“Is there no hope at all?” I asked her, aware that the Spook hadn’t opened his eyes since banging his head.
“Listen to him breathing,” she told me.
I listened carefully. His breathing sounded harsh, with a faint rattle to it. It was as if his windpipe were constricted.
“That’s a death rattle,” she said. “His time in this world is coming to an end.”
At that moment there was a knock on the front door and I went down to see who it was. When I opened the door, Alice was standing close to the step, her woolen coat buttoned up to the neck and her hood pulled forward.
“Alice!” I said, really glad to see her. “The Spook got hurt dealing with the boggart. He bashed the back of his head and the doctor thinks he’s going to die!”
“Let me look at him,” Alice said, pushing past me. “Maybe it ain’t as bad as he thinks. Doctors can be wrong. Is he upstairs?”
I nodded and followed Alice up to the front bedroom. She went straight across to the Spook and put her hand on his forehead. Then she lifted his left eyelid with her thumb and peered at his eye very closely.
“Ain’t hopeless,” Alice said. “I might just be able to help. . . .”
The woman picked up her bag and prepared to leave, indignation furrowing her brow. “Well, I’ve seen it all now!” she exclaimed, staring down at Alice’s pointy shoes. “A little witch offering help to a spook!”
Alice looked up, her eyes blazing with anger, opened her mouth wide, and showed her teeth. Then she hissed at the woman, who took two rapid steps away from the bed.
“Don’t expect him to thank you for it!” she warned Alice, backing out of the bedroom door before running down the stairs.
“Ain’t got much with me,” Alice said when the woman had gone. She unbuttoned her coat and pulled a small leather pouch from her inside pocket. It was fastened with string, and she untied it and shook a few dried leaves onto her palm. “I’ll make him up a quick potion for now,” she said.
When she’d gone down to the kitchen, I sat at the Spook’s bedside, doing what I could to help him. His whole body was burning up, and I kept mopping his brow with the wet cloth to try and bring the fever down. There was a constant trickle of blood and mucus from his nose, and it kept running down into his mustache, so it was a full-time job just keeping him clean. All the time his chest was rattling and the smell of flowers was as strong as ever, so I began to feel that, whatever Alice said, the nurse was right and he hadn’t long to go.
After a while Alice came back upstairs carrying a cup half full of a pale yellow liquid, and I lifted the Spook’s head while she poured a little of it into his mouth. I wished Mam were here, but I knew that Alice was the next best thing: as Mam had once told me, she knew her stuff regarding potions.
The Spook choked and spluttered a bit, but we managed to get most of it down him. “It’s a really bad time of year, but I might be able to find something better,” Alice said. “It’s worth going out to look. Not that he deserves it, the way he’s treated me!”
I thanked Alice and saw her to the front door. It wasn’t raining anymore, but there was a chill in the damp air. The trees were bare and everything looked bleak. “It’s winter, Alice. What can you find when hardly anything is growing?”
“Even in winter there are roots and bark you can use,” Alice replied, buttoning up her coat against the cold. “That’s if you know where to look. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I went back up to the bedroom to sit with the Spook, sad and lost. I know it sounds selfish, but I couldn’t help starting to worry about myself. I couldn’t possibly manage to complete my apprenticeship without the Spook. I’d have to go north of Caster to where Arkwright practiced his trade and ask him to take me on. As he’d once been the Spook’s apprentice and had lived at Chipenden like me, perhaps he’d do it, but there was no guarantee. He might already have an apprentice. After thinking that, I felt worse. Really guilty. Because I’d just been thinking about myself, not my master.
Then, after about an hour, the Spook suddenly opened his eyes. They were wild and bright with fever, and to begin with I don’t think he knew who I was. He still remembered how to give orders, though, and began shouting them out at the top of his voice as if he thought I was deaf or something.
“Help me up! Get me up! Up! Up! Do it now!” he shouted as I struggled to help him up into a sitting position and to pack the pillows behind his back. He began to groan very loudly, and his eyes rolled in his head and went right up into his skull until only the whites were visible.
“Get me a drink!” he shouted. “I need a drink!”
There was a jug of cold water on the bedside table, and I filled a cup half full and held it gently to his lips.
“Sip it slowly,” I advised, but the Spook took a big gulp and spat it out onto the bedclothes.
“What’s this rubbish? Is this all I deserve?” he roared, his pupils coming back into view to fix me with a wild, angry stare. “Bring me wine. And make it red. That’s what I need!”
I didn’t think it was a good idea at all, what with him being so ill, but he insisted again. He wanted wine and it had to be red.
“I’m sorry, but there is no wine,” I explained, keeping my voice calm so as not to get him even more agitated.
“Of course there’s no wine here! This is a bedroom!” he shouted. “Down in the kitchen, that’s where you’ll find it. If not, try the cellar. Go and look. And be quick about it. Don’t keep me waiting.”
There were about half a dozen bottles of wine in the kitchen, and all of them were red. The trouble was, there was no sign of a corkscrew—not that I looked too hard. So I took the bottle back up to the bedroom, thinking that would be the end of it.
I was wrong: as soon as I came near the bed, my master snatched the bottle from me, put it to his mouth, and pulled the cork out with his remaining teeth. For a moment I thought he’d swallowed it, but suddenly he spat it out with such force that the cork bounced off the bedroom wall opposite.
Then he began to drink and, as he drank, he talked. I’d never seen the Spook drink alcohol before, but now he couldn’t get the stuff down his throat fast enough. He became more and more excited, the talk giving way to ranting. It didn’t make much sense because he was raving with the fever and the drink. A lot of it was in Latin, too, the language I was still struggling to learn. At one point he kept making the sign of the cross with his right hand, the way priests do.
Back at our farm, wine was something we drank rarely. Mam makes her own elderberry wine, and it’s really good. It only comes out on special occasions, though: when I lived at home, I was lucky to be given half a small glass twice a year. The Spook finished off a whole bottle in less than fifteen minutes, and later he was sick—so sick that he nearly choked to death there and then. Of course, I had to clean up the mess using the other strips of sheet.
Alice came back soon after that and made up another potion with the roots she’d found. We worked together and managed to get it down the Spook’s throat, and within moments he was asleep again.
That done, Alice sniffed the air and wrinkled up her nose. Even after I’d changed the bedclothes the room still stank to high heaven, so that I couldn’t smell the flowers anymore. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. I didn’t realize that the Spook was on the mend.
So the doctor and nurse were both proved wrong: within hours the fever had gone and my master was coughing up thick phlegm from his lungs, filling handkerchiefs as quickly as I could find them, so I ended up tearing another sheet into strips. He was on the slow road to recovery. And once again we owed it all to Alice.
CHAPTER X
Bad News
THE Hursts returned the following day but looked lost and bewildered, as if they didn’t know how to start clearing up the mess. The Spook spent most of his time sleeping, but we couldn’t let him stay in a room with the wind howling in through the broken window, so I took some money from his bag and gave it to Mr. Hurst to pay for
some of the repairs.
Workmen were employed from the village: a glazier fitted new glass to the bedroom and kitchen windows, while Shanks boarded up the rest temporarily to keep the elements out. I had a busy day myself, making up the fires in the bedrooms and one downstairs in the kitchen, helping with the farm chores, too, especially the milking. Mr. Hurst did some work, but his heart wasn’t in it. It seemed as if he didn’t enjoy life anymore and had lost the will to live.
“Oh dear! Oh dear!” he kept muttering wearily to himself. And once I heard him say quite distinctly, as he looked up at the barn roof, his face filled with anguish, “What did I do? What did I do to deserve this?”
That night, just after we’d finished our supper, there were three loud raps on the front door, and they brought poor Mr. Hurst to his feet so suddenly that he almost fell backward over his chair.
“I’ll go,” Mrs. Hurst said, laying her hand gently on her husband’s arm. “You stay here, love, and try to keep calm. Don’t go upsetting yourself again.”
By their reaction I guessed it was Morgan at the door. And there was something about the manner of the three loud raps that chilled me to the bone. My suspicions were confirmed when Alice looked at me, turned down the corners of her mouth, and mouthed silently the word
“Morgan.”
Morgan swaggered into the room ahead of his mother. He was carrying a staff and bag. Wearing his cloak and hood, he looked every inch a spook.
“Well, this is cozy. And if it isn’t the young apprentice himself,” he said, turning to me. “Master Ward, we meet again.”
I nodded in reply.
“So what’s been happening here, old man?” Morgan taunted Mr. Hurst. “That farmyard’s a disgrace. Have you no pride in yourself? You’re letting this place go to rack and ruin.”
“Ain’t his fault. Stupid or something, are you?” Alice snapped, hostility heavy in her voice. “Any fool can see it’s the work of a boggart!”
Morgan frowned angrily and glared at her, raising his stick a little, but Alice returned his gaze with a mocking smile.
“So the Spook sent his apprentice to deal with it, did he?” Morgan said, turning toward his mother. “Well, that’s gratitude for you, isn’t it, old woman? You take in a little witch for him, and he can’t even be bothered to come and help bind your boggart. He always was a cold-hearted wretch.”
I was on my feet in an instant. “Mr. Gregory came right away. He’s upstairs because he was badly hurt dealing with the boggart—”
Immediately I knew that I’d said too much. Suddenly I felt afraid for my master. Morgan had threatened him in the past, and now the Spook was weak and defenseless.
“Oh, so you can speak,” he said, mocking me. “If you ask me, your master’s clearly past it. Hurt binding a boggart? Good Lord, that’s the easiest trick in the book! But that’s what age does. Clearly the old fool’s past his best. I’d better go upstairs and have a word with him.”
With that, Morgan crossed the kitchen and began to climb the wooden stairs to the bedrooms. I leaned across and whispered that Alice should stay where she was. Then I left the kitchen and made for the stairs. At first I thought that Mrs. Hurst was going to ask me to stay, but she simply sat down and buried her face in her hands.
I began to creep up the stairs, but they were creaky, so I only climbed three before pausing to listen to Morgan’s raucous laughter from above, followed by the sound of the Spook coughing. Then the stair creaked behind me, and I turned and looked down to see Alice with her finger against her lips to signal silence.
Next the Spook’s voice came from the bedroom above. “Still digging into that old mound?” I heard him ask. “It’ll be the death of you one day. Have more sense. Keep well clear while you’ve still got breath left in your body.”
“You could make it easy for me,” Morgan replied. “Just give me back what’s mine. That’s all I ask.”
“If I gave you that, you’d do untold damage. That’s if you survived. Why does it have to be this way? Stop meddling with the dark and sort yourself out, lad! Remember the promises you made to your mother. It’s still not too late to make something of your life.”
“Don’t pretend to care about me,” answered Morgan. “And don’t you dare talk about my mother. You never cared one jot about any of us, and that’s the truth. Nobody except that witch. Once Meg Skelton came into the picture, my poor mother didn’t have a chance. And where did that get you? And where did it get her but condemned to a life of misery?”
“Nay, lad. I cared about you and I cared about your mother. I loved her once, as you well know, and all my life I’ve done my level best to help her. And for her sake I’ve tried to help you, despite all that you’ve done!”
The Spook started to cough again, and I heard Morgan curse and start to walk toward the door. “Things are different now, old man, and I will have what’s owed to me,” he said. “And if you won’t give it to me, then I’ll use other means.”
Alice and I turned together and went back down the stairs. We just made it into the kitchen before his boot scuffed against the top stair.
As it was, Morgan didn’t even look at us. With a face like thunder, ignoring his mam and dad, he strode straight through the kitchen and into the hallway. We all listened quietly as he drew back a bolt, unlocked a door in the hall, and started stamping about in the room behind. After a few moments we heard him come out again, then lock and bar the door. A moment later he’d left the house; the front door slammed shut behind him.
At the table nobody spoke, but I couldn’t help glancing at Mrs. Hurst. So the Spook had loved her once, too. That would make three women he’d been involved with! And that was one reason why Morgan seemed to bear a grudge against him.
“Let’s get you up to bed, love,” Mrs. Hurst said to her husband, her voice soft and affectionate. “A good night’s sleep is what you need. You’ll feel much better in the morning.”
With that, the two of them left the table, poor Mr. Hurst shuffling toward the door with his head bowed. I felt really sorry for them both. Nobody deserved a son like Morgan. His wife paused in the doorway and looked back at us. “Don’t be too late coming up, you two,” she said, and we both nodded politely and then listened to them climbing the stairs together.
“Well,” said Alice, “That just leaves the two of us. So why don’t we go and look at Morgan’s room? Who knows what we might find?”
“The room he just went in?”
Alice nodded. “Strange noises sometimes come from it. I’d like to see what’s inside.”
So she picked up the candle from its holder on the table and led the way out of the kitchen, through the living room, and into the hallway.
There were two rooms that led from that hallway. With your back to the front door, you could go right into the living room; on the left was another door painted black. It had a bolt on the outside.
“This is it,” Alice whispered, touching the door with the tip of her left pointy shoe and drawing back the bolt. “If it hadn’t been locked, I would’ve had a nosy round in there already. But now it ain’t no problem. Your key’ll soon get that open, Tom.” She pointed at the lock.
My key did unlock the door, and I eased it open. It was quite a big room, longer than it was wide, with one boarded-up window at the far end, hung with heavy black curtains. The floor was flagged like the rest of the downstairs, but there were no rugs or carpets. And there were only three items of furniture in the room: a long wooden table with a straight-backed chair at each end.
Alice led the way into the room.
“Not much to see, is there?” I said. “What did you expect to find?”
“Ain’t sure, but I thought there’d be something more,” Alice began. “Sometimes I hear bells ringing in here. Mostly little bells, they are, ones that you could hold in your hand. But I once heard a funeral bell that sounded big enough to be clanging from a church tower. Then there’s often the sound of water dripping and a girl crying. I supp
ose that’s his dead sister.”
“You hear the sounds when he’s inside the room?”
“Mostly, but even when he ain’t home I sometimes hear a dog barking and growling or even snuffling right up close to the door like it’s trying to get free. That’s why the Hursts always keep it bolted. I think they’re scared that something nasty might get out.”
“I don’t feel anything here now, though,” I told Alice. There was no sense of the cold that warns me when something from the dark is close. “The Spook says Morgan’s a necromancer who uses the dead. He talks to them and makes them do his bidding.”
“Where does he get his power from? Don’t use bone or blood magic like a witch,” Alice said, wrinkling her nose, “and he don’t have a familiar either. I’d be able to sniff it out for sure if it was one of them. So what is it, Tom?”
I shrugged. “Maybe it’s Golgoth, one of the old gods. You heard what the Spook just said about Morgan digging into that mound and that it would be the death of him? Well, it’s a barrow called the Round Loaf and it’s high up on the moor. Maybe he’s trying to summon Golgoth like the ancients did. Maybe Golgoth wants to be summoned and is helping him in some way. But Morgan can’t do it yet, because the Spook has something that he needs. Something that would make it easier.”
Alice nodded thoughtfully. “That could be it, Tom, but some of the things they said were puzzling, too. Don’t see Old Gregory and Mrs. Hurst together. Find it hard to believe that they were a couple.”
I found it hard to believe, too. Very hard. Anyway, there was nothing much to see, so we left the room and locked and bolted it behind us. There were mysteries to be solved—secrets in the Spook’s past—and I was growing more and more curious.
Morgan didn’t show his face at Moor View Farm again, but it was another week before we could travel back to the Spook’s house. Shanks was sent for, and we made the journey back with the Spook riding on the little pony and Alice and me walking behind.
Shanks refused to set foot in the house and went straight back to Adlington, leaving the Spook with us. I’d already told my master how Alice’s potions had probably saved his life. He hadn’t said anything, but he didn’t object now when we both helped him up to his bedroom. He still wasn’t himself, and it was going to take some time for him to recover fully. The journey back had taken it out of him, too. He wasn’t steady on his legs, and he stayed up in his room for a couple of days.
The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection Page 50