It was a nice sunny day with just a touch of autumn chill in the air. The sky was blue and the birds were singing, but none of that mattered. I just couldn’t stop thinking about the Bane.
What worried me was the fact that the Spook had already nearly been killed once trying to bind it. He was older now and if he didn’t get his strength back soon, how could he possibly hope to beat it this time?
So at noon, when we stopped for a long rest, I decided to ask him all about this terrible spirit. I didn’t ask him right away because, to my surprise, as we sat down together on the trunk of a fallen tree, he pulled a loaf and a big hunk of ham from his bag and cut us a very generous portion each. Usually, when on the way to a job, we made do with a measly nibble of cheese because you have to fast before facing the dark.
Still, I was hungry, so I didn’t complain. I supposed that we’d have time to fast once the funeral was over and that the Spook needed food now to build up his strength again.
At last, when I’d finished eating, I took a deep breath, got out my notebook and finally asked him about the Bane. To my surprise he told me to put the book away.
“You can write this up later when we’re on our way back,” he said. “Besides, I’ve a lot to learn about the Bane myself, so there’s no point in writing down something that you might need to change later.”
I suppose my mouth dropped open at that. I mean, I’d always thought the Spook knew almost everything there was to know about the dark.
“Don’t look so surprised, lad,” he said. “As you know, I still keep a notebook myself and so will you, if you live to my age. We never stop learning in this job, and the first step toward knowledge is to accept your own ignorance.
“As I said before, the Bane is an ancient, malevolent spirit that has so far got the better of me, I’m ashamed to admit. But hopefully not this time. Our first problem will be to find it,” continued the Spook. “It lives in the catacombs down under Priestown cathedral—there are miles and miles of tunnels.”
“What are the catacombs for?” I asked, wondering who would build so many tunnels.
“They’re full of crypts, lad, underground burial chambers that hold ancient bones. Those tunnels existed long before the cathedral was built. The hill was already a holy site when the first priests came here in ships from the west.”
“So who built the catacombs?”
“Some call the builders the Little People on account of their size, but their true name was the Segantii. Not that much is known about them apart from the fact that the Bane was once their god.”
“It’s a god?”
“Aye, it was always a powerful force, and the earliest Little People recognized its strength and worshipped it. Reckon the Bane would like to be a god again. You see, it used to roam free in the County. Over the centuries it grew corrupt and evil and terrorized the Little People night and day, turning brother against brother, destroying crops, burning homes, slaughtering innocents. It liked to see people existing in fear and poverty, beaten down until life was hardly worth living. Those were dark, terrible times for the Segantii.
“But it wasn’t just the poor people it plagued. The Segantii’s king was a good man called Heys. He’d defeated all his enemies in battle and tried to make his people strong and prosperous. But there was one enemy they couldn’t beat: the Bane. It suddenly demanded an annual tribute from King Heys. The poor man was ordered to sacrifice his seven sons, starting with the eldest. One son each year until none remained alive. It was more than any father could bear. But somehow Naze, the very last son, managed to bind the Bane to the catacombs. I don’t know how he did it—perhaps if I did, it would be easier to defeat this creature. All I know is that its way was blocked by a locked Silver Gate: Like many creatures of the dark it has a vulnerability to silver.”
“And so it’s still trapped down there after all this time?”
“Yes, lad. It’s bound down there until someone opens that gate and sets it free. That’s fact and it’s something that all the priests know. It’s knowledge passed down from generation to generation.”
“But isn’t there any other way out? How can the Silver Gate keep it in?” I asked.
“I don’t know, lad. All I know is that the Bane is bound in the catacombs and is only able to leave through that gate.”
I wanted to ask what was wrong with just leaving it there if it was bound and unlikely to escape, but he answered before I could voice the question. The Spook knew me well by now and was good at guessing what I was thinking.
“But we can’t just leave things as they are, I’m afraid, lad. You see, it’s growing stronger again now. It wasn’t always just a spirit. That only happened after it was bound. Before that, when it was very powerful, it had a physical form.”
“What did it look like?” I asked.
“You’ll find out tomorrow. Before you enter the cathedral for the funeral service, look up at the stone carving directly above the main doorway. It’s as good a representation of the creature as you’re likely to see.”
“Have you seen the real thing then?”
“Nay, lad. Twenty years ago, when I first tried to kill the Bane, it was still a spirit. But there are rumors that its strength has grown so much that it’s now taking the shape of other creatures.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s started shape-shifting and it won’t be long before it’s strong enough to take on its original true form. Then it’ll be able to make almost anyone do what it wants. And the real danger is that it might force somebody to unlock the Silver Gate. That’s the most worrying thing of all!”
“But where’s it getting its strength from?” I wanted to know.
“Blood, mainly.”
“Blood?”
“Aye. The blood of animals—and humans. It has a terrible thirst. But fortunately, unlike a ripper, it can’t take the blood of a human being unless it’s given freely—”
“Why would anyone want to give it their blood?” I asked, astonished at the very idea.
“Because it can get inside people’s minds. It tempts them with money, position, and power—you name it. If it can’t get what it wants by persuasion, it terrorizes its victims. Sometimes it lures them down to the catacombs and threatens them with what we call the press.”
“The press?” I asked.
“Aye, lad. It can make itself so heavy that some of its victims are found squashed flat, their bones broken and their bodies smeared into the ground—you have to scrape them up for burial. They’ve been pressed, and it’s not a pleasant sight. The Bane cannot rip our blood against our will, but remember we’re still vulnerable to the press.”
“I don’t understand how it can make people do these things when it’s trapped in the catacombs,” I said.
“It can read thoughts, shape dreams, weaken and corrupt the minds of those above ground. Sometimes it even sees through their eyes. Its influence extends up into the cathedral and presbytery, and it terrorizes the priests. It’s been working its mischief that way through Priestown for years.”
“With the priests?”
“Yes—especially those who are weak-minded. Whenever it can, it gets them to spread its evil. My brother Andrew works as a locksmith in Priestown, and more than once he’s sent warnings to me about what’s happening. The Bane drains the spirit and the will. It makes people do what it wants, silencing the voices of goodness and reason; they become greedy and cruel, abuse their power, robbing the poor and sick. In Priestown tithes are now collected twice a year.”
I knew what a tithe was. A tenth of our farm’s income for the year, and we had to pay it as a tax to the local church. It was the law.
“Paying it once is bad enough,” the Spook continued, “but twice and it’s hard to keep the wolf from the door. Once again, it’s beating the people down into fear and poverty, just as it did to the Segantii. It’s one of the purest and most evil manifestations of the dark I’ve ever met. But the situation can’t go on much
longer. I’ve got to put a stop to it once and for all before it’s too late.”
“How will we do that?” I asked.
“Well, I’m not sure I rightly know just yet. The Bane is a dangerous and clever foe; it may be able to read our minds and know just what we’re thinking before we realize it ourselves.
“But apart from silver, it does have one other serious weakness. Women make it very nervous, and it tries to avoid their company. It can’t abide being near them. Well, I can understand that easily enough, but how to use it to our advantage needs some thinking about.”
The Spook had often warned me to beware of girls and, for some reason, particularly those who wore pointy shoes. So I was used to him saying things like that. But now I knew about him and Meg I wondered if she’d played some part in making him talk the way he did.
Well, my master had certainly given me a lot to think about. And I couldn’t help wondering about all those churches in Priestown, and the priests and congregations, all believing in God. Could they all be wrong? If their God was so powerful, why didn’t He do something about the Bane? Why did He allow it to corrupt the priests and spread evil out into the town? My dad was a believer, even though he never went to church. None of our family did, because farming didn’t stop on Sunday and we were always too busy milking or doing other chores. But it suddenly made me wonder what the Spook believed, especially knowing what Mam had told me—that the Spook had once been a priest himself.
“Do you believe in God?” I asked him.
“I used to believe in God,” the Spook replied, his expression very thoughtful. “When I was a child I never doubted the existence of God for a single moment, but eventually I changed. You see, lad, when you’ve lived as long as I have, there are things that make you wonder. So now I’m not so sure but I still keep an open mind.
“But I’ll tell you this,” he went on. “Two or three times in my life I’ve been in situations so bad that I never expected to walk away from them. I’ve faced the dark and almost, but not quite, resigned myself to death. Then, just when all seemed lost, I’ve been filled with new strength. Where it came from I can only guess. But with that strength came a new feeling. That someone or something was at my side. That I was no longer alone.”
The Spook paused and sighed deeply. “I don’t believe in the God they preach about in church,” he said. “I don’t believe in an old man with a white beard. But there’s something watching what we do, and if you live your life right, in your hour of need it’ll stand at your side and lend you its strength. That’s what I believe. Well, come on, lad. We’ve dawdled here long enough and had best be on our way.”
I picked up his bag and followed him. Soon we left the road and took a shortcut through a wood and across a wide meadow. It was pleasant enough, but we stopped long before the sun set. The Spook was too exhausted to continue and should really have been back at Chipenden, recuperating after his illness.
I had a bad feeling about what lay ahead, a strong sense of danger.
CHAPTER IV
Priestown
PRIESTOWN, built on the banks of the River Ribble, was the biggest town I’d ever visited. As we came down the hill, the river was like a huge snake gleaming orange in the light from the setting sun.
It was a town of churches, with spires and towers rising above the rows of small terraced houses. Set right on the summit of a hill, near the center of the town, was the cathedral. Three of the largest churches I’d seen in my whole life would easily have fitted inside it. And its steeple was something else. Built from limestone, it was almost white, and so high that I guessed on a rainy day the cross at its top would be hidden by clouds.
“Is that the biggest steeple in the world?” I asked, pointing in excitement.
“No, lad,” the Spook answered with a rare grin. “But it’s the biggest steeple in the County, as well it might be with a town that boasts so many priests. I only wish there were fewer of them, but we’ll just have to take our chance.”
Suddenly the grin faded from his face. “Talk of the Devil!” he said, clenching his teeth before pulling me through a gap in the hedge into the adjoining field. There he placed his forefinger against his lips for silence and made me crouch down with him while I listened to the sound of approaching footsteps.
It was a good, thick hawthorn hedge and it still had most of its leaves, but through it I could just make out a black cassock above the boots. It was a priest!
We stayed there for quite a while even after the footsteps had faded into the distance. Only then did the Spook lead us back onto the path. I couldn’t work out what all the fuss was about. On our travels we’d passed lots of priests. They hadn’t been too friendly, but we’d never tried to hide before.
“We need to be on our guard, lad,” the Spook explained. “Priests are always trouble, but they represent a real danger in this town. You see, Priestown’s bishop is the uncle of the High Quisitor. No doubt you’ll have heard of him.”
I nodded. “He hunts witches, doesn’t he?”
“Aye, lad, he does that. When he catches someone he considers to be a witch or warlock, he puts on his black cap and becomes the judge at the trial—a trial that’s usually over very quickly. The following day he puts on a different hat. He becomes the executioner and organizes the burning. He has a reputation for being good at that, and a big crowd usually gathers to watch. They say he positions the stake carefully so that the poor wretch takes a very long time to die. The pain is supposed to make a witch sorry for what she’s done, so she’ll beg God’s forgiveness and, as she dies, her soul will be saved. But that’s just an excuse. The Quisitor lacks the knowledge a spook has and wouldn’t know a real witch if she reached up from her grave and grabbed his ankle! No, he’s just a cruel man who likes to inflict pain. He enjoys his work and he’s grown rich from the money he makes selling the homes and property of those he condemns.
“Aye, and that brings me to the problem for us. You see, the Quisitor counts a spook as a warlock. The Church doesn’t like anyone to meddle with the dark, even if they’re fighting it. They think only priests should be allowed to do that. The Quisitor has the power of arrest, with armed churchwardens to do his bidding— but cheer up, lad, because that’s just the bad news.
“The good news is that the Quisitor lives in a big city way to the south, far beyond the boundaries of the County, and rarely comes north. So if we’re spotted and he’s summoned, it would take him more than a week to arrive, even on horseback. Also my arrival here should be a surprise. The last thing anyone will expect is that I’ll be attending the funeral of a brother I haven’t spoken to in forty years.”
But his words were of little comfort. As we moved off down the hill, I shivered at what he’d said. Entering the town seemed full of risks. With his cloak and staff he was unmistakably a spook. I was just about to say as much when he gestured left with his thumb and we walked off the road into a small wood. After about thirty paces or so my master came to a halt.
“Right, lad,” he said. “Take off your cloak and give it to me.”
I didn’t argue; from the tone of his voice I realized that he meant business, but I did wonder what he was up to. He took off his own cloak with its attached hood and laid his staff on the ground.
“Right,” he said. “Now find me some thin branches and twigs. Nothing too heavy, mind.”
A few minutes later I’d done as he asked, and I watched him place his staff among the branches and wrap the whole lot up with our cloaks. Of course, by then I’d already guessed what he was up to. Sticks were poking out of each end of the bundle, and it just looked like we’d been out gathering firewood. It was a disguise.
“There are lots of small inns close to the cathedral,” he said, tossing me a silver coin. “It’ll be safer for you if we don’t stay at the same one, because if they came for me, they’d arrest you, too. Best if you don’t know where I am either, lad. The Quisitor uses torture. Capture one of us and he’d soon have the other. I’ll
set off first. Give me ten minutes, then follow.
“Choose any inn that hasn’t got anything to do with churches in its title, so we don’t end up in the same one by accident. Don’t have any supper, because we’ll be working tomorrow. The funeral’s at nine in the morning, but try to be early and sit near the back of the cathedral; if I’m there already, keep your distance.”
“Working” meant spook’s business, and I wondered if we’d be going down into the catacombs to face the Bane. I didn’t like the idea of that one little bit.
“Oh, and one more thing,” the Spook added as he turned to go. “You’ll be looking after my bag, so what should you remember when carrying it in a place like Priestown?”
“To carry it in my right hand,” I said.
He nodded in agreement, then lifted the bundle up onto his right shoulder and left me waiting in the wood.
We were both left-handed, something that priests didn’t approve of. Left-handers were what they called “sinister,” those most easily tempted by the Devil or even in league with him.
I gave him ten minutes or more, just to be sure there was enough distance between us, then, carrying his heavy bag, I set off down the hill, heading for the steeple. Once in the town I started to climb again toward the cathedral, and when I got close, I began my search for an inn.
There were plenty of them, all right; most of the cobbled streets seemed to have one, but the trouble was that all of them seemed to be linked to churches in some way or other. There was the Bishop’s Crook, the Steeple Inn, the Jolly Friar, the Miter, and the Book and Candle, to name but a few. The last one reminded me of the reason we’d come to Priestown in the first place. As the Spook’s brother had found to his cost, books and candles didn’t usually work against the dark. Not even when you used a bell as well.
I soon realized that the Spook had made it easy for himself but very difficult for me, and I spent a long time searching Priestown’s maze of narrow streets and the wider roads that linked them. I walked along Fylde Road and then up a wide street called Friargate, where there was no sign of a gate at all. The cobbled streets were full of people, and most of them seemed to be in a rush. The big market near the top of Friargate was closing for the day, but a few customers still jostled and haggled with traders for good prices. The smell of fish was overpowering, and a big flock of hungry seagulls squawked overhead.
The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection Page 21