The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

by Joseph Delaney

  There was a large tavern at the northern edge of the market with empty benches outside, and the Spook headed straight for it. At first I thought he was going in and wondered if we were going to buy lunch. If he intended to leave because of the Quisitor, there’d be no need to fast. But instead he turned into a narrow, cobbled blind alley, led me to a low stone wall, and wiped the nearest section with his sleeve. When he’d got most of the beads of water off, he sat himself down and gestured that I should do the same.

  I sat down and looked around. The alley was deserted and the walls of warehouses hemmed us in on three sides. There were few windows and they were cracked and smeared with grime, so at least we were out of the way of prying eyes.

  The Spook was out of breath with walking, and this gave me a chance to get the first word in.

  “The Quisitor’s here,” I told him.

  The Spook nodded. “Aye, lad, he’s here all right. I was standing on the opposite side of the road, but you were too busy gawping at the cart to notice me.”

  “But didn’t you see her? Alice was in the cart—”

  “Alice? Alice who?”

  “Bony Lizzie’s niece. We have to help her. . . .”

  As I mentioned before, Bony Lizzie was a witch we’d dealt with in the spring. Now the Spook had her imprisoned in a pit, back in his garden in Chipenden.

  “Oh, that Alice. Well, you’d best forget her, lad, because there’s nothing to be done. The Quisitor has at least fifty armed men with him.”

  “But it’s not fair,” I said, hardly able to believe that he could stay so calm. “Alice isn’t a witch.”

  “Little in this life is fair,” the Spook replied. “The truth is, none of them were witches. As you well know, a real witch would have sniffed the Quisitor coming from miles away.”

  “But Alice is my friend. I can’t leave her to die!” I protested, feeling the anger rising inside me.

  “This is no time for sentiment. Our job is to protect people from the dark, not to get distracted by pretty girls.”

  I was furious—especially as I knew the Spook himself had once been distracted by a pretty girl—and that one was a witch. “Alice helped save my family from Mother Malkin, remember!”

  “And why was Mother Malkin free in the first place, lad, answer me that!”

  I hung my head in shame.

  “Because you got yourself mixed up with that girl,” he continued, “and I don’t want it happening again. Especially not here in Priestown, with the Quisitor breathing down our necks. You’ll be putting your own life in danger—and mine. And keep your voice down. We don’t want to attract any unwelcome attention.”

  I looked about me. But for us, the alley was deserted. A few people could be seen passing the entrance, but they were some distance away and didn’t so much as glance in our direction. Beyond them I could see the rooftops at the far side of the market square and, rising above the chimney pots, the cathedral steeple. But when I spoke again, I did lower my voice.

  “What’s the Quisitor doing here anyway?” I asked. “Didn’t you say that he did his work down south and only came north when he was sent for?”

  “That’s mostly true, but sometimes he mounts an expedition up north to the County and even beyond. Turns out that for the last few weeks he’s been sweeping the coast, picking up the poor dregs of humanity he had chained up in that cart.”

  I was angry that he’d said Alice was one of the dregs, because I knew it wasn’t true. It wasn’t the right time to continue the argument, though, so I kept my peace.

  “But we’ll be safe enough in Chipenden,” continued the Spook. “He’s never yet ventured up to the fells.”

  “Are we going home now, then?” I asked.

  “No, lad, not yet. I told you before, I’ve got unfinished business in this town.”

  My heart sank, and I looked toward the alley entrance uneasily. People were still scurrying past, going about their business, and I could hear some stallholders calling out the price of their wares. But although there was a lot of noise and bustle, we were thankfully out of sight. Despite that, I still felt uneasy. We were supposed to be keeping our distance from each other. The priest outside the cathedral had known the Spook. The housekeeper knew me. What if someone else walked down the alley and recognized us and we were both arrested? Many priests from County parishes would be in town, and they’d know the Spook by sight. The only good news was that at the moment they were probably all still in the churchyard.

  “That priest you were talking to before, who was he? He seemed to know you, so won’t he tell the Quisitor you’re here?” I asked, wondering if anywhere was really safe. For all I knew that red-faced priest outside the cathedral could even direct the Quisitor to Chipenden. “Oh, and there’s something else. Your brother’s housekeeper recognized me at the funeral. She was really angry. She might tell somebody that we’re here.”

  It seemed to me that we were taking a serious risk in staying in Priestown while the Quisitor was in the area.

  “Calm yourself, lad. The housekeeper won’t tell a soul. She and my brother weren’t exactly without sin themselves. And as for that priest,” said the Spook with a faint smile, “that’s Father Cairns. He’s family, my cousin. A cousin who meddles and gets a bit excited at times, but he means well all the same. He’s always trying to save me from myself and get me on the path of ‘righteousness.’ But he’s wasting his breath. I’ve chosen my path—and right or wrong, it’s the one I tread.”

  At that moment I heard footsteps and my heart lurched into my mouth. Someone had turned into the alley and was walking directly toward us!

  “Anyway, talking of family,” the Spook said, totally unconcerned, “here comes another member. This is my brother Andrew.”

  A tall man with a thin body and sad, bony face was approaching us across the cobbles. He looked even older than the Spook and reminded me of a well-dressed scarecrow, for although he was wearing good-quality boots and clean clothes, his garments flapped in the wind. He looked more in need of a good breakfast than I did.

  Without bothering to brush away the beads of water, he sat on the wall on the other side of the Spook.

  “I thought I’d find you here. A sad business, brother,” he said gloomily.

  “Aye,” said the Spook. “There’s just the two of us left now. Five brothers dead and gone.”

  “John, I must tell you, the Quis—”

  “Yes, I know,” said the Spook, an edge of impatience in his voice.

  “Then you must be going. It’s not safe for either of you here,” said his brother, acknowledging me with a nod.

  “No, Andrew, we’re not going anywhere until I’ve done what needs to be done. So I’d like you to make me a special key again,” the Spook told him. “For the gate.”

  Andrew started. “Nay, John, don’t be a fool,” he said, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have come here if I’d known you wanted that. Have you forgotten the curse?”

  “Hush,” said the Spook. “Not in front of the boy. Keep your silly superstitious nonsense to yourself.”

  “Curse?” I asked, suddenly curious.

  “See what you’ve done?” my master hissed angrily to his brother. “It’s nothing,” he said, turning to me. “I don’t believe in such rubbish and neither should you.”

  “Well, I’ve buried one brother today,” said Andrew. “Get yourself home now, before I find myself burying another. The Quisitor would love to get his hands on the County Spook. Get back to Chipenden while you still can.”

  “I’m not leaving, Andrew, and that’s final. I’ve got a job to do here, Quisitor or no Quisitor,” the Spook said firmly. “So are you going to help or not?”

  “That’s not the point, and you know it!” Andrew insisted. “I’ve always helped you before, haven’t I? When have I ever let you down? But this is madness. You risk burning just by being here. This isn’t the time to meddle with that thing again,” he said, gesturing at the alley entrance and raising his e
yes toward the steeple. “And think of the boy—you can’t drag him into this. Not now. Come back again in the spring when the Quisitor’s gone and we’ll talk again. You’d be a fool to attempt anything now. You can’t take on the Bane and the Quisitor—you’re not a young man, nor a well one, by the looks of you.”

  As they spoke, I looked up at the steeple myself. I suspected that it could be seen from almost anywhere in the town and that the whole town was also visible from the steeple. There were four small windows right near the top, just below the cross. From there you’d be able to see every rooftop in Priestown, most of the streets, and a lot of the people, including us.

  The Spook had told me that the Bane could use people, get inside their heads, and peer out through their eyes. I shivered, wondering if one of the priests was up there now, the Bane using him to watch us from the darkness inside the spire.

  But the Spook wasn’t for changing his mind. “Come on, Andrew, think on! How many times have you told me that the dark’s getting stronger in this town? That the priests are becoming more corrupt, that people are afraid? And think about the double tithes and the Quisitor stealing land and burning innocent women and girls. What’s turned the priests and corrupted them so much? What terrible force makes good men inflict such atrocities or stand by and let them happen?

  “Why, this very day the lad here has seen his friend carted off to certain death. Aye, the Bane is to blame, and the Bane must be stopped now. Do you really think I can let this go on for half a year more? How many more innocent people will have been burned by then, or will perish this winter through poverty, hunger, and cold if I don’t do something? The town is rife with rumors of sightings down in the catacombs. If they’re true, then the Bane is growing in strength and power, turning from a spirit into a creature clothed in flesh. Soon it could return to its original form, a manifestation of the evil spirit that tyrannized the Little People. And then where will we all be? How easy will it be then for it to terrify or trick someone into opening that gate? No, it’s as plain as the nose on your face. I’ve got to act now to rid Priestown of the dark, before the Bane’s power grows any stronger. So I’ll ask you again, one more time. Will you make me a key?”

  For a moment the Spook’s brother buried his face in his hands, just like one of the old women saying her prayers in church. Finally he looked up and nodded. “I still have the mold from last time. I’ll have the key ready first thing tomorrow morning. I must be dafter than you,” he said.

  “Good man,” replied the Spook. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down. I’ll call for it at first light.”

  “This time I hope you know what you’re doing when you get down there!”

  The Spook’s face reddened with anger. “You do your job, brother, and I’ll do mine!” he said.

  With that, Andrew stood up, gave a world-weary sigh, and walked off without even a backward glance.

  “Right, lad,” said the Spook, “you leave first. Go back to your room and stay there till tomorrow. Andrew’s shop is down Friargate. I’ll have collected the key and will be ready to meet you about twenty minutes after dawn. There shouldn’t be many people about that early. Remember where you were standing earlier when the Quisitor rode by?”

  I nodded.

  “Be on the nearest corner, lad. Don’t be late. And remember, we must continue to fast. Oh, and one more thing: Don’t forget my bag. I think we might be needing it.”

  My mind whirled on the way back to the inn. What should I fear most: a powerful man who would hunt me down and burn me at the stake? Or a fearsome creature that had beaten my master in his prime and, through the eyes of a priest, might be watching me at this very moment from the windows high in the steeple?

  As I glanced up at the cathedral, my eye caught the blackness of a priest’s cassock nearby. I averted my gaze, but not before I’d noted the priest: Father Cairns. Luckily the pavement was busy and he was staring straight ahead and didn’t even glance in my direction. I was relieved, for had he seen me here, so close to my inn, it wouldn’t have taken much for him to work out where I might be staying. The Spook had said he was harmless, but I couldn’t help thinking the fewer people who knew who we were and where we were staying, the better. But my relief was short-lived, for when I got back to my room there was a note pinned to the door.

  THOMAS,

  IF YOU WOULD SAVE YOUR MASTER’S LIFE, COME TO MY CONFESSIONAL THIS EVENING AT SEVEN. AFTER THAT IT WILL BE TOO LATE.

  FATHER CAIRNS

  I felt a sickening unease. How had Father Cairns found out where I was staying? Had someone been following me? Father Gregory’s housekeeper? Or the innkeeper? I hadn’t liked the look of him at all. Had he sent a message to the cathedral? Or the Bane? Did that creature know my every movement? Had it told Father Cairns where to find me? Whatever had happened, the priests knew where I was staying, and if they told the Quisitor he could come for me at any moment.

  I hurriedly opened my bedroom door and locked it behind me. Then I closed the shutters, hoping desperately to keep out the prying eyes of Priestown. I checked that the Spook’s bag was where I’d left it, then sat on my bed, not knowing what to do. The Spook had told me to stay in my room until morning. I knew he wouldn’t really want me to go and see his cousin. He’d said he was a priest who meddled. Was he just going to meddle again? On the other hand, he’d told me that Father Cairns meant well. But what if the priest really did know something that threatened the Spook? If I stayed, my master might end up in the hands of the Quisitor. Yet if I went to the cathedral, I was walking right into the lair of the Quisitor and the Bane! The funeral had been dangerous enough. Could I push my luck again?

  What I really should have done was tell the Spook about the message. But I couldn’t. For one thing, he hadn’t told me where he was staying.

  “Trust your instincts,” the Spook had always taught me, so at last I made up my mind. I decided to go and speak to Father Cairns.

  CHAPTER VI

  A Pact with Hell

  GIVING myself plenty of time, I walked slowly through the damp, cobbled streets. My palms were clammy with nerves, and my feet seemed reluctant to move toward the cathedral. It was as if they were wiser than I was, and I had to keep forcing one foot in front of the other. But the evening was chilly, and luckily there weren’t many people about. I didn’t pass even one priest.

  I arrived at the cathedral at about ten minutes to seven, and as I walked through the gate into the big flagged forecourt, I couldn’t help glancing up at the gargoyle over the main door. The ugly head seemed bigger than ever and the eyes still seemed wick with life; they followed me as I walked toward the door. The long chin curved up so much that it almost met the nose, making it unlike any creature I’d ever seen. With its doglike ears and a long tongue protruding from its mouth, and two short horns curving out from its skull, it suddenly reminded me of a goat.

  I looked away and entered the cathedral, shivering at the sheer strangeness of the creature. Inside the building it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the gloom, and to my relief I saw that the place was almost empty.

  I was afraid, though, for two reasons. Firstly, I didn’t like being in the cathedral, where priests could appear at any moment. If Father Cairns was tricking me, then I had just walked straight into his trap. Secondly, I was now in the Bane’s territory. Soon the day would draw in, and once the sun went down the Bane, like all creatures of the dark, would be at its most dangerous. Perhaps then its mind might reach up from the catacombs and seek me out. I had to get this business over with as quickly as possible.

  Where was the confessional? There were just a couple of old ladies at the back of the cathedral, but an old man was kneeling near the front, close to the small door of a wooden box that stood with its back to the stone wall.

  That told me what I wanted to know. There was an identical box a bit farther along. The confessional boxes. Each had a candle fixed above it set within a blue glass holder. But only the one near the kneeling m
an was lit.

  I walked down the right-hand aisle and knelt in the pew behind him. After a few moments the door to the confessional box opened and a woman wearing a black veil came out. She crossed the aisle and knelt in a pew while the old man went inside.

  After a few moments I could hear him muttering. I’d never been to confession in my life, but I had a pretty good idea of what went on. One of Dad’s brothers had become very religious before he’d died. Dad always called him Holy Joe, but his real name was Matthew. He went to confession twice a week, and after hearing his sins the priest gave him a big penance. That meant that afterward he had to say lots of prayers over and over again. I supposed the old man was telling the priest about his sins.

  The door stayed closed for what seemed an age, and I started to grow impatient. Another thought struck me: What if it wasn’t Father Cairns inside but some other priest? I really would have to make a confession then or it would seem very suspicious. I tried to think of a few sins that might sound convincing. Was greed a sin? Or did you call it gluttony? Well, I certainly liked my food, but I’d had nothing to eat all day and my belly was starting to rumble. Suddenly it seemed madness to be doing this. In moments I could end up a prisoner.

  I panicked and stood up to leave. It was only then that I noticed with relief a small card slotted into a holder on the door. A name was written on it: FATHER CAIRNS.

  At that moment the door opened and the old man came out, so I took his place in the confessional and closed the door behind me. It was small and gloomy inside, and when I knelt down, my face was very close to a metal grille. Behind the grille was a brown curtain and, somewhere beyond that, a flickering candle. I couldn’t see a face through the grille, just the shadowy outline of a head.

  “Would you like me to hear your confession?” The priest’s voice had a strong County accent, and he breathed loudly.