The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

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The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection Page 24

by Joseph Delaney


  I just shrugged. Then I realized that he couldn’t see me properly through the grille. “No, Father,” I said, “but thank you for asking. I’m Tom, Mr. Gregory’s apprentice. You wanted to see me.”

  There was a slight pause before Father Cairns spoke. “Ah, Thomas, I’m glad you came. I asked you here because I need to talk to you. I need to tell you something very important, so I want you to stay here until I’ve finished. Will you promise me that you won’t leave until I’ve said what I have to say?”

  “I’ll listen,” I replied doubtfully. I was wary of making promises now. In the spring I’d made a promise to Alice, and it had got me in a whole lot of trouble.

  “That’s a good lad,” he said. “We’ve made a good start to an important task. And do you know what that task is?”

  I wondered whether he was talking about the Bane but thought it best not to mention that creature so close to the catacombs, so I said, “No, Father.”

  “Well, Thomas, we have to put together a plan. We have to work out how we can save your immortal soul. But you know what you have to do to begin the process, don’t you? You must walk away from John Gregory. You must cease practicing that vile trade. Will you do that for me?”

  “I thought you wanted to see me about helping Mr. Gregory,” I said, starting to feel angry. “I thought he was in danger.”

  “He is, Thomas. We are here to help John Gregory, but we must begin by helping you. So will you do what I ask?”

  “I can’t,” I said. “My dad paid good money for my apprenticeship, and my mam would be even more disappointed. She says I’ve a gift and I have to use it to help people. That’s what spooks do. We go round helping people when they’re in danger from things that come out of the dark.”

  There was a long silence. All I could hear was the priest’s breathing. Then I thought of something else.

  “I helped Father Gregory, you know,” I blurted out. “He died later, it’s true, but I saved him from a worse death. At least he died in bed, in the warmth. He tried to get rid of a boggart,” I explained, raising my voice a little. “That’s what got him into trouble in the first place. Mr. Gregory could have sorted it out for him. He can do things that a priest can’t. Priests can’t get rid of boggarts because they don’t know how. It takes more than just a few prayers.”

  I knew that I shouldn’t have said that about prayers and I expected him to get very angry. He didn’t. He kept calm, and that made it seem a whole lot worse.

  “Oh, yes, it takes much more,” Father Cairns answered quietly, his voice hardly more than a whisper. “Much, much more. Do you know what John Gregory’s secret is, Thomas? Do you know the source of his power?”

  “Yes,” I said, my own voice suddenly much calmer. “He’s studied for years, for the whole of his working life. He’s got a whole library full of books and he did an apprenticeship like me and he listened carefully to what his master said and wrote it down in notebooks, just like I do now.”

  “Don’t you think that we do the same? It takes long, long years to train for the priesthood. And priests are clever men being trained by even cleverer men. So how did you accomplish what Father Gregory couldn’t, despite the fact that he read from God’s holy book? How do you explain the fact that your master routinely does what his brother could not?”

  “It’s because priests have the wrong kind of training,” I said. “And it’s because my master and I are both seventh sons of seventh sons.”

  The priest made a strange noise behind the grille. At first I thought he was choking; then I realized I could hear laughter. He was laughing at me.

  I thought that was very rude. My dad always says that you should respect other people’s opinions even if they sometimes seem daft.

  “That’s just superstition, Thomas,” Father Cairns said at last. “Being the seventh son of a seventh son means nothing. It’s just an old wives’ tale. The true explanation for John Gregory’s power is something so terrible that it makes me shudder just to think about it. You see, John Gregory has made a pact with hell. He’s sold his soul to the Devil.”

  I couldn’t believe what he was saying. When I opened my mouth, no words came out, so I just kept shaking my head.

  “It’s true, Thomas. All his power comes from the Devil. What you and other County folk call boggarts are just lesser devils who only yield because their master bids them do that. It’s worth it to the Devil because, in return, one day he’ll get hold of John Gregory’s soul. And a soul is precious to God, a thing of brightness and splendor, and the Devil will do anything to dirty it with sin and drag it down into the eternal flames of Hell.”

  “What about me?” I said, getting angry again. “I’ve not sold my soul. But I saved Father Gregory.”

  “That’s easy, Thomas. You’re a servant of the Spook, as you call him, who, in turn, is a servant of the Devil. So the power of evil is on loan to you while you serve. But of course, if you were to complete your training in evil and prepare to practice your vile trade as master rather than apprentice, then it would be your turn. You, too, would have to sign away your soul. John Gregory hasn’t yet told you this because you’re too young, but he would certainly do so one day. And when that day arrived, it would come as no surprise because you’d remember my words to you now. John Gregory has made many serious mistakes in his life and has fallen a long, long way from grace. Do you know that he was once a priest?”

  I nodded. “I know that already.”

  “And do you know how, just fresh from ordination as a priest, he came to leave his calling? Do you know of his shame?”

  I didn’t reply. I knew that Father Cairns was going to tell me anyway.

  “Some theologians have argued that a woman does not have a soul. That debate continues, but of one thing we can be certain—a priest cannot take a wife, because it would distract him from his devotion to God. John Gregory’s failing was doubly bad: Not only was he distracted by a woman, but that woman was already betrothed to one of his own brothers. It tore the family apart. Brother turned against brother over a woman called Emily Burns.”

  By now I didn’t like Father Cairns one little bit and knew that if he’d talked to my mam about women not having souls, she’d have flayed him with her tongue to within an inch of his life. But I was curious about the Spook. First I’d heard about Meg and now I was being told that, even earlier, he’d been involved with this Emily Burns. I was astonished and wanted to know more.

  “Did Mr. Gregory marry Emily Burns?” I asked, spitting my question right out.

  “Never in the eyes of God,” answered the priest. “She came from Blackrod, where our family has its roots, and lives there alone to this day. Some say they quarreled, but whatever the case John Gregory eventually took another woman, whom he met in the far north of the County and brought south. Her name was Margery Skelton, a notorious witch. The locals knew her as Meg, and in time she became feared and loathed across the breadth of Anglezarke Moor and the towns and villages to the south of the County.”

  I said nothing. I know that he expected me to be shocked. I was, at everything he’d said, but reading the Spook’s diary back in Chipenden had prepared me for the worst.

  Father Cairns gave another deep sniff, then coughed deep in his throat. “Do you know which of his six brothers John Gregory wronged?”

  I’d already guessed. “Father Gregory,” I answered.

  “In devout families such as the Gregorys, it is the tradition that one son takes holy orders. When John threw away his vocation, another brother took his place and began training for the priesthood. Yes, Thomas, it was Father Gregory, the brother we buried today. He lost his betrothed and he lost his brother. What else could he do but turn to God?”

  When I’d arrived, the church had been almost empty, but as we’d talked I’d become aware of sounds outside the confessional box. There’d been footsteps and the increasing murmur of voices. Now, suddenly, a choir began to sing. It would be well after seven by now, and the sun would alre
ady have set. I decided to make an excuse and leave, but just as I opened my mouth I heard Father Cairns come to his feet.

  “Come with me, Thomas,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

  I heard him open his door and go out into the church, so I followed.

  He beckoned me toward the altar where, led by another priest, neatly arranged in three rows of ten, a choir of altar boys was standing on the steps. Each wore a black cassock and white surplice.

  Father Cairns halted and put his bandaged hand on my right shoulder.

  “Listen to them, Thomas. Don’t they sound like holy angels?”

  I’d never heard an angel sing so I couldn’t answer, but they certainly made a better noise than my dad, who used to start singing as we got near to the end of the milking. His voice was bad enough to turn the milk sour.

  “You could have been a member of that choir, Thomas. But you’ve left it too late. Your voice is already beginning to deepen and a chance to serve has been lost.”

  He was right about that. Most of the boys were younger than me and their voices were more like girls’ than lads’. In any case, my singing wasn’t much better than my dad’s.

  “Still, there are other things you can do. Let me show you . . .”

  He led the way past the altar, through a door, and along a corridor. Then we went out into the garden at the rear of the cathedral. Well, it was more the size of a field than a garden, and rather than flowers and roses, vegetables grew there.

  It was already beginning to get dark, but there was still enough light to see a hawthorn hedge in the distance with the gravestones of the churchyard just visible beyond it. In the foreground a priest was on his knees, weeding with a trowel. It was a big garden and only a small trowel.

  “You come from a family of farmers, Thomas. It’s good, honest work. You’d be at home working here,” he said, pointing to the kneeling priest.

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to be a priest,” I said firmly.

  “Oh, you could never be a priest!” Father Cairns said, his voice filled with shock and indignation. “You’ve been too close to the Devil for that and now will have to be watched closely for the rest of your life lest you slip back. No, that man is a brother.”

  “A brother?” I asked, puzzled, thinking he was family or something.

  The priest smiled. “At a big cathedral like this, priests have assistants who offer support. We call them brothers because, although they can’t administer the sacraments, they do other vital tasks and are part of the family of the Church. Brother Peter is our gardener and very good at it, too. What do you say, Thomas? Would you like to be a brother?”

  I knew all about being a brother. Being the youngest of seven, I’d been given all the jobs that nobody else wanted to do. It looked like it was the same here. In any case, I already had a job and I didn’t believe what Father Cairns had told me about the Devil and the Spook. It had made me think a bit, but deep down I knew it couldn’t be true. Mr. Gregory was a good man.

  It was getting darker and chillier by the moment, so I decided it was time to go.

  “Thanks for talking to me, Father,” I said, “but could you tell me about the danger to Mr. Gregory now, please?”

  “All in good time, Thomas,” he said, giving me a little smile.

  Something in that smile told me that I’d been tricked. That he had no intention at all of helping the Spook.

  “I’ll think about what you’ve told me, but I’ve got to be getting back now or I’ll miss my supper,” I told him. It seemed a good excuse at the time. He’d no way of knowing that I was fasting because I had to be ready to deal with the Bane.

  “We’ve got supper for you here, Thomas,” said Father Cairns. “In fact, we’d like you to stay the night.”

  Two other priests had come out of the side door and were walking toward us. They were big men, and I didn’t like the expressions on their faces.

  There was a moment when I could probably have gotten away, but it seemed silly to run when I wasn’t really sure what was going to happen.

  Then it was too late because the priests stood on each side of me, gripping me firmly by my upper arms and shoulders. I didn’t struggle; there was no point. Their hands were big and heavy and I felt that if I stayed in the same spot too long, I’d start to sink into the earth. Then they walked me back into the vestry.

  “This is for your own good, Thomas,” Father Cairns said as he followed us inside. “The Quisitor will seize John Gregory tonight. He’ll have a trial, of course, but the outcome is certain. Found guilty of dealing with the Devil, he will be burned at the stake. That’s why I can’t let you go back to him. There’s still a chance for you. You’re just a boy and your soul can still be saved without burning. But if you’re with him when he’s arrested, then you’ll suffer the same fate. So this is for your own good.”

  “But he’s your cousin!” I blurted out. “He’s family. How can you do this? Let me go and warn him.”

  “Warn him?” asked Father Cairns. “Do you think I haven’t tried to warn him? I’ve been warning him for most of his adult life. Now I need to think about his soul more than his body. The flames will cleanse him. By means of pain, his soul can be saved. Don’t you see? I’m doing it to help him, Thomas. There are much more important things than our brief existence in this world.”

  “You’ve betrayed him! Your own flesh and blood. You’ve told the Quisitor we’re here!”

  “Not both of you, just John. So join us, Thomas. Your soul will be cleansed through prayer and your life will no longer be in danger. What do you say?”

  There was no point in arguing with someone who was so sure that he was right, so I didn’t waste my breath. The only sound to be heard was the echo of our footsteps and the jangle of keys as they led me farther and farther into the gloom of the cathedral.

  CHAPTER VII

  Escape and Capture

  THEY locked me in a small damp room without a window and didn’t bring me the supper they’d mentioned. For a bed there was just a small heap of straw. When the door closed I stood there in the dark, listening to the key being turned in the lock and the footsteps echoing away down the corridor.

  It was too dark to see my hands before my face, but that didn’t worry me much. After nearly six months as the Spook’s apprentice, I’d become a lot braver. Being a seventh son of a seventh son, I’d always seen things that others couldn’t, but the Spook had taught me that most of them couldn’t do you much harm. It was an old cathedral and there was a big graveyard beyond the garden, so that meant there would be things about—unquiet things like ghasts and ghosts—but I wasn’t afraid of them.

  No, what bothered me was the Bane below in the catacombs! The thought of it reaching into my mind was terrifying. I certainly didn’t want to face that, and if it was now as strong as the Spook suspected, it would know exactly what was going on. In fact it had probably corrupted Father Cairns, turning him against his own cousin. It might have worked its evil among the priests and been listening to their conversations. It was bound to know who I was and where I was, and it wouldn’t be too friendly, to say the least.

  Of course, I didn’t plan on staying there all night. You see, I still had the three keys in my pocket, and I intended to use the special one Andrew had made. Father Cairns wasn’t the only one with tricks up his sleeve.

  The key wouldn’t get me beyond the Silver Gate, because you needed something far more subtle and well crafted to open that lock, but I knew it would get me out into the corridor and through any door of the cathedral. I just had to wait awhile until everyone was asleep and then I could sneak out. If I went too early, I’d probably be caught. On the other hand, if I delayed, I’d be too late to warn the Spook and might get a visit from the Bane, so it was a judgment I couldn’t afford to get wrong.

  As darkness fell and the noises outside faded, I decided to take my chance. The key turned in the lock without a hint of resistance, but just before I opened the door I
heard footsteps. I froze and held my breath as, gradually, they receded into the distance and everything returned to silence.

  I waited a long time, listening very carefully. Finally I drew in a slow breath and eased open the door. Fortunately, it opened without a single creak and I stepped out into the corridor, pausing and listening again.

  I didn’t know for sure that there was anybody left in the cathedral and its side buildings. Perhaps they’d all gone back to the big priests’ house? But I couldn’t believe they wouldn’t have left somebody on guard, so I tiptoed along the dark corridor, afraid to make even the slightest sound.

  When I came to the side door of the vestry, I had a shock. I didn’t need my key. It was already open.

  The sky was clear now and the moon was up, bathing the path in a silver light. I stepped outside and moved cautiously. Only then did I sense somebody behind me, someone standing to the side of the door, hidden in the shadow of one of the big stone buttresses that shored up the sides of the cathedral.

  For a moment I froze. Then, my heart pounding so loudly I could hear it, I slowly turned round. The shadowy figure stepped out into the moonlight. I recognized him straightaway. Not a priest, but the brother who’d been on his knees tending the garden earlier. Gaunt of face, Brother Peter was almost totally bald, with just a thin collar of white hair below his ears.

  Suddenly he spoke. “Warn your master, Thomas,” he said. “Go quickly! Get away from this town while you both can!”

  I didn’t reply. I just turned and ran down the path as fast as I could. I only stopped running when I reached the streets. I walked so as not to draw too much attention to myself, and I wondered why Brother Peter hadn’t tried to stop me. Wasn’t that his job? Hadn’t he been left on guard?

  But I didn’t have time to think about that properly. I had to warn the Spook of his cousin’s betrayal before it was too late. I didn’t know which inn the Spook was staying at, but perhaps his brother would know. That was a start because I knew where Friargate was: it was one of the roads I’d walked down while searching for an inn, so Andrew’s shop wouldn’t be too difficult to find. I hurried through the cobbled streets, knowing that I didn’t have much time, that the Quisitor and his men would already be on their way.

 

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