The innkeeper had just starting frying our breakfast when there was another thumping on the door. We went to the window and saw about two dozen of the townsfolk outside. They looked desperate and angry; some were armed with clubs. No doubt Mistress Fresque had told them of the situation. Either that or they’d heard what she’d shouted up at the window.
‘Open up!’ they shouted. ‘Do it now or we’ll break down the door.’
We didn’t bother to reply. There was no point in trying to reason with a terrified mob. After a while they withdrew down the street, but then I saw them approaching the inn again. This time they were carrying a heavy battering ram – a stout cylindrical log with brass ends. I didn’t think the door would stand up to that, and I was quickly proved correct.
‘One! Two! Three!’ someone shouted – and on ‘three’ there was a tremendous thud as the battering ram struck the door. It buckled under the force of the blow, and the crash brought the innkeeper running in from the kitchen. It wouldn’t be long before the lock gave way. What then? It was one thing to use my sword against dark entities; quite another to attack terrified men who were no doubt fathers, brothers and sons.
The innkeeper ran forward as if to open the door and let the men in, but Judd seized him by the collar and held him in an arm-lock.
I was at war with myself, not sure what to do for the best. I drew my sword anyway. If taken prisoner, we would end up in the pits, food for the strigoii.
The second blow to the door was louder than the first. It groaned, and a shower of plaster fell down from the ceiling.
‘Don’t have much respect for your property, do they?’ Judd commented, but the innkeeper remained tight-lipped.
In the intervals between each blow the air was filled with curses and shouts. The men sounded desperate, and it was only a matter of time before the door gave way.
At the fifth attempt, it crashed inwards and we stood facing our attackers. We stared at them in silence, but then I heard the sudden barking of dogs in the distance. There was something familiar about the sound that caught my attention; something I recognized. It was the distinctive hunting calls of Claw, Blood and Bone.
It must be Alice. She had brought the dogs with her!
The men turned nervously, and suddenly scattered. I knew that the three wolfhounds were a fearsome sight, but the men seemed terrified beyond reason. We stepped out onto the cobbled street, and moments later I realized why.
Alice was accompanied by someone else – Grimalkin, the witch assassin. She was running towards us, black mouth agape to reveal sharp filed teeth. Blades hung from the leather straps that criss-crossed her lithe body, and she clutched a dagger in each hand. It was fortunate that the townsfolk had fled. She looked ready to kill.
I would normally have welcomed her as a formidable ally, but she was carrying the Fiend’s head in the leather sack over her shoulder. She had come to the one place that should have been avoided at all costs.
This was exactly where the Romanian dark entities wanted her.
This was a trap.
WE STOOD ASIDE to let the pair in, followed by the dogs, then closed the door as best we could and sat around the largest of the inn’s tables.
The innkeeper kept glancing at Grimalkin, clearly terrified, but he served us a hot breakfast, heaping our plates with ham, eggs and fried bread until we could eat no more.
‘What about the dogs?’ I said to him. ‘They’ve travelled a long way and need feeding too.’
For a moment he hesitated, but then Grimalkin glared at him, opening her mouth to show her sharp pointy teeth. His hands began to tremble and he hurried away, returning with scraps of meat for the dogs.
While we ate, I made the introductions and explained the situation in Todmorden, relating everything that had happened since I left Chipenden with my master and Judd.
When I came to the condition of my master, the words stuck in my throat and I couldn’t go on. Alice reached across the table and put her hand on my arm in sympathy. I felt a surge of warmth for her. Despite our recent differences I had really missed her.
At that point Judd Brinscall interrupted. ‘Please, before Tom goes any further, I have to tell you my part in this. It won’t make for good listening – I’m truly sorry and ashamed of what I did.’
I was relieved – it saved me from having to tell everybody about his betrayal. So, with a tremor in his voice, Judd told his story, making no attempt to justify his actions, other than to explain the threats that had been made against his mother and her kin, and the possession of Cosmina Fresque’s body by the daemon. When he’d finished, he bowed his head and stared down at the table.
Nobody offered him any sympathy. I still found it impossible to forgive him. Grimalkin glared at him with death in her eyes.
But then my conscience forced me to confess my own failings. ‘I’ve nothing to be proud of, either,’ I admitted. ‘At one point I was down in the cellar, trying to find my master. Suddenly I was faced with daemons. It was dark and there were lots of them. I fled in a panic . . . I ran away.’
There was another silence until Alice spoke relieving the tension in the room. Her words were addressed to me. ‘What did you see down in that cellar the second time, Tom? What exactly did the strigoica show you?’
A lump came into my throat, and for a few seconds I was unable to speak. In my mind’s eye I saw her lifting the lid of the box to reveal the horror within.
‘They had my master’s head in a box. By means of dark magic, it still lived. She said they’d fed the rest of his body to a moroi. He talked to me and said he was in terrible pain. He begged me to release him from his torment.’
Judd lifted his head and stared at me, then stood up and gripped me by the shoulders. ‘Where were you when you saw the head?’
‘The Fresque house.’
Judd slapped his hand hard against his head three times and his eyes widened. ‘Now I see!’ he cried. ‘How many times have you been in that house, Tom?’ he demanded.
‘Four . . . no, five times,’ I answered.
‘And am I right in thinking that its appearance changed each time you entered?’
‘Yes – on the last occasion I was there, the door to the cellar was gone. There was just a blank wall.’
‘Listen to me, Tom. Nothing in there ever remains the same for long. Remember what I told you about the houses of strigoii and strigoica? They draw power from a grimoire to maintain their illusions. I don’t want to raise your hopes too much . . . but you know what I’m getting at, don’t you?’
My heart soared, and despite his warning I was filled with new hope. ‘I saw their grimoire. They were using the Doomdryte, one of the most powerful and dangerous of all. So you mean the head in that box might have been an illusion . . . that my master isn’t really dead? Could that really be possible?’
‘As I said, don’t get your hopes too high, but yes, it is a possibility. He could well still be alive. They could be keeping him in one of the pits scattered across the hillside. He’s strong for his age, but he won’t last long if they feed from him frequently. He could be dead already, but I’ll tell you one thing: I know of no Romanian daemon or witch magic that can keep a soul living on in a severed head.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ I asked, suddenly angry.
‘I wasn’t thinking straight, Tom. I’m sorry. There were a lot of things whirling around in my mind at the time.’
‘What about the Fiend?’ I nodded towards the leather sack at Grimalkin’s side. ‘We decapitated him but his head still talks.’
‘That’s different, Tom. The power comes from within him – it’s part of his being. To do that to John Gregory would be almost impossible.’
‘Almost?’
‘Who knows what can be achieved when the resources of the dark combine – they must indeed be desperate to restore the Fiend to his former state. But we may hope . . . ’ Judd trailed off, frowning.
I continued my account, shaking my
head bitterly at the end. I turned to Grimalkin, who was sitting next to Alice opposite Judd and me. ‘This is exactly what they wanted,’ I told her. ‘For me to lure you here so that they could seize the Fiend’s head. This is the most dangerous place you could possibly be.’
‘We sensed that you were in trouble and were on our way here anyway, so don’t blame yourself,’ she replied. ‘I have been in danger many times since I last saw you, child, but each time I have prevailed – sometimes with the help of others.’ She nodded at Alice. ‘But I agree that the most important thing is that this’ – she tapped the leather sack – ‘should not fall into our enemies’ hands. From what you’ve told me, the Old God, Siscoi, constitutes the greatest threat, so we should not stay in this place longer than necessary.’
‘I can’t leave without trying to save my master,’ I told her, ‘or at least ensuring that he really is dead and at peace. Alice, will you try to find him for me? I wouldn’t ask this of you, but there’s no other way.’
‘Of course I will, Tom,’ she replied. ‘That ain’t no trouble at all. I can do it now . . . ’
Alice closed her eyes, took a deep breath and started to mutter under her breath. Her actions took me completely by surprise. I had expected her to go up onto the hillside with me and sniff out his whereabouts. But here she was, almost casually resorting to some sort of dark magic; such actions seemed almost second nature to her now.
She opened her eyes and stared at me. When she spoke, her voice was matter-of-fact. ‘They have him in a pit high to the northeast.’
I had to force the words out: ‘Is it just his head or the whole of him?’
‘I can’t say, Tom. I can sense his spirit, that’s all. It could be either. Whatever the situation, it’s best we go and get him now before it’s too late.’
But Grimalkin shook her head. ‘No, Alice, I will go with Tom. You take this and defend it with your magic if need be.’ She rose to her feet and handed the sack to Alice. Then she turned to Judd. ‘You go with her. Both of you wait at the top of the western moor. We’ll join you as soon as we can.’
Judd agreed without question. The fearsome Grimalkin had taken command and it seemed natural to obey her.
‘There’s a farmer up there,’ I said. ‘His name is Benson and he has horses and a cart. He was going to take our books to Chipenden – he was angry when they weren’t waiting for him and seemed far from happy with the compensation. But pay him well enough and we could use the cart to get my master away safely. Wait for us on the edge of the moor.’
It was quickly agreed, and I went upstairs and brought down the Spook’s bag and my own. I gave one to Alice and one to Judd for safe-keeping.
‘What about the innkeeper?’ I asked.
Grimalkin gave me an evil grin. ‘He’s as scared as the rest of them in this town, and no threat at all. The danger is up on that hill.’
So, without further ado, Alice and Judd set off west while Grimalkin and I started to walk towards the river.
The town was deserted and all was quiet, but hiding behind locked doors wouldn’t help the folk who lived here. If they had any sense they’d leave.
‘No doubt they’ll see us coming,’ Grimalkin told me. ‘Your actions will have made them vigilant. To attack by night would be better, but the threat to your master’s life gives us no choice. We must simply be bold and fast. As soon as we cross the river, start to run – remember to draw your sword first!’
By now we were under the trees and had almost reached the ford. I was hoping against hope that we’d find my master alive. I could hardly bear to think about what awaited us in the pit. What if it was just his head, still conscious, and I had to burn it to give his spirit peace? It was a terrible prospect.
‘Once we’re near the place Alice indicated, I’ll sniff out his precise location,’ Grimalkin said. ‘Our enemies could arrive very quickly. When we are attacked, stand behind me and keep out of my way. Your job is to guard my back. Understand?’
I nodded. Seconds later, we’d crossed the river and Grimalkin set off at a furious pace. I ran at her heels, struggling to keep up. Soon the cobbled streets were behind us and we were climbing. Even now she hardly slowed, despite the steepness of the incline.
The weather, which had been bright and sunny when we crossed the ford, now began to change. Once more the creatures of the dark were using it against us. But this time, instead of a storm, tendrils of mist began to snake up the hill towards us.
When we were nearing our destination, Grimalkin paused and sniffed three times while I waited at her back, sword drawn, panting for breath. She pointed at a group of trees surrounding one of the large houses and immediately began to sprint towards it. They proved to be hawthorns – an overgrown hedge that had once marked the boundary of a field – and beside them was a deep ditch. By now the mist had reached us. It soon began to thicken and the light grew dim.
That was no impediment to the witch assassin’s skills. Grimalkin ran on to the furthest of the trees – the one closest to the house – and immediately found the pit. It was sealed with a heavy stone, but she grasped it firmly and wrenched it off to reveal the dark fetid hole beneath. My eyes are pretty good in the dark but I couldn’t see a thing.
‘Can you stand, John Gregory?’ she called down into the darkness. ‘If so, extend your arms upwards as far as you can. It’s me, Grimalkin – and your apprentice, Tom, is by my side.’
Could she see him with her witchy eyes? I wondered. Was he whole? Or was she just calling down to find out if he was there?
A series of coughs issued from below; it was the sound of an old man struggling to clear his chest and get air into his lungs, but I remembered the head coughing and spluttering inside its box. In a moment we would learn the truth. But now I could hear other noises from the direction of the house: a woman’s voice called out angrily in a language I did not recognize – it had to be Romanian.
‘Quickly, there is little time!’ Grimalkin hissed into the pit.
Again there was a fit of coughing from below, but this time my master spoke. I was glad that he was alive, but his words were not the ones I’d hoped to hear.
‘Leave me be, witch!’ he cried in a quavering voice. ‘My time has come. I would rather die here.’
It was awful to hear him sounding so old and frail. I peered down into the pit, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. Now that I could finally see him, a wave of relief washed over me. My master was leaning back against the side of the shaft, staring up at us. He looked terrified and defeated, but his head was still attached to his body.
‘Your work isn’t over yet!’ Grimalkin said. ‘Hold up your arms. The enemy are approaching – every second you delay endangers all our lives!’
‘Please, master!’ I called. ‘The whole County is in great danger. The murderous daemons and witches plan to move westwards. They’re trying to raise Siscoi too. We need your help. We can’t do it alone. Don’t let us down. Don’t let it end like this.’
For a moment there was silence. Then I heard Mr Gregory let out a long weary sigh and he stretched his arms upwards. The next moment Grimalkin reached down into the pit and drew him up so that he was standing beside us.
I had never seen him look so weak and old. He was trembling from head to foot, barely able to stand. His gown was stained with what I assumed was his own blood, and there were deep bite marks on his neck. In his eyes I saw such an expression of weariness and anguish that my heart lurched with pain.
Without a word Grimalkin hoisted him over her shoulder, his arms and head hanging down her back.
All at once I heard feet pounding towards us through the thickening mist, but the speed of the attack took me completely by surprise. A strigoica had been lurking in the ditch we’d passed, and suddenly I saw her taloned fingers lunging towards my face.
I swung my sword at her hastily, losing my balance and slipping forward onto my knees on the damp grass. For a second I thought my time had come, but now it was the daemo
n’s turn to fall: a blade was deeply embedded in her left eye and blood ran down her cheek. After her first throw, Grimalkin already had another blade at the ready. She turned again, gripping the Spook’s legs, and set off down the hill. I quickly got to my feet and followed in her wake.
When I had fled with Judd, nothing had stood in our way; on this occasion daemons were waiting for us in the thick fog. We broke through the first line, Grimalkin cutting down a shadowy figure as we did so. I glimpsed something huge to my right, and slashed at it, feeling a momentary shock as my blade made contact. The creature fell back, giving a cry of pain – another bear possessed by a moroi.
Then we were in serious trouble. Our enemies were all around, and claws and teeth lunged for us out of the mist. There were both strigoii and strigoica; the heavy fog conjured by dark magic was allowing the former to attack even during daylight hours.
‘My back!’ Grimalkin shouted. ‘Remember what I said. Guard my back and I’ll do the rest!’
She began to fight in earnest, all fluidity and grace, each blow spilling the blood of our enemies. But guarding her back proved difficult because she never remained facing in one direction for long. At first I slashed wildly with my sword, struggling to keep my footing on the slippery hillside while keeping our attackers at bay. Just in time, I drew the dagger and was able to stab a fanged strigoi who had ducked beneath the Destiny Blade. The creature put up its right hand to shield its face. That cost it three of its fingers. Not for nothing was the dagger named Bone Cutter.
Even though she was carrying the Spook across her shoulders, which meant that she could fight with only one blade at a time, Grimalkin was constantly whirling and spinning round, each blow bringing forth a cry of pain. I continued to try and shield her back, using both blades. At one point I attempted to slow time, but so fast and furious was the fight that I was unable to summon the necessary concentration.
Finally I was no longer able to keep up with Grimalkin: I was hard pressed on all sides, struggling to keep my enemies at bay. My arms grew heavy; I was exhausted. But then Grimalkin was at my side again. ‘That way!’ she ordered. ‘Follow me!’
The Spook's Blood (Wardstone Chronicles) Page 13