'Dogs like this take a bit of getting used to, no doubt,' Mr Gilbert said. 'As does their master. More than one lad has gone back to Chipenden with his tail between his legs, so you wouldn't be the first. If you ever decide to leave, I pass here on my way south every Wednesday. It's a salt run that eventually takes me to the end of the canal at Priestown. As far as speed goes, it's no faster than walking but it would save your legs and get you through Caster by the most direct route. Might be a bit of company for you too. I've a son and a daughter about your age. They take turns to help me on the barge from time to time.'
I thanked him for the offer, then handed him the envelope with a coin to pay the post wagon. He promised to drop it off at Priestown. As he harnessed the horses, I lifted one of the barrels. Although relatively small, it was heavy. I tried positioning it under my arm.
'On your shoulder! That's the best way!' Mr Gilbert called out cheerfully.
His advice proved sound. Once in position, the barrel proved easy to carry. So, with Claw at my heels, I made the five trips to the house in just under half an hour.
After that, Arkwright gave me another theory lesson.
'Open up your notebook, Master Ward. '
I opened it immediately and looked up, waiting to hear what he would say.
'Your heading is "Morwena",' he told me. 'I want you to write down everything I've told you and you've read so far. Such knowledge will come in useful. It'll soon be time to go a-hunting. We've got her finger and we'll be putting it to very good use.'
'How are we going to use it?' I asked.
'You'll find out soon enough, so curb your impatience. The dog's wounds don't seem to have become infected, and so far your ear hasn't dropped off. Assuming there's no change tomorrow, we'll set off across the sands to Cartmel. If we find out what we need to know — well then, we might not be back here for quite some time. Not until we've dealt with Morwena once and for all!'
CHAPTER 13
The hermit of Cartmel
Soon after dawn the following day, with the dogs at our heels, we made our way towards Cartmel: the quickest way was across the sands of Morecambe Bay. It was another bright day and I was happy to get away from the mill for a while. I was looking forward to seeing the County north of the bay with its picturesque mountains and lakes.
Had I been with the Spook, I'd have been carrying both bags but it seemed that Arkwright always carried his own. We didn't have very far to walk before we reached Hest Bank, the starting point for our journey across the sands. Here we found two coaches and three horsemen, as well as a number of people on foot. The bare sands seemed to be inviting us to cross, and the sea was a long way out; I wondered what they were all waiting for and asked Arkwright.
'It may look safe now, but the sands of the bay can be treacherous,' he replied. 'A sand guide will walk ahead of the front coach — a man who knows the tides and terrain like the back of his own hand. We have to cross two river channels — the second one in particular, the Kent, can be dangerous after heavy rains. It can turn to quicksand. We're waiting now for the ebb tide to reach the point that'll give those carriages time to cross safely.
'Never try to walk across the bay without a guide, Master Ward. I've lived here most of my life and even I wouldn't try it. You might have just learned to swim but even a grown man with years of experience wouldn't survive. The water comes in down the channels so fast you can soon get cut off and drown!'
A tall man wearing a wide-brimmed hat approached; he walked barefoot and carried a staff.
'This is Mr Jennings, the sand guide,' Arkwright told me. 'He's watched over these sands for almost twenty years.'
'It's a grand day!' Mr Jennings called out. 'Who's this you've got with you, Bill?'
'A good day to you, Sam. This is Tom Ward, my apprentice for the next six months.'
The sand guide's suntanned, weather-beaten face cracked into a smile as he shook my hand. He had the air of a man who enjoyed his work. 'No doubt, Bill, you'll have warned him of the dangers of these sands?'
'I've told him all right. Let's just hope he listens.'
'Aye, let's hope so. Not everybody does. We should be setting off in about half an hour.'
That said, he moved away to chat to the others. Eventually we set off, Sam Jennings striding ahead of the coaches, with those on foot bringing up the rear. The flat sands were still wet and marked with an intricate pattern of ridges made by the tides. There had been hardly any wind before but now a stiff breeze was blowing into our faces from the north-west, while in the far distance the sun was dazzling off the sea.
The coaches travelled slowly and we caught them up when we reached the first river bed. Sam went down into the channel to inspect it, wading in as far as his knees. He paddled about two hundred paces east before whistling and waving his stick to indicate the point where we should cross. Then he walked back towards the first coach.
'This is where we get ourselves a ride!' Arkwright said.
He ran forward suddenly and jumped up onto the back of the rear coach. Following his lead, I soon saw why. As we crossed the channel, the water came up to the horses' bellies. We'd just saved ourselves a soaking. The dogs didn't seem to mind getting wet and swam strongly, reaching the far bank well before the horses.
We climbed down and walked for a while until we reached the channel of the river Kent, which proved to be about the same depth.
'I wouldn't like to be here when the tide's in!' I remarked.
'That you wouldn't, Master Ward. At spring tide the water would be deep enough to cover you three times over or more. See over there?' Arkwright asked, pointing towards the land.
I could see forested slopes with purple fells rising above.
'Those fells behind Cartmel — that's where we're heading. Soon be there now.'
The crossing was about nine miles but Arkwright told me that wasn't always the case. The course of the river Kent kept shifting so the distance to safe fording places varied. It was a dangerous place all right, but a much shorter route than following the curve of the bay.
We reached a place called Kent's Bank where, after paying and thanking the guide, we left the flat sands and began the climb up to Cartmel, which took us almost an hour. We passed a large priory, a couple of taverns and about thirty or so dwellings. It reminded me of Chipenden, with hungry children staring from doorways, the surrounding fields depleted of livestock. The effects of the war were widespread and would no doubt soon start to bite deeper. I thought we would stop and stay in Cartmel for the night but it seemed that our business lay further on.
'We're going to visit Judd Atkins, a hermit who lives up on those fells,' Arkwright said without even looking at me. His gaze was fixed upon the steep slope ahead.
I knew that a hermit was usually a holy man who liked to live alone beyond the reach of people, so I didn't expect him to be pleased to see us. But was he the one who'd be able to use the severed finger in some way to locate Morwena?
I was about to ask, but as we passed the last cottage, an old woman emerged from the gloom of her front room and shuffled out towards us down the muddy path.
'Mr Arkwright! Mr Arkwright! Thank the Lord you've come at last,' she exclaimed, grabbing his sleeve and holding it fast.
'Let me be, old mother!' Arkwright snapped, irritation in his voice. 'Can't you see I'm in a rush — I've urgent business of my own to attend to!'
For a moment I thought he would push her away and stride off but he glared down at her, the veins starting to bulge at his temples.
'But we're all scared rigid,' said the old woman. 'Nobody's safe. They take what they want, night and day. We'll soon starve if something ain't done. Help us, please, Mr Arkwright. '
'What are you babbling about? Who takes what they want?'
'A press gang — though they're more like common thieves. Not content with dragging our lads off to war, they rob us of everything we've got. They've made their den up at Saltcombe Farm. The whole village is scared witless. '
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Was this the same press gang that captured me? They'd talked about heading north and had fled this way when Alice scared them. It seemed likely. I certainly didn't want to meet them again.
'It's a job for the constable, not me,' Arkwright said with a scowl.
'Three weeks ago they beat the constable to within an inch of his life. He's only just risen from his sick bed and will do nothing now. He knows what's good for him. So help us, please. Food's scarce enough anyway, but if they carry on like that once the winter sets in proper, we'll starve for sure. They take everything they can lay their hands on. '
Arkwright shook his head and tugged his sleeve free of the woman's grasp. 'Maybe when I pass this way again, I'll see. But I'm too busy now. I've got important business that just can't wait!'
With that, he continued up the incline, the dogs racing ahead, and the old woman shuffled sadly back inside her cottage. I felt sorry for her and her village but thought it was strange that she should ask Arkwright for help. After all, it wasn't spook's business. Did she really think my master could take on an armed gang? Somebody should send a message to the High Sheriff at Caster — no doubt he'd send another constable. And what about the men of the village? Couldn't they band together and do something? I wondered.
After about an hour climbing up into the fells, we saw smoke ahead. It seemed to be coming from a hole in the ground, and I realized that the rocky bank we were crossing was the roof of the hermitage. After descending some well-worn stone steps we came to the entrance of a sizeable cave.
Arkwright made the dogs sit and wait some distance away, and then led the way into the gloom. There was a strong smell of wood smoke inside the cave and my eyes watered. But I could just make out the form of someone squatting before a fire, his head in his hands.
'And how are you, old man?' Arkwright called out. 'Still doing penance for your sins?'
The hermit made no reply but, undeterred, Arkwright sat down on his left. 'Look, I know you like to be alone so let's get this over with quickly and we'll leave you in peace. Have a look at this and tell me where she's to be found. '
He opened his bag, pulled out a crumpled rag and unfolded it on the earth floor between the hermit and the fire.
As my eyes adjusted to the poor light, I could see that Judd Atkins had a white beard and a wild mop of unruly grey hair. For almost a minute he didn't move. In fact he hardly seemed to be breathing, but at last he reached forward and picked up the witch's finger. He held it very close and turned it over a few times, seemingly rapt.
'Can you do it?' Arkwright demanded.
'Are lambs born in spring?' the hermit asked, his voice barely more than a croak. 'Do dogs howl at the moon? I've dowsed for many a long year, and when I've put my mind to it, nothing's defeated me yet. Why should that change?'
'Good man!' Arkwright cried, his voice filled with excitement.
'Yes, I'll do it for you, William,' the hermit continued. 'But you must pay a price.'
'A price? What price?' Arkwright said, astonishment in his voice. 'Your needs are few, old man. That's the life you've chosen. So what can you want from me?'
'I ask nothing for myself,' the hermit replied, his voice growing stronger with every word. 'But others are in need. Down in the village hungry people live in fear. Free them from that and you shall have what you desire. '
Arkwright spat into the fire and I saw his jaw tighten. 'You mean that lot up at Saltcombe Farm? That press gang? You expect me to sort 'em out?'
'These are lawless times. When things fall apart, someone must put them back together. Sometimes a farrier must mend a door or a carpenter shoe a horse. Who else is there, William? Who else but you?'
'How many are there?' Arkwright asked at last. 'And what do you know about them?'
'There are five in all. A sergeant, a corporal and three soldiers. They take what they want from the village without paying.'
'A press gang was taking people near Chipenden,' I said with a frown. 'They captured me and I was lucky to get away. Five of them too, so it sounds like the same lot. I don't want to meet them again. One of them's only a boy not much older than me but the sergeant's a nasty piece of work. They're armed with clubs and blades too. I don't think you'd be able to take them on, Mr Arkwright.'
Arkwright stared at me, then nodded. 'The odds are against me,' he complained, turning to the hermit again. 'There's only three and a half of us — me, two dogs and a lad who's wet behind the ears. I've a trade of my own. I'm not the constable—'
'You were a soldier once, William. And everyone knows you still like to crack heads, especially after you've been at the bottle. I'm sure you'll enjoy the experience.'
Arkwright came to his feet and looked down at the hermit, his face filled with fury. 'Just make sure it's not your head I crack, old man. I'll be back before dark. In the meantime get on with it. I've wasted enough time already! Have you got a map of the Lakelands?'
Judd Atkins shook his head, so Arkwright rummaged in his bag and pulled out a folded map. He placed it in front of the old man. 'Try that!' he snapped. 'Her lair will be there — I'm sure of it. Somewhere close to one of the southern lakes.'
That said, he left the cave and marched east at a furious pace.
CHAPTER 14
A dead man!
We hadn't travelled far from the hermit's cave when Arkwright stopped, settled himself down on a grassy bank and opened his bag. He pulled out a bottle of red wine, drew the cork with his teeth and started to swig from it.
I stood there unhappily for a while, wondering if this was the best preparation for dealing with dangerous thugs, but the hermit had made a good point — Arkwright was always much more aggressive after a drink. He must have seen the look on my face because he scowled and gestured angrily for me to sit down.
'Take the weight off your feet, Master Ward. That, and the misery from your face!' he exclaimed.
Sensing that his mood was worsening, I obeyed immediately. The sun was sinking towards the horizon and I wondered if he intended to wait until after dark before attempting to deal with the press gang. That seemed the most sensible thing to do. Either that or go in at first light while they were still groggy with sleep. But Arkwright was an impatient man who, probably by choice, often did things the hard way.
I was right. He soon finished off the wine and we were on our way again. After about ten minutes I came up alongside him. I was curious and wanted to know if he had some sort of plan.
'Mr Arkwright. ' I began tentatively.
'Shut up!' he snarled. 'Speak when you're spoken to and not before!'
So I dropped back again. I was angry and a little hurt. I'd felt that I was starting to get along better with Arkwright but it seemed that not much had changed. The Spook sometimes silenced me, saying that questions could come later, but he never did it so aggressively and rudely. No doubt my new master's manner could be blamed on the wine.
Soon we came to a ridge and Arkwright halted, shielding his eyes against the setting sun. I could see a house below, brown smoke drifting up almost vertically from its chimney. It lay at the head of a narrow valley. No doubt it had once been a hill farm specializing in sheep, but now there were no animals to be seen.
'Well, that's it!' he said. 'Saltcombe Farm. Let's go down and get it over with. '
He strode off down the incline, making no effort to keep out of sight. Once down in the valley, he made straight for the front door, which I expected to spring open at any moment as the gang raced to attack us. When he was less than twenty paces away, he came to a halt and turned to face me, nodding down towards the two dogs.
'Hold their collars firmly and don't let them go,' he ordered. 'When I shout "Now!" release them. But not before. Understand?'
I nodded uncertainly and gripped the dogs' collars as they strained forward. If they decided to go, there was no way I'd be able to stop them.
'What if something goes wrong?' I asked. There were five soldiers inside the house — still probably armed
with blades and clubs. I remembered what the old lady had said about the parish constable. They'd beaten him to within an inch of his life.
'Master Ward,' he said scornfully, 'if there's one thing I can't abide, it's a pessimist. Believe that you can do something and half the battle is won before you start. I'm going to sort this lot out and then get on with my real business. Here, watch this for me,' and he dropped his big bag at my feet. Then he reversed his staff so that the murderous spear was pointing downwards. It suggested that he didn't want to do the soldiers any permanent damage.
With that, he strode directly towards the front door and, with one kick from his heavy left boot, smashed it open. He went straight in, swinging his staff, and I heard oaths, then shouts of pain and anger from inside. Next a big man in a ragged uniform with blood running down his forehead came running out of the door, heading straight towards me, spitting out broken teeth. The two dogs growled simultaneously and he halted and stared straight at me for a moment. It was the sergeant with the scarred face and I saw recognition and anger flare simultaneously behind his eyes. For a moment I thought he'd decided to attack me despite the dogs but then he turned to the right and ran up the slope.
I heard Arkwright shout 'Now!' and before I could react, the dogs tore free of my grip and raced towards the open door, barking furiously.
No sooner had Tooth and Claw entered the house than the remaining four deserters left it. Three fled through the door and followed the sergeant up the hill, but the fourth jumped through a front window and headed straight towards me, brandishing a knife. It was the corporal. The dogs couldn't help me now so I raised my staff and held it diagonally across my body in a defensive stance.
As he drew closer, a mirthless smile creased his face. He halted, facing me in a crouch, the blade held wide in his right hand. 'Made a big mistake in deserting, boy. I'm going to slice open your belly and take your guts for garters!'
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