he continued, directing his words toward Alice. "Is it a type of long-sniffing?"Long-sniffing and scrying together, it is," explained Alice. "But he can't do it all the time. Needs to drink fresh human blood."

  A hush fell over the room. I could see that Father Stocks and the Spook were thinking about what had been said. Scrying was the term witches used for prophecy. The Spook didn't believe in it, but I could tell that he was disturbed by the way Tibb had found out about Mam's trunks. The more I'd heard, the worse the situation seemed. From the first time the Spook had warned me that we'd be traveling to Pendle to deal with the witches, I'd had serious misgivings. How could he possibly hope to deal with so many? And what were we going to do now that Jack and his family were prisoners in the dungeons under Malkin Tower?"Why did they take them?" I asked. "They'd gotten the trunks. Why didn't they just leave them behind?"Sometimes 'witches do things just for badness," Alice answered. "Might easily have killed them before leaving the farm. Capable of that, they are. But most likely they took 'em alive because they're your family. Need the keys, they do, and hostages are a way to put pressure on you."

  "We know where Jack, Ellie, and Mary are now," I said, my anger and impatience growing. "What are we going to do about getting them free? How are we going to do it?"I think there's only one thing we can do, lad," said the Spook. "Get help. My plan was to spend the summer and the autumn harrying our enemies; trying to divide the clans. Now we've got to act quickly. Father Stocks has suggested something that I'm not entirely happy with, but he's convinced me that it's the only way we'll have any chance at all of saving your family."There's an element of risk involved, I'll grant you that. But what other choice do we have?" asked Father Stocks. "There are some rough elements living in those three villages, who either willingly or through fear of the covens lend them their support. Then there are the clan menfolk, of course. And even if we could somehow fight our way past them, Malkin Tower is formidable indeed. It's built of good County stone and has a moat, a drawbridge, and a stout wooden door studded with iron beyond that. In effect it's a small castle.

  "So, young Tom, this is what I propose. Tomorrow you and I will walk over to the big house at Read and speak to the local magistrate there. As next of kin to those who were abducted, you'll have to make a formal complaint. The magistrate's name is Roger Nowell and until about five years ago he was high sheriff at Caster. He's an esquire, one rank below a knight, and also a good, honest man. We'll see if we can persuade him to take action."Aye," said the Spook, "and during his period of office at Caster, not one single witch was brought to trial. As we well know, those charged are usually falsely accused anyway, but it does tell us a lot about him. You see, he doesn't believe in witchcraft. He's a rationalist. A man of common sense. For him witches simply don't exist -"How can he think like that when he lives in Pendle, of all places?" I asked."Some people have closed minds," my master answered. "And it's in the interests of the Pendle clans to keep his mind closed. So he's allowed to see and hear nothing that could make him the least bit suspicious."

  "But, of course, we won't be bringing any charges of witchcraft," Father Stocks said, pulling a piece of paper from his cassock and holding it up. "Robbery and kidnapping are what Master Nowell will understand. Here I have accounts by two witnesses who saw your brother and his family being taken through Goldshaw Booth on the way to Malkin Tower. I wrote out their testimony yesterday and they made their mark. You see, not everyone in that Devil's Triangle is in league with witches or afraid for their own skin. But I've promised them that they'll remain anonymous. Otherwise their lives wouldn't be worth a wisp of straw. But it'll be enough to get Nowell to act."I wasn't that happy with what was being proposed. The Spook had also expressed reservations. But something had to be done, and I couldn't think of an alternative plan.Father Stocks's cottage had four upstairs rooms, so there was accommodation for three guests. We had a few hours' sleep and were up at dawn. Then, after a breakfast of cold mutton, the Spook and Alice stayed behind while I accompanied the priest south. This time we took the westerly route, traveling with Pendle Hill to our left."Read is south of Sabden, Tom," the priest explained, "but even if we were heading for Bareleigh, this would be the way I'd go. It's safer. You were lucky to get through that dell in one piece last night."I was traveling -without my cloak and staff so as not to draw attention to myself. Not only was it witch country, but Master Nowell didn't believe in -witchcraft, so he probably wouldn't have much time for spooks or their apprentices. Nor did I take any weapons that could be used against the dark. I trusted Father Stocks to get us safely to Read and back before sunset. And, as he'd explained, -we'd be traveling on the safer side of the hill.After about an hour we halted and slaked our thirst with the cold waters of a stream. When -we'd drunk our fill Father Stocks pulled off his boots and socks, sat down on the bank, and dangled his bare feet in the fast-flowing water.

  "That feels good," he said with a smile.I nodded and smiled back. I sat near the bank, but I didn't bother to take off my own boots. It was a pleasant morning; the sun was starting to take the chill from the air and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. We were in a picturesque spot, and the nearby trees didn't obscure our view of Pendle Hill. Today it looked different, somehow friendlier, and its green slopes were dotted with white spots, some of them moving."Lots of sheep up there," I said, nodding toward the hill. Closer by, beyond the stream, the fiel
d was also full of sheep and bleating, almost fully grown lambs, soon to be separated from their mothers. It seemed cruel, but farming was a livelihood and they'd end up at the butcher's.

  "Aye," said the priest. "This is sheep country without a doubt. That's the wealth of Pendle up there. We produce the best mutton in the County, and some make a very good living. Mind you, there's real poverty to balance it. A lot gain their bread by begging. One of the things about being a priest that gives me real satisfaction is trying to alleviate that need. In effect I become a beggar myself. I beg parishioners to put money in the collection plate. I beg for clothes and food. Then I give it to the poor. It's very worth while."More worthwhile than being a spook, Father?" I asked.Father Stocks smiled. "For me, Tom, the answer must be yes. But everyone must follow their own path…"What made you finally decide that it was better to be a priest than a spook?" I asked.Father Stocks looked at me hard for a moment, then frowned. It seemed that he wasn't going to answer, and I feared that my bluntness had offended him. When he finally spoke, he seemed to choose his words carefully."Perhaps it was the moment when I finally realized just how dark things were getting. I saw how hard John Gregory worked, dealing with this threat here and that danger there. Constantly risking his life, yet never managing to solve the real problem-that of the evil at the very heart of the world, which is far too big for us to cope with alone. We poor humans need the help of a higher power. We need the help of God."So you absolutely believe in God?" I asked. "You've no doubts?"Oh, yes, Tom. I believe in God and I have no doubts at all. And I also believe in the power of prayer. What's more, my vocation gives me the opportunity to help others. That's why I've become a priest."I nodded and smiled. It was a good enough answer from a good man. I hadn't known Father Stocks long, but already I liked him and could understand why the Spook had called him a friend.We walked on until, at last, we reached a gate; beyond it were wide, verdant lawns where red deer grazed. They were planted with copses of trees, seemingly positioned to please the eye."Here we are," said Father Stocks. "This is Read Park."

  "But where's the big house?" I asked. There was no sign of a building of any kind, and I wondered if it was hidden behind some trees."This is just the laund, Tom-which is another name for a deer park. All this land belongs to Read Hall. It'll be awhile before we reach the hall itself and the inner grounds. And it's a dwelling that befits a man who was once high sheriff of the whole County."

  Chapter VIII

  Mistress Wurmalde

  SET in its own grounds within the laund, Read Hall was the most impressive rural dwelling I'd ever seen, more akin to a palace than the home of a country gentleman. Wide gates gave access to an even wider gravel carriageway that led straight up to the front door. From there, the gravel forked right and left, giving entry to the back of the building. The hall itself was three stories high, with an imposing main entrance. Two ivy-covered -wings extending to the front formed an open, three-walled courtyard. I regarded the expanse of mullioned windows with astonishment, wondering how many bedrooms there must be."Does the magistrate have a large family?" I asked, regarding Read Hall in amazement."Roger Nowell's family did live with him here once,"

  Father Stocks replied, "but, sadly, his wife died a few years ago. He has two grown-up daughters who've found themselves good husbands to the south of the County. His only son is in the army, and that's where he'll stay until Master Nowell dies and the lad comes back to inherit the hall and land."It must be strange to live alone in such a big house," I observed."Oh, he's not exactly alone, Tom. He has servants to cook and clean and, of course, his housekeeper, Mistress Wurmalde. She's a very formidable woman who manages things very efficiently. But in some ways she's not at all what you'd expect from someone in her position. A stranger who was unaware of the true situation might take her to be the mistress of the house. I've always found her courteous and intelligent, but some say she's got above herself and puts on airs and graces beyond the call of her station. She's certainly changed things in recent years. Once, when I visited Read Hall, I knocked at the front door. But now only knights and esquires are welcomed there. Well have to use the tradesmen's entrance at the side."So, rather than leading us up to that imposing front door, Father Stocks took us down the side of the house, with ornamental shrubs and trees to our right, until finally we halted before a small door. He knocked politely three times. After we'd been waiting almost a minute, he knocked again, this time more loudly.

  A few moments later a maid opened the door and blinked nervously into the sunlight.Father Stocks asked to speak to Master Nowell, and we were shown into a large, dark-paneled hallway. The maid scuttled away, and we were left waiting there for several more minutes. The deep silence reminded me of being in church until it was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. But instead of the gentleman that I'd expected, a woman stood before us, regarding us critically. Immediately, from what the priest had said, I knew that this was Mistress Wurmalde.In her late thirties or thereabouts, she was tall for a *woman and carried herself proudly, shoulders back and head held high. Her abundant dark hair was swept sideways over her ears like a great lion's mane-a style that suited her well, for it displayed her strong features to good effect.Two other attributes attracted my gaze, so that it involuntarily flicked rapidly between them: her lips and her eyes.

  She concentrated upon the priest and didn't look at me directly, but I could tell that her eyes were bold and piercing; I felt that had she so much as glanced at me, she would have been able to see right into my soul. As for her lips, they were so pale that they resembled those of a corpse. They were large and full, and despite their want of color she was clearly a woman of great strength and vitality.Yet it was her clothes that gave me the greatest surprise. I'd never seen a woman dressed in such a way. She wore a gown of the finest black silk with a white ruff at the collar, and that gown contained enough material to dress another twenty. The skirts flared at the hip to fall in a wide bell shape that touched the floor, obscuring her shoes. How many layers of silk would you need to achieve an effect like that? It must have cost a lot of money; such apparel was surely more suitable for a royal court."You are very welcome, Father," she said. "But to what do we owe the honor of your visit? And who is your com-panion:The priest gave a little bow. "I wish to speak to Master Nowell," he replied. "And this is Tom Ward, a visitor to Pendle."

  For the first time Mistress Wurmalde's eyes fixed directly upon mine, and I saw them widen slightly. Then her nostrils flared, and she gave a short sniff in my direction. And in that contact, which lasted no more than a second at most, an ice-cold chill passed from the back of my head and down into my spine. I knew that I was in the presence of someone who dealt with the dark. I was filled with the certain conviction that the woman was a witch. And in that instant I realized that she also knew what I was. A moment of recognition had passed between us.A frown began before quickly correcting itself, and she smiled coldly, turning back to the priest. "I'm sorry, Father, but that won't be possible today. Master Nowell is extremely busy. I suggest that you try again tomorrow-perhaps in the afternoon?"Father Stocks colored slightly, but then he straightened his back, and when he spoke, his voice was filled with determination. "I must apologize for the interruption, Mistress Wurmalde, but I wish to speak to Master Nowell in his capacity as magistrate. The business is urgent and will not wait."Mistress Wurmalde nodded, but she didn't look at all happy. "Be so good as to wait here," she instructed us. "I'll see what I can do."We waited there in the hallway. Full of anxiety, I desperately wanted to tell Father Stocks my concerns about Mistress Wurmalde but feared that she might return at any moment. However, she sent the maid, who led us into a large study that rivaled the Spook's Chipenden library both in size and in the number of books it contained.

  But while the Spook's books came in all shapes and sizes and in a wide variety of covers, these were all richly bound in identical fine brown leather. Bound, it seemed to me, more for display than to be read.The study was cheerful and warm, lit by a b
lazing log fire to our left, above which was a large mirror with an ornate gilt frame. Master Nowell was writing at his desk when we entered. It was covered in papers and was a contrast to the tidiness of the shelves. He rose to his feet and greeted us with a smile. He was a man in his early fifties, broad of shoulder and trim of waist. His face was weatherbeaten-he looked more like a farmer than a magistrate, so I supposed he liked the outdoor life. He greeted Father Stocks warmly, nodded pleasantly in my direction, and invited us to sit down. We pulled two chairs closer to the desk, and the priest wasted no time in stating the purpose of our visit. He finished by handing Nowell the piece of paper on which he'd written down the testimonies of the two witnesses from Goldshaw Booth.The magistrate read them quickly and looked up. "And you say Father, that they would swear under oath to the facts stated here?"Without a doubt. But we must guarantee that they remain anonymous."Good," said Nowell. "It's about time the villains in that tower were dealt with once and for all. This may be just what we need to do it. Can you write, boy?" he asked, looking at me.

  I nodded, and he pushed a sheet of paper toward me. "State the names and ages of the kidnapped, together with descriptions of the goods taken. Then sign it at the bottom."I did as he asked, then returned the paper to him. "I'll send for the constable, and then we'll pay a visit to Malkin Tower. Don't worry, boy. We'll have your family safe and sound by nightfall."It was as we turned to leave that, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move in the mirror. I might have been mistaken, but it looked like a brief flash of black silk, which vanished the very moment I looked directly at it. I wondered if Wurmalde had been spying on us.Within the hour we were heading for Malkin Tower.The magistrate led the way, seated high on a big roan mare. Just behind and to his left was the parish constable, a dour-faced man called Barnes, dressed in black and riding a smaller gray horse. Both were armed: Roger Nowell had a sword at his hip, while the constable carried a stout stick with a whip hooked to his saddle. Father Stocks and I rode in an open cart, sharing the discomfort with the two bailiffs the constable had brought along. They sat beside us silently, nursing cudgels but not making eye contact, and I had a strong feeling that they didn't want to be on the road to the tower.