“They’re just cakes.”
“Thank you very much,” I said.
“They’re not for you,” she said, a little smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Those cakes are for old Mother Malkin.”
My mouth became dry, and a chill ran down my spine. Mother Malkin, the live witch the Spook kept in a pit in his garden.
“I don’t think Mr. Gregory would like it,” I said. “He told me to keep away from her.”
“He’s a very cruel man, Old Gregory,” said Alice. “Poor Mother Malkin’s been in that damp, dark hole in the ground for almost thirteen years now. Is it right to treat an old woman so badly?”
I shrugged. I hadn’t been happy about it myself. It was hard to defend what he’d done, but he’d said there was a very good reason for it.
“Look,” she said, “you won’t get into trouble, because Old Gregory need never know. It’s just comfort you’re bringing to her. Her favorite cakes, made by family. Ain’t nothing wrong with that. Just something to keep up her strength against the cold. Gets right into her bones, it does.”
Once again I shrugged. All the best arguments seemed to belong to her.
“So just give her a cake each night. Three cakes for three nights. Best do it at midnight, because it’s then that she gets most peckish. Give her the first one tonight.”
Alice turned to go but stopped and turned to give me a smile. “We could become good friends, you and me,” she said with a chuckle.
Then she disappeared into the deepening shadows.
CHAPTER VIII
Old Mother Malkin
BACK at the Spook’s cottage, I began to worry, but the more I thought about it, the less clear I was in my own mind. I knew what the Spook would say. He’d throw the cakes away and give me a long lesson on witches and problems with girls wearing pointy shoes.
He wasn’t here, so that didn’t enter into it. There were two things that made me go into the darkness of the eastern garden, where he kept the witches. The first was my promise to Alice.
“Never make a promise that you’re not prepared to keep,” my dad always told me. So I had little choice. He’d taught me right from wrong, and just because I was the Spook’s apprentice, it didn’t mean I’d to change all my ways.
Second I didn’t hold with keeping an old woman as a prisoner in a hole in the ground. Doing that to a dead witch seemed reasonable, but not to a live one. I remember wondering what terrible crime she’d committed to deserve that.
What harm could it do just to give her three cakes? A bit of comfort from her family against the cold and damp, that’s all it was. The Spook had told me to trust my instincts, and after weighing things in the balance, I felt that I was doing the right thing.
The only problem was that I had to take the cakes myself, at midnight. It gets pretty dark by then, especially if there’s no moon visible.
I approached the eastern garden carrying the basket. It was dark, but not quite as dark as I’d expected. For one thing, my eyes have always been pretty sharp at night. My mam’s good in the dark, and I think I get it from her side. And for another, it was a cloudless night and the moonlight helped me pick out my way.
As I entered the trees, it suddenly grew colder, and I shivered. By the time I reached the first grave, the one with the stone border and the thirteen bars, I felt even colder. That was where the first witch was buried. She was feeble, with little strength, or so the Spook had said. No need to worry there, I told myself, trying hard to believe it.
Making up my mind to give Mother Malkin the cakes in daylight was one thing, but now, down in the garden close to midnight, I was no longer so sure. The Spook had told me to keep well away after dark. He’d warned me more than once, so it had to be an important rule, and now I was breaking it.
There were all sorts of faint sounds. The rustlings and twitchings were probably nothing, just small creatures I’d disturbed moving out of my path, but they reminded me that I’d no right to be here.
The Spook had told me that the other two witches were about twenty paces farther on, so I counted out my steps carefully. That brought me to a second grave that was just like the first one. I got closer, just to be sure. There were the bars and you could see the earth just beneath them, hard-packed soil without even a single blade of grass. This witch was dead but was still dangerous. She was the one who had been buried head downward. That meant that the soles of her feet were somewhere just below the soil.
As I stared at the grave, I thought I saw something move. It was a sort of twitch; probably just my imagination, or maybe some small animal—a mouse or a shrew or something. I moved on quickly. What if it had been a toe?
Three more paces brought me to the place I was looking for—there was no doubt about it. Again there was a border of stones with thirteen bars. There were three differences, though. First the area under the bars was a square rather than an oblong. Second, it was bigger, probably about four paces by four. Third, there was no packed earth under the bars, just a very black hole in the ground.
I halted in my tracks and listened carefully. There hadn’t been much noise so far, just the faint rustlings of night creatures and a gentle breeze. A breeze so light that I’d hardly noticed it. I noticed it when it stopped, though. Suddenly everything was very still and the woods became unnaturally quiet.
You see, I had been listening to try and hear the witch, and now I sensed that she was listening to me.
The silence seemed to go on and on forever, until suddenly I became aware of a faint breathing from the pit. That sound somehow made it possible to move, so I took a few more steps till I was standing very close to its edge, with the toe of my boot actually touching the stone border.
At that moment I remembered something the Spook had told me about Mother Malkin. . . .
“Most of her power’s bled away into the earth. She’d love to get her hands on a lad like you.”
So I took a step backward—not too far, but the Spook’s words had set me thinking. What if a hand came out of the pit and grabbed my ankle?
Wanting to get it over with, I called down gently into the darkness. “Mother Malkin,” I said. “I’ve brought something for you. It’s a present from your family. Are you there? Are you listening?”
There was no reply, but the rhythm of the breathing below seemed to quicken. So, wasting no more time and desperate to get back to the warmth of the Spook’s house, I reached into the basket and felt under the cloth. My fingers closed upon one of the cakes. It felt sort of soft and squishy and a bit sticky. I pulled it out and held it over the bars.
“It’s just a cake,” I said softly. “I hope it makes you feel better. I’ll bring you another one tomorrow night.”
With those words, I let go of the cake and allowed it to fall into the darkness.
I should have gone back to the cottage immediately, but I stayed for a few more seconds to listen. I don’t know what I expected to hear, but it was a mistake.
There was a movement in the pit, as if something were dragging itself along the ground. And then I heard the witch begin to eat the cake.
I thought some of my brothers made unpleasant noises at the table, but this was far worse. It sounded even more revolting than our big hairy pigs with their snouts in the swill bucket, a mixture of snuffling, snorting, and chewing mixed with heavy breathing. I didn’t know whether or not she was enjoying the cake, but she certainly made enough noise about it.
That night I found it very hard to sleep. I kept thinking about the dark pit and worrying about having to visit it again the following night.
I only just made it down to breakfast on time, and the bacon was burned and the bread a bit on the stale side. I couldn’t understand why this was—I’d bought the bread fresh from the baker’s only the day before. Not only that, the milk was sour. Could it be because the boggart was angry with me? Did it know what I’d been up to? Had it spoiled the breakfast as some sort of warning?
Working on a farm is hard, a
nd that was what I was used to. The Spook hadn’t left me any tasks to do, so I’d nothing to fill my day with. I did walk up to the library, thinking that he probably wouldn’t mind if I found myself something useful to read, but to my disappointment the door was locked.
So what could I do but go for a walk? I decided to explore the fells, first climbing Parlick Pike; at the summit I sat on the cairn of stones and admired the view.
It was a clear, bright day and from up there I could see the County spread out below me, with the distant sea an inviting, twinkling blue, way out to the northwest. The fells seemed to go on forever, great hills with names like Calder Fell and Stake House Fell—so many that it seemed it would take a lifetime to explore them.
Nearby was Wolf Fell, and it made me wonder whether there actually were any wolves in the area. Wolves could be dangerous and it was said that in winter, when the weather was cold, they sometimes hunted in packs. Well, it was spring now, and I certainly didn’t see any sign of them, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. It made me realize that being up on the fells after nightfall would be quite scary.
Not as scary, I decided, as having to go and feed Mother Malkin another of the cakes, and all too soon the sun began to sink into the west and I was forced to climb down toward Chipenden again.
Once more I found myself carrying the basket through the darkness of the garden. This time I decided to get it over with quickly. Wasting no time, I dropped the second sticky cake through the bars into the black pit.
It was only when it was too late, the very second it left my fingers, that I noticed something that sent a chill straight to my heart.
The bars above the pit had been bent. Last night they’d been perfectly straight, thirteen parallel rods of iron. Now the center ones were almost wide enough to get a head through.
They could have been bent by someone on the outside, above ground, but I doubted that. The Spook had told me that the gardens and house were guarded and that nobody could get in. He hadn’t said how and by what, but I guessed it was by some sort of boggart. Perhaps the same one that made the meals.
So it had to be the witch. She must have climbed up the side of the pit somehow and begun working at the bars. Suddenly the truth of what was happening dawned inside my head.
I’d been so stupid! The cakes were making her stronger.
I heard her below in the darkness, starting to eat the second cake, making the same horrible chewing, snuffling, and snorting noises. I left the trees quickly and went back to the cottage. For all I knew, she might not even need the third one.
After another sleepless night, I’d made up my mind. I decided to go and see Alice, give her back the last cake, and explain to her why I couldn’t keep my promise.
First I had to find her. Straight after breakfast I went down to the wood where we’d first met and walked through to its far edge. Alice had said she lived “yonder,” but there was no sign of any buildings, just low hills and valleys and more woods in the distance.
Thinking it would be faster to ask directions, I went down into the village. There were surprisingly few people about, but as I’d expected, some of the lads were hanging about near the baker’s. It seemed to be their favorite spot. Perhaps they liked the smell. I know I did. Freshly baked bread has one of the best smells in all the world.
They weren’t very friendly considering that last time we’d met, I’d given them a cake and an apple each. That was probably because this time the big lad with piggy eyes was with them. Still, they did listen to what I had to say. I didn’t go into details—just told them I needed to find the girl we’d met at the edge of the wood.
“I know where she might be,” said the big lad, scowling fiercely, “but you’d be stupid to go there.”
“Why’s that?”
“Didn’t you hear what she said?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “She said Bony Lizzie was her aunt.”
“Who’s Bony Lizzie?”
They looked at one another and shook their heads as if I was mad. Why was it that everyone seemed to have heard of her but me?
“Lizzie and her grandmother spent a whole winter here before Gregory sorted them out. My dad’s always going on about them. They were just about the scariest witches there’ve ever been in these parts. They lived with something just as scary, though. It looked like a man but it was really big, with too many teeth to fit into its mouth. That’s what my dad told me. He said that back then, during that long winter, people never went out after dark. Some spook you’ll be if you’ve never even heard of Bony Lizzie.”
I didn’t like the sound of that one little bit. I realized I’d been really stupid. If only I’d told the Spook about my talk with Alice, he’d have realized that Lizzie was back and would have done something about it.
According to the big lad’s dad, Bony Lizzie had lived on a farm about three miles southeast of the Spook’s place. It had been deserted for years, and nobody ever went there. So that was the most likely place she’d be staying now. That seemed about right to me, because it was in the direction that Alice had pointed.
Just then a group of grim-faced people came out of the church. They turned the corner in a straggly line and headed up the hill toward the fells, the village priest in the lead. They were dressed in warm clothing, and many of them were carrying walking sticks.
“What’s all that about?” I asked.
“A child went missing last night,” answered one of the lads, spitting onto the cobbles. “A three-year-old. They think he’s wandered off up there. Mind you, it’s not the first. Two days ago a baby went missing from a farm over on the Long Ridge. It was too young to walk, so it must have been carried off. They think it could be wolves. It was a bad winter, and that sometimes brings them back.”
The directions I was given turned out to be pretty good. Even allowing for going back to pick up Alice’s basket, it was less than an hour before Lizzie’s house came into view.
At that point, in bright sunlight, I lifted the cloth and examined the last of the three cakes. It smelled bad but looked even worse. It seemed to have been made from small pieces of meat and bread, plus other things that I couldn’t identify. It was wet and very sticky and almost black. None of the ingredients had been cooked but just sort of pressed together. Then I noticed something even more horrible. There were tiny white things crawling on the cake that looked like maggots.
I shuddered, covered it up with the cloth, and went down the hill to the very neglected farm. Fences were broken, the barn was missing half its roof, and there was no sign of any animals.
One thing did worry me, though. Smoke was coming from the farmhouse chimney. It meant that someone was at home, and I began to worry about the thing with too many teeth to fit into its mouth.
What had I expected? It was going to be difficult. How on earth could I manage to talk to Alice without being seen by the other members of her family?
As I halted on the slope, trying to work out what to do next, my problem was solved for me. A slim, dark figure came out of the back door of the farmhouse and began to climb the hill in my direction. It was Alice—but how had she known I was there? There were trees between the farmhouse and me, and the windows were facing in the wrong direction.
Still, she wasn’t coming up the hill by chance. She walked straight up toward me and halted about five paces away.
“What do you want?” she asked. “You’re stupid coming here. Lucky for you that those inside are asleep.”
“I can’t do what you asked,” I said, holding out the basket toward her.
She folded her arms and frowned. “Why not?” she demanded. “You promised, didn’t you?”
“You didn’t tell me what would happen,” I said. “She’s eaten two cakes already and they’re making her stronger. She’s already bent the bars over the pit. One more cake and she’ll be free and I think you know it. Wasn’t that the idea all along?” I accused, starting to feel angry. “You tricked me, so the promise doesn’t count anymore
.”
She took a step nearer, but now her own anger had been replaced by something else. Suddenly she looked scared.
“It wasn’t my idea. They made me do it,” she said, gesturing down toward the farmhouse. “If you don’t do as you promised, it’ll go hard with both of us. Go on, give her the third cake. What harm can it do? Mother Malkin’s paid the price. It’s time to let her go. Go on, give her the cake and she’ll be gone tonight and never trouble you again.”
“I think Mr. Gregory must’ve had a very good reason for putting her in that pit,” I said slowly. “I’m just his new apprentice, so how can I know what’s best? When he gets back I’m going to tell him everything that’s happened.”
Alice gave a little smile—the sort of smile someone gives when they know something that you don’t. “He ain’t coming back,” she said. “Lizzie thought of it all. Got good friends near Pendle, Lizzie has. Do anything for her, they would. They tricked Old Gregory. When he’s on the road he’ll get what’s coming to him. By now he’s probably already dead and six feet under. You just wait and see if I’m right. Soon you won’t be safe even up there in his house. One night they’ll come for you. Unless, of course, you help now. In that case, they might just leave you alone.”
As soon as she’d said that, I turned my back and climbed the hill, leaving her standing there. I think she called out to me several times, but I wasn’t listening. What she’d said about the Spook was spinning around inside my head.
It was only later that I realized I was still carrying the basket, so I threw it and the last of the cakes into a river; then, back at the Spook’s cottage, it didn’t take me very long to work out what had happened and decide what to do next.
The whole thing had been planned from the start. They’d lured the Spook away, knowing that, as a new apprentice, I’d still be wet behind the ears and easy to trick.
I didn’t believe that the Spook would be so easy to kill or he wouldn’t have survived for so many years, but I couldn’t rely on him arriving back in time to help me. Somehow I had to stop Mother Malkin from getting out of the pit.
The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection Page 8