The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

by Joseph Delaney

  “What? And leave you behind?”

  “Aye, that’s exactly what I mean. Somebody has to continue our trade. I’ve never been one for praising my apprentices much. Praise can be bad for you. It can go to your head and give an inflated sense of worth so that you rest on your laurels. But I will say this. Without doubt you’ve become what your mam once promised—you are the best apprentice I’ve ever had. I can’t go on forever, so you might indeed be my last apprentice, the one I have to prepare to carry on my work in the County. If I do say the word, leave Pendle at once, without either a question or a backward glance, and take refuge in that room. Do you understand?”

  I nodded.

  “And if it’s necessary, will you obey me?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

  At last the Spook was satisfied, and there was a click as the blade retracted back into the staff. Carrying both our bags and my own staff, I followed the Spook outside and waited until he’d locked the door behind us. He paused for a moment, looked up at the house, then turned and smiled at me sadly.

  “Right, lad, let’s get on our way! We’ve delayed enough already!”

  CHAPTER IV

  East to Pendle

  WE traveled east from Chipenden, keeping to the southern edge of the Bowland Fells before curving away to cross the River Ribble’s pleasant, tree-lined banks. I’d have hardly known it for the same wide tidal river that had run through Priestown, but, once across, I began to feel more and more uneasy.

  “Well, there it is, lad,” said the Spook, coming to a halt some distance from a stream that lay in our path. He pointed at Pendle Hill, which had been growing steadily as we advanced toward it. “Not a pretty sight, is it?”

  I couldn’t help agreeing. Although its shape reminded me of the Long Ridge, a local fell beyond the valley to the south of Chipenden, this was larger and more daunting. Above it was suspended a threatening bank of thick black clouds.

  “Some say that it looks like a great beached whale,” said the Spook. “Well, never having seen a whale myself, I can’t be the judge of that. Others say it looks like an upturned boat. I can just about see that, but the comparison hardly does it justice. What do you think, lad?”

  I studied the scene carefully. The light was beginning to fail, but the hill itself seemed to radiate darkness. It had a brooding presence.

  “It could almost be alive,” I said, choosing my words with care. “It’s as if there’s something malevolent inside it and it’s casting a spell over everything.”

  “Couldn’t have put it better myself, lad,” said the Spook, leaning on his staff and looking very thoughtful. “But one thing’s for sure: There’s an unholy host of malevolent witches living within sight of it. Now, it’ll be dark in half an hour and we’d be wise to stay this side of that stream until dawn. Then we can press on into Pendle.”

  That we did, settling down in the shelter of a hedge. Half the width of a field separated us from the stream, but as I slipped down into sleep, I could hear it murmuring gently in the distance.

  We were up at dawn and, without even a nibble of cheese to sustain us, quickly crossed the stream and pressed on toward Downham, a faint drizzle drifting into our faces. We were heading north, with Pendle Hill to our right, but we soon lost sight of it as we entered a dense wood of sycamore and ash.

  “Here’s something to note,” the Spook said, leading me across to a large oak tree. “What do you make of that?”

  There was a strange carving on the trunk. I peered at it closely.

  “Is it meant to be a pair of scissors?” I asked.

  “Aye,” said the Spook grimly. “But they’re not intended to cut cloth. That’s a mark carved by Grimalkin, the witch assassin. Her trade is death and torture, and the Malkins send her out against their enemies. She’s carved that as a warning. ‘Pendle is my territory,’ she’s saying. ‘Cross me and I’ll snip away your flesh and your bone!’”

  I shuddered and stepped away from the tree.

  “Maybe I’ll cross blades with her one day,” said the Spook. “The world would certainly be a better place if she were dead. But although she’s a ruthless killer, she lives by a code of honor—she would never use guile. She likes it best when the odds are against her, but once she’s got the upper hand, watch out for those scissors!”

  Shaking his head, the Spook led the way toward Downham. I’d learned a lot about Pendle in the last couple of days, and I knew it was a dangerous place to be. No doubt there was worse to come.

  The main village street meandered down the side of a steep hill. For reasons of his own, the Spook circled round to enter Downham from the north. Pendle Hill was directly ahead of us, dominating the village completely, filling half the sky with its brooding presence. Although it was already midmorning and the drizzle had come to a halt, there wasn’t a soul about.

  “Where is everybody?” I asked the Spook.

  “Hiding behind their curtains—where else, lad?” he said with a grim smile. “No doubt minding everyone else’s business but their own!”

  “Will they tell the witches that we’re here?” I asked, watching a lace curtain twitch to my left.

  “I’ve brought us here by something of a serpentine way so as to avoid certain places where sight of us wouldn’t go unreported. No doubt there’ll be a few spies here anyway, but Downham is still the safest place in the whole district. That’s why we’re going to make it our base. For that we owe thanks to Father Stocks. He’s been the parish priest here for over ten years and has done all he can to battle with the dark and keep it at a distance. But from what he tells me, even this village is now under threat. People are leaving. They’re getting clear of Pendle altogether—some of them good families that have made this their home for generations.”

  The small parish church was to the south of the village, just beyond a stream. It was set within a huge graveyard filled with rows and rows of tombstones of every conceivable shape and size. Many were horizontal, almost hidden by the long grass and weeds; others jutted out of the ground at any angle but the vertical, resembling rotting teeth. In all, this cemetery spoke of neglect, the headstones weather-beaten, their inscriptions faded or covered in lichen and moss.

  “The graves could do with a bit of a tidy up,” observed the Spook. “I’m surprised Father Stocks has allowed it to fall into neglect like this. . . .”

  The presbytery was a good-sized cottage set back under a dozen or so yew trees about a hundred yards beyond the church. We reached it by walking in single file along a narrow, overgrown path that snaked through the tombstones. When we arrived at the front door, the Spook rapped hard on it three times. After a few moments we heard the sound of heavy boots on flags; then a bolt was drawn back and the door opened. Father Stocks stood there, a look of astonishment on his face.

  “Well, this is a surprise, John,” he said, relaxing his face into a smile. “I wasn’t expecting you until later in the week. Anyway, come in, the both of you, and make yourselves at home!”

  We followed him through to the kitchen at the back of the house, and he invited us to sit down. “Have you eaten?” he asked as we each pulled a chair away from the table. “What about you, young Tom? You look hungry enough to eat a horse!”

  “I am hungry, Father,” I told him, glancing toward the Spook, “but I’m not sure if we should be eating. . . .”

  The Spook always insists that we fast when working because it makes us less vulnerable to the power of the dark, so we usually make do with a nibble of County cheese to keep our strength up. A spook’s life is not only scary, dangerous, and lonely; it often means going hungry as well.

  “It wouldn’t do any harm to eat breakfast,” said the Spook, to my surprise. “We need information before anything else, and I was hoping, Father, that you’d be the man to get it for us. So we won’t get much done ourselves until tomorrow. This could be the last square meal we eat for quite some time, so, yes, please, I think we’ll accept your kind invitation.” />
  “So be it!” exclaimed Father Stocks, his face lighting up. “I’ll be happy to help in any way I can, but let’s cook first and talk while we eat. I’ll make the three of us a hearty breakfast, but I might need a hand. Know how to cook sausages, young Tom?”

  I was about to say “Yes,” but the Spook shook his head at that and came to his feet. “Nay, Father, don’t let that lad o’ mine near a frying pan! I’ve tasted his cooking before, and my stomach’s still not forgiven me!”

  I smiled but didn’t protest, and while the Spook was busy frying the sausages, Father Stocks got two other pans going—one sizzling away with thick rashers of bacon and slices of onion, the other struggling to contain a large cheese omelet, which was gradually turning a golden brown.

  I sat at the table while they cooked, hungry but guilty at the same time. My mouth was watering at the smells wafting toward me, but I couldn’t stop worrying about Ellie, Jack, and Mary, wondering if they were all right. They certainly wouldn’t be getting a breakfast like this. I wondered how Alice was doing, too. I’d been half expecting to find that she’d arrived at Downham with news. I hoped she hadn’t run into trouble.

  “Well, young Tom,” said Father Stocks, “there’s something you can do to help without damaging your master’s stomach too much. Butter us some bread, and make it a big plateful!”

  I did as I was told, and no sooner had I finished than three hot plates arrived at the table, each heaped with bacon, sausages, and fried onion next to a big slice of omelet.

  “Had a good journey here from Chipenden?” Father Stocks asked as we tucked into the food.

  “I’m not complaining, but things have taken a turn for the worse since we last spoke,” answered the Spook.

  While we ate, my master told Father Stocks about the raid on Jack’s farm and the abduction of my brother and his family. He also mentioned that Alice had traveled on ahead to Pendle. By the time he’d finished the tale, we’d cleared our plates.

  “I’m sorry to hear such news, Tom,” Father Stocks said, laying his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll remember them in my prayers.”

  At those words, an icy chill ran down my spine. He was talking as if they were already dead. In any case, what good were prayers? We’d delayed too long already and needed to start searching. I felt the heat in my face as I started to grow angry. Only politeness made me bite my tongue. Although my dad was dead now, I could still use the manners he’d taught me.

  It was as if Father Stocks had read my mind. “Don’t you worry, Tom,” he said in a kindly voice. “We’ll put things to rights. Heaven helps those who help themselves—I’m a great believer in that. I’ll do what I can, and maybe young Alice will arrive with news before the day’s out.”

  “I’d hoped that Alice might have called here already,” I said.

  “So had I, lad. So had I,” said the Spook in a tone of voice that started the anger rising within me again. “Let’s hope she’s not up to any mischief—”

  “That’s unfair after all she’s done,” I protested. “She’s risking her life just by being here.”

  “Aren’t we all?” asked the Spook. “Look, lad, I don’t mean to be hard on the girl, but this will be just about the biggest temptation she’s ever faced. I’m not sure it was a good idea letting her come here on her own. Our families play a big part in shaping what we become, and Alice’s family are witches. If she ends up back with them, anything could happen!”

  “From what you’ve told me about her, John, I think we can be optimistic,” said Father Stocks. “We may not all have faith in God, but that shouldn’t stop us having faith in people. Anyway, she’s probably on her way here right now. I might bump into her on my travels.”

  Father Stocks suddenly grew in my estimation. He was right. The Spook should have more faith in Alice.

  “I’ll be off to see what I can find out,” the priest continued. “There are still a few good folks in these parts who will want to help an innocent family. By nightfall I’ll know where Jack and Ellie are being held, you mark my words. But first there’s something else I can do to help.” He left the table and returned with a pen, a sheet of paper, and a small bottle of ink. He pushed back the plates, uncorked the ink, dipped in the pen, and began to sketch. After a few moments I realized that he was drawing a map.

  “Well, Tom, no doubt you had a good look at your master’s maps of this district before you set off—remembering to fold them properly afterward, of course!” Father Stocks said, smiling toward the Spook, then continuing to draw. “But this little sketch might simplify things and help set a few locations into your mind.”

  The drawing only took him a couple of minutes; he finished by adding in a few place names before pushing it across the table toward me.

  “Can you follow it?” he asked.

  After a couple of seconds I nodded. He’d sketched out the rough shape of Pendle Hill and the positions of the main villages.

  “Downham, to the north of the hill, is the safest place in Pendle—” said the priest.

  “I told the lad that on the way here,” the Spook interrupted, “and it’s all due to you, Father Stocks. We’re grateful to have a relatively safe place to work from.”

  “Nay, John, I couldn’t sleep at night if I took all the credit for that. I’ve certainly done my best to keep the dark at a distance, but historically, as you well know, the danger has always been to the southeast of the hill. So traveling south from here, it’s always safest to take the western route and keep the hill to your left. Of course, Gore Rock, marked there to the southwest, can be dangerous, too. It’s where witches sometimes carry out sacrifices. But can you see those three villages, Tom? Is my handwriting clear?”

  “I think so,” I said, and read them out to him just to be sure—“Bareleigh, Roughlee, and Goldshaw Booth.” They were the villages that Alice had told me about. Each was home to a witch clan.

  “That’s right, Tom, and there, not too far from Goldshaw Booth, on the western edge of Crow Wood, is Malkin Tower. My own name for the area is the Devil’s Triangle, because that’s where the devil’s work is done. Somewhere within that triangle of villages is where we’ll find your brother and his family, depending on which clan has taken him—of that I’m sure.”

  “What’s Witch Dell?” I asked, pointing to the place just north of Bareleigh, marked with a cross.

  “Witch Dell?” asked the Spook, raising his eyebrows. “That’s a new one on me!”

  “Once again, John, it’s my own name for a danger spot. Things have changed for the worse since you were last here. That dell has become the refuge of a number of dead witches. Some have escaped from unhallowed graves; others have simply been taken there after death and abandoned by their families. They usually sleep during the daylight hours, burrowed down into the loam beneath the trees, but come out at night to hunt for the warm blood of living creatures. So when the sun goes down, even roosting birds aren’t safe in that dell. It’s certainly a place to keep well clear of, and the locals do their best. Even so, a few poor souls still go missing each year. Two or three of the witches are very strong and travel miles from the dell each night. Others, fortunately, don’t move more than a few paces from their lairs—”

  “How many do you reckon there are?” asked the Spook.

  Father Stocks frowned. “A dozen at least. But as I said, only two or three have been seen outside the dell.”

  “I should have come back sooner!” said the Spook, shaking his head. “It should never have been allowed to get so bad. I fear I’ve failed in my duty—”

  “Nonsense. You weren’t to know. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters,” Father Stocks replied. “But yes, the situation is desperate—something has to be done before Lammas.”

  “When you came to Chipenden,” said the Spook, “I asked you a question, but you never gave me a proper answer. So I’ll ask you again. What do you think the covens are going to attempt at Lammas?”

  Father Stocks pushed back hi
s chair, came slowly to his feet, and sighed. “All right, I’ll spit it out!” he said, raising his voice slightly. “What is it that’s brought two covens together and might just make a third join them? What could possibly make them put aside their ancient enmity? Most can’t stand the sight of one another and have come together only once in the past thirty years—”

  “Aye,” said the Spook with a grim smile. “They came together to curse me!”

  “That they did, John, but this time it’s because the dark is growing in power, and I suspect that somebody or something is bringing them together. The gathering darkness will give them the opportunity to achieve something very dangerous and difficult. I think they’re going to try to raise the Fiend himself!”

  “I’d laugh, Father, if I thought you were joking,” the Spook said, shaking his head gravely. “I never taught you to believe in the Devil. Are you speaking with just your priest’s hat on?”

  “I wish I were, John. But as a spook and a priest, I believe they’re going to attempt just that. Whether they can do it or not, who knows? But two covens believe it, and the third one is being urged to join them in an attempt to try and raise the dark made flesh—the Devil himself. Some witches believe that when this world was first made, the Fiend walked among us. Now they’re going to try and bring him back so that a new age of darkness can begin.”

  I’d once talked to the Spook about the Devil. He told me that he’d begun to wonder if, after all, there was something behind all that we faced, something hidden deep within the dark. Something that grew stronger as the dark grew stronger. Well, Father Stocks certainly seemed to believe there was something in it.

  A silence filled the room, and for a few moments both men were deep in thought.

  Then Father Stocks stood up and set off without further delay, and we walked with him through the graveyard to the lych-gate in front of the church. The clouds were clearing, and the sun was warm on our backs.