But there was nothing to do but go on, and without a word we nervously entered the kitchen. Here Arkwright reached across the sink to the window ledge and grasped the large knife he'd shown me during our first lesson together. The door that gave access to the stairs was wide open. Was there something up in one of the bedrooms?
After commanding Claw to stay in the kitchen and guard our backs, Arkwright led the way up, with the Spook at his shoulder. I stood with Alice on the landing while they searched, waiting tensely, listening to their boots clumping through each bedroom. Again there was nothing. After that there was just the large room at the top of the house which housed Arkwright's library. No sooner had they entered it than Arkwright let out a loud cry of anguish. Thinking he was hurt or under attack, I rushed up the stairs to help.
As soon as I entered the room it was clear why he'd cried out. The coffins of his mam and dad had been hurled from their trestles and smashed. Earth and bones were heaped on the floorboards. And there were more cloven hoof prints burned into the boards.
Arkwright was beside himself with grief and rage, shaking from head to foot. Only gradually did the Spook manage to calm him down.
'The Fiend did this,' my master told him. 'He did it to rile you. He wants a red mist of anger to cloud your judgement. Stay calm for all of our sakes. When this is over, we'll put your parents to rights again but now we need to check the pits.'
Arkwright took a deep breath and nodded. We left Claw in the kitchen, and instead of using the trapdoor, we went outside again and approached the door next to the waterwheel.
'You stay outside, lad,' the Spook whispered. 'Bill and I will deal with this!'
I obeyed as Alice, giving me a little wave, followed them inside. But they'd been gone for less than a minute when something gleamed in the darkness to my right. There was a loud, angry hiss and two menacing eyes stared back into mine. I watched apprehensively as something resembling the leg of an enormous insect slowly emerged from the shadows.
It was grey, multi-jointed and very long indeed. The leg of something thin but monstrous. A second limb followed and next came a head. And what a head! Something I'd never seen even in my most scary nightmares: a very thin snout, the nose flat, the ears laid back against the bony, elongated head, and close-set eyes which stared right into mine. It was the skelt.
I tried to call out but I couldn't even manage to open my mouth. As it moved closer and closer, its eyes never left mine and I felt the strength leaving me. I was like a rabbit transfixed by the gaze of a deadly stoat. My brain didn't seem to be working properly and my body was paralysed.
Upright, it would have been taller than me. In addition to that narrow head, its long tubular body had two segments which were hard and ridged, like that of a crab or lobster, and barnacle-encrusted like the bottom of a boat. Its eight legs, however, were more like those of a spider, its movements delicate and precise, its joints creaking and crepitating as it moved.
Suddenly the skelt surged towards me, all eight legs a flickering blur, and scuttled right up my body, hurling me backwards to the ground. I was winded by the fall and now its weight was pressing against me: its scrabbling legs lay across my arms and legs, pinning me down so that I was helpless. I stared up into the ugly toothless snout, which opened just inches from my face, the creature enveloping me in a stench of dank mouldering loam and rot from stagnant pools. And from the widening mouth a long tube of translucent white bone began to extend towards me. I remembered how Arkwright had told me that a skelt had no tongue; instead it used this bone-tube to pierce its victim and suck up its blood.
Something forced my head back and there was a sudden excruciating pain in my throat. The sharp tube that protruded from the mouth of the skelt suddenly changed colour and became red. It was sucking my blood and there was nothing I could do. The pain intensified. How much would it take? I began to panic. It might continue to feed until my heart stopped.
It was then that I heard the noises of running feet and a cry of dismay from Alice. There was a sudden loud thwack followed by a crunching sound. The skelt suddenly withdrew the bone-tube from my throat and rolled away from me.
The paralysis had left me and I struggled onto my knees in time to see Arkwright holding a blood-stained stone in both hands, then lifting it high before bringing it down hard on the skelt's head. There was a cracking, crunching noise again, which ended with a sickening squelch: the skelt's whole body twitched, its legs going into a death spasm. Then it lay still, a pool of blood and fluid spreading out from its head, which had cracked open like an egg. I lurched to my knees, about to thank him but he spoke first.
'An interesting creature, Master Ward,' he observed drily as Alice and the Spook helped me to my feet. Breathing hard and fast after the exertion, he placed the stone down beside the dead skelt. 'Very rare, as I once told you. Not many people are fortunate enough to see one at such close proximity.'
'Oh, Tom, I shouldn't have left you,' Alice cried, squeezing my hand. 'I thought it would still be inside under the mill.'
'Well, no real harm done in the end,' observed Arkwright. 'Thank Alice for that, Master Ward. She sensed that something was wrong out here. Now let's get back inside and check the other pit.'
As we'd expected, the water witch had escaped — or, more likely, been freed. The bars were bent apart and there were webbed witch footprints in the soft earth leading away. Smaller prints than those made by the skelt.
'No doubt this is the work of the Fiend,' said the Spook. 'He likes to demonstrate his power.'
'But where's the witch now?' Arkwright asked.
Claw was summoned and she made a thorough search of the garden; the two spooks followed her closely, weapons at the ready.
'She ain't here, Tom, that's for sure,' Alice told me. 'Would have sniffed her out myself otherwise.'
'Not if the Fiend's close by though,' I said with a shiver. 'Neither of us suspected Morwena on the barge.'
Alice nodded and looked really scared.
'But where could the witch be hiding?' I asked.
'She's probably across the moat and escaped into the marsh,' Alice said. 'Old Nick could've carried her over. Salt ain't going to stop him, is it? Too strong, he is, for old tricks such as that!'
When the search proved fruitless, we retreated to the kitchen, where I made up the fire in the stove. Threatened by the dark, we didn't eat but at least we were warm and took it in turns to keep watch. Claw was put on guard outside to warn us if anything approached from the marsh.
'Best if we leave the body until morning,' Arkwright suggested.
'Aye, we'll lay him to rest then, if we get the chance,' the Spook agreed. 'How many deserters were there?'
'Five in all,' I replied.
'My guess is that the witch was already free when they crossed the moat into the garden,' Arkwright added. 'Could be that when she attacked and pinned down her prey, the others fled.'
No one spoke for a while. Alice seemed preoccupied. I began to feel very uneasy. The Fiend's daughter was somewhere out there, just waiting her chance. And now there was another water witch free. If she'd escaped across the moat helped by the Fiend, what was there to stop the reverse occurring? Surely he wouldn't find it too difficult to bring them to us? Not to mention the fact that he might pay us a visit himself.
The others placed the chairs close to the stove and made themselves as comfortable as they could. I sat on the kitchen floor, resting my shoulders and head against the wall. It wasn't very comfortable, but despite that and my fear of an attack, I finally managed to drift off into a shallow, fitful sleep. I woke up suddenly. Somebody was shaking my shoulder and a hand was firmly clamped over my mouth.
I looked up into the eyes of the Spook, who pulled me up roughly and gestured urgently towards the far corner of the room. The candles had burned low and the kitchen was gloomy. Alice and Arkwright were already awake; they were sitting beside me, staring into that same dark corner, where something strange and eerie was happening ev
en as we watched. A shape was beginning to materialize, shifting slowly from a faint ashen grey to a flickering silver. It became more distinct, until without doubt I was looking at the Fiend's daughter — her face cadaverous and gaunt, her angular, fleshless nose jutting from between her malevolent eyes; the left lid transfixed by that sliver of bone; the right eye serpentine and cruel.
'I thirst,' she cried, revealing her large canine teeth. 'I thirst for your sweet blood. But I will let you live. All shall live but one. Just give me the boy and the rest may go free.'
It was an image rather than the actual presence of the witch in the room. Although she was apparently standing less than seven paces away, she seemed to call to us from a great distance and I could hear the sighing of the wind in the background.
'My father will pay well for what I ask,' she cried, her voice like the grating of a shingle beach under an ebb tide. 'Give me the boy so that Amelia can be at peace. It's my father who binds her soul, preventing her from passing on. But surrender the boy and he'll release her and both she and Abraham will be free to choose the light. Just give me the boy and it'll be done. Send him alone out onto the marsh. Send him to me now.'
'Go back from whence you came, evil hag!' cried the Spook. 'We'll give you nothing. Nothing but death. Do you hear me? That's all that awaits you here!'
Arkwright remained silent but I thought that Morwena's cruel words must be like a blade twisting inside him. Above all things he wanted peace for his mam and dad. But despite the way he had treated me, I had faith in him. I believed that he served the light and would be strong enough to resist any temptation that the Fiend's daughter might dangle before him.
The image of Morwena seemed to shimmer and blur; she touched her finger to her left lid and her eye opened wide. But fortunately that baleful eye was powerless, for its blood-red colour was transmuted into silver.
Now she began to chant, her voice reaching a high eldritch note. There was rhythm, intonation and rhyme, the whole filled with a terrible power. But what exactly was being chanted? What did it mean? It sounded to me like the 'Old Tongue' — that spoken by the first men who lived in the County.
My limbs seemed to be growing heavy and I felt strangely hot and cold at the same time. I tried to stand but couldn't. Too late I knew what the Fiend's daughter was doing. Those ancient words were a curse, an act of powerful dark magic that was sapping our strength and our will.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw that the Spook had somehow managed to rise to his feet. He pulled back his robe and reached into his breeches pockets. Then he hurled something straight at that evil apparition — something white from his right hand, something dark from his left: a mixture of salt and iron, usually so effective against creatures of the dark. Would it work this time — when the substance of our enemy wasn't even present in the room?
Immediately the chanting ceased and the image vanished as suddenly as a snuffed candle-flame. I felt relief flood through me and staggered unsteadily to my feet. The Spook shook his head wearily.
'That was close,' said Arkwright. 'For a moment I thought it was all over with us.'
'Aye, I wouldn't dispute that,' said the Spook. 'Never have I come up against a witch with such power. I suppose it comes from that dark devil blood that runs in her veins. The County will be a far better place if we can put an end to her. But now I think we should all try to stay awake for the rest of the night. If she repeats that and only one of us is on watch, she might somehow, even at a distance, slay us in our sleep.'
We did as the Spook suggested, but first I built up the fire again and left the door of the stove open so that it radiated heat directly into the room. We lit another two candles so that the light might last us until morning. I also filled my pockets with salt and iron from my bag so that I had one more weapon ready to use against the dark. But once settled down, nobody spoke. I looked sideways at Alice but she was staring down at the floorboards and looked terrified. Both the Spook and Arkwright looked grim and determined but I wondered how they felt inside. After all, what could anyone do against power such as the Fiend's? As for Arkwright, he must be pondering what the witch had said — that it was her father's dark power that prevented his poor mam from crossing to the light.
What could he hope to do about that? Nothing. Nothing at all. If that were true, their spirits were trapped in the mill until the world itself came to an end.
The first thing that warned me of danger was the silence. It was intense. I could hear nothing. Nothing at all. The second was that I was unable to move. I was sitting on the floor as before, resting my head against the wall. I tried to turn my head and look at Alice, but my body refused to obey. I tried to speak to warn the others of my fears but couldn't even open my mouth.
I could see a candle on the floor opposite, set within reach of the Spook. Moments earlier it had been flickering but it was now perfectly still. It looked as if it had been carved from metal; it seemed to reflect light rather than cast it. On my left was the stove with its open door; I could see the flames within but each was static. Then I realized that I wasn't breathing. In a panic, I tried to take a breath but nothing happened. Yet I felt no pain. My body wasn't crying out for air. My insides seemed too still and quiet. Had my heart stopped beating? Was I dead?
But then I remembered that I'd felt a little like this before — on the barge as we travelled towards Caster with the Fiend in the guise of the bargeman. Then the Devil had been tampering with time; it had passed too quickly. But I knew that this was different. I knew exactly what had happened — the Fiend had halted time itself.
I heard a noise from the shadows in the far corner of the room: a thump followed immediately by a sizzling, hissing sound. It was repeated twice more.
Suddenly I could smell burning. Wood smoke. The floorboards. And then I saw that although time had stopped and everything within the room seemed to be frozen into immobility, one thing was moving. And what else could move but the Fiend himself?
I couldn't see him yet — he was invisible — but I could see his footprints advancing towards me. Each time one of his unseen feet made contact with the floorboards, it burned the shape of a cloven hoof into the wood, which glowed red before darkening with a spluttering hiss. Would he make himself visible? The thought was terrifying. I'd been told by Grimalkin that to inspire awe and force obeisance he'd appeared in his true majestic shape to the covens at Halloween.
According to the Spook, some people believed his true form was so terrible that anyone who saw it would instantly drop dead. Was that just a scary bedtime tale or was it real? Would he do that to me now?
Something began to materialize — no grey or silver phantasm but a solid-looking shape. However, it was not the terrifying apparition I'd feared. Once again, the Fiend had taken the shape of Matthew Gilbert, the bargeman, who now stood before me in boots and jerkin, exactly as I'd first seen him; smiling the same friendly, confident smile.
'Well, Tom,' he said, 'as I told you the last time we met, the difference between fiend and friend is only one letter. Which one shall I be to you? That's the choice you must make in the next few minutes. And upon that decision rests your own life as well as the fate of your three companions.'
CHAPTER 27
A hard bargain
'Move your head, if you wish,' the Fiend said with a smile. 'It will make things easier. You'll be able to see better and I don't want you to miss a thing. So what is it to be? Friend or foe?'
I felt a lurch as my heart began to thump very hard in my chest and I sucked in a big breath. I turned my head slightly, instinctively checking to see that Alice was all right. She was still and quiet but her eyes were wide with fear. Could she also see the Fiend? If so, she was still frozen in time just like the Spook and Arkwright. Only the Fiend and I seemed able to move but I felt very weak and knew I lacked the strength to climb to my feet. Yet I opened my mouth and found I could speak. I turned my gaze back towards my enemy and gave him my answer.
'You're the da
rk made flesh. You can never be my friend.'
'Don't be so sure about that, Tom. We are closer than you think. Far closer. Believe it or not, we know each other very well. Let's take a question that each human being considers at some time in his or her brief life. Some answer it quickly and hardly ever think about it again. Some are believers. Some sceptics. Some debate it in anguish for the duration of their lives. It's a simple question, Tom, and this is it. Do you believe in God?'
I believed in the light. As for God, I wasn't sure. But my dad had believed and maybe, deep down, the Spook also believed, though he hardly ever talked about such things. He certainly didn't believe in an authoritative old man with a white beard, the deity of the Church.
'I'm not sure,' I answered truthfully.
'Not sure, Tom? Why, it's as plain as the nose on your face! Would God allow so much evil into the world?' the Fiend continued. 'Disease, starvation, poverty, war and death — that's all you poor humans have to look forward to. Would such a God let the war continue? Of course not — therefore he simply cannot exist. All those churches, all that worship by devout but misguided congregations. And all for what? For nothing! Nothing at all! Their prayers go out into the void and are unheard.
'But if we ruled, together we could change everything and make this world a better place for all. So what do you say? Will you help me to do that, Tom?
Will you stand at my side? We could achieve so much together!'
'You are my enemy,' I said. 'We could never work together.'
Suddenly I began to shiver with fear. I remembered the 'hobbles' that the Spook had told me about — the limitations placed on the Fiend's power that he'd read about in Mam's books. The Fiend wanted me to work with him so that he could rule here until the end of the world. If he killed me himself, he'd only rule for a century. So would he do that now — kill me anyway because I'd refused?
The Spook's Mistake tla/wcs-5 Page 20