The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

by Joseph Delaney

  No sooner had I spoken than Beth and Jennet both fell gracefully off their tree stumps and rolled backward down the hill again. Once more I could hear them crashing through the bushes and brambles all the way to the bottom of the slope, but this time they neither shrieked nor laughed.

  When I looked at Mab, her eyes were blazing with anger.

  Quickly I reached down and snatched up my rowan staff, ready to strike her if need be. Mab looked at the raised staff, flinched and took two swift steps back.

  “You will belong to me one day,” she said, her lips tightening into a snarl. “Just as sure as my name’s Mab Mouldheel! And it’ll happen much sooner than you think. I want you, Thomas Ward, and you’ll be mine for sure when Alice is dead!”

  With that she turned away, picked up both lanterns, and walked back down the slope into the trees by a different path from the one we’d used to ascend.

  I was shaking all over in reaction to her words. I’d been talking to three witches from the Mouldheel clan. Mab had certainly known where to find me—Alice must have told her. So where was Alice? I felt sure Mab and her sisters must know.

  One part of me wanted to head north back to Downham and tell the Spook what had happened. But I hadn’t liked the way Mab had snarled as she’d issued her threat. Alice was surely their prisoner, in their power. They might kill her as soon as they got back. So I had no choice. I had to follow the sisters.

  I’d noted the direction that Mab had taken. She’d gone south. Now I had to follow her and her sisters down the more dangerous eastern side of the hill; follow them toward the three villages that made up the three points of what Father Stocks had called the Devil’s Triangle.

  CHAPTER VI

  The Cellar of Mirrors

  I was a seventh son of a seventh son, so a witch couldn’t sniff me out at a distance. That meant I could follow the three sisters safely as long as I didn’t get too close. I would also have to watch out for other, even more dangerous members of the Mouldheel family.

  At first it was easy. I could see the glow of the lanterns and hear the three girls moving through the wood ahead of me. They were making quite a lot of noise: voices were raised and they seemed to be arguing. At one point, despite all my care, I stepped on a twig. It broke with a loud crack and I froze to the spot, afraid that they might have heard me. I needn’t have worried. They were making their own even louder noises ahead, and were completely unaware that I was following.

  When we left the wood, it became more difficult. We were in the open, on a bleak slope of moorland. The moonlight increased the risk that I would be seen, so I had to stay much farther back, but soon I realized I had another advantage. The three girls came to a stream and followed its banks as it changed direction, before it curved back in a bow shape and allowed them to continue on their way south. That confirmed for me that they were indeed witches. They couldn’t cross running water!

  But I could! So instead of always following behind, I could take a more direct route and, to some extent, anticipate where they were going. As they dropped down off the moor, I began to travel parallel with them, keeping to the shadows of hedgerows and trees whenever possible. This went on for some time, but the terrain gradually became rougher and more difficult, and then I saw another dark wood ahead, a thick clump of trees and bushes in a valley that ran parallel to Pendle Hill on my right.

  At first I thought it would be no problem. I simply slowed down and allowed them to get ahead again, following at a safe distance as before. It was only after I’d moved into the trees that I realized that something was now very different. The three sisters were no longer talking loudly as they had been in the previous wood. In fact they weren’t making any noise at all. An eerie silence prevailed, as if everything was holding its breath. There hadn’t been more than a slight breeze before, but now not even a twig or a leaf was moving. Nor were there any of the rustling noises made by small creatures of the night, such as mice or hedgehogs. Either everything in the wood really was immobile, holding its breath, or the wood was empty of all life.

  It was then, with a sudden shiver of horror, that I realized exactly where I was and why things were as they were. This was a small wooded valley. And another name for a small wooded valley is a dell.

  I was walking through what Father Stocks had called Witch Dell! This was where all the dead witches gathered to prey on those who passed through or even skirted the wood. Lives were lost here every year. I gripped my rowan staff and kept perfectly still, listening carefully. Nothing seemed to be approaching, but there was soft loam under my feet, and decades of dank autumns had provided perfect hiding places for dead witches. One could already be close by, hidden under the leaves. Step forward and she would grab my ankle! One quick bite and she’d start sucking my blood, growing stronger by the mouthful.

  I could use my rowan staff and probably manage to get myself free—that’s what I told myself. I’d have to be quick. As the witch waxed stronger, my own strength would be waning. And what if I met one of the really strong witches? Father Stocks said there were two or three who roamed far beyond the dell in search of victims. I put this thought firmly from my mind.

  I began to move forward slowly and cautiously. As I did so, I wondered why the three sisters had now become so silent. Could it be that they were also worried about attracting the dead? Why should that be? Weren’t they all witches together? And then I remembered what Father Stocks had said about the ancient animosity between the three covens. Although there’d been some intermarriage between the Deanes and the Malkins, the clans only ever gathered together when they had to combine their dark power. Maybe the Mouldheel sisters were afraid of meeting a dead witch from a rival family.

  It was a tense, scary time; I risked being attacked at any moment. But at last, with a sigh of relief, I reached the far edge of the dell. I was very glad to be out from the shadow of those trees. Once more I was bathed in moonlight, watching the bobbing lanterns ahead of me and hearing the sisters’ voices raised as if in anger. After ten minutes or so, they were descending a steep slope and I could see the glow from a fire lighting up the sky ahead. I hung back for a while, then took refuge in a copse of ash and alder. It was ready for thinning and cutting and so provided a good hiding place. Moments later, I was peering out from a thicket of saplings with a clear view of what was taking place.

  Directly below was a row of terraced cottages—eight in all—and on the edge of the wide flagged backyard a big bonfire was blazing away, sparks dancing up into the night sky. In the near distance, among the trees, was another large cluster of cottages. This was probably Bareleigh, where the Mouldheel clan lived.

  In all, there were about two dozen people below me, an even mixture of men and women, and most were seated on the flags or grass, eating from plates with their fingers. It seemed harmless enough—just a few friends gathered together on a warm summer’s night to eat in the moonlight. Voices carried on the air, mixed in with the sound of laughter.

  Toward the edge of the fire, a cauldron was suspended from a metal tripod, and as I watched, a woman ladled something into a bowl, then walked across and offered it to a girl seated at some distance from the others. Her head was bowed and she was staring down at the flags, but as the bowl was held out to her, she looked up and shook her head firmly three times.

  It was Alice! Her hands were free, but I saw a glint of metal reflecting the firelight: Her feet were bound together with a padlock and chain.

  No sooner had I noticed her than the three sisters reached the yard. As they joined the gathering, everyone fell silent.

  Without a word to anyone, Mab walked directly over to the fire. She seemed to spit into it, and immediately it died right down. The sparks stopped dancing, the flames flickered low, and the embers glowed momentarily before fading to gray, all in the space of a few moments. Lanterns still lit the scene brightly, though, and at a signal from Mab, I saw one of the men walk across, lift Alice over his shoulder, and carry her through the open back d
oor into the end cottage to my left.

  My heart was in my mouth. I remembered what Mab had said about me belonging to her once Alice was dead. Were they going to kill her now? Had the man taken her inside to do just that?

  I was on the verge of running down the hill to the cottage to try and help her. It would have been hopeless with so many people there, but I couldn’t just stand by and let Alice be harmed. I waited for a few moments, anxiety gnawing away at my insides. At last I could stand it no longer, but before I could move the man reappeared alone at the door of the cottage and locked it behind him. Immediately Mab, with her two sisters walking just behind, led the gathering out through a gate and onto a track beyond the cottage which ran parallel to a stream.

  I waited until everyone had disappeared into the distance, toward what looked to be the center of Bareleigh. Then I descended the hill cautiously. There was a chance that someone was still inside the cottage, someone who’d been there all along. I mean, would they go off and leave Alice unguarded? It seemed very unlikely.

  When I reached the door, I unlocked it with the special key Andrew had given me.

  I eased the door open slowly and stepped directly into a cluttered kitchen. By the light of three black wax candles, I saw that the sink was heaped with unwashed plates and pots and the flagged floor was littered with animal bones and splattered with congealed fat and grease. As I closed the door gently behind me, my eyes darted around the room, alert for danger. It seemed deserted, but I didn’t move. I just leaned back against the door, the stink of rancid fat and rotting food in my nostrils, and breathed slowly to calm my nerves, listening very carefully all the while. The rest of the cottage sounded empty, but it was almost too silent. It seemed hard to believe that Alice would make no sound at all. At that thought, my heart began to hammer in my chest again and my throat tightened with fear. What if she’d already been killed? What if the man had brought her into the house for just that purpose?

  The horror of that thought started me moving. I would have to check each room in turn. It was a small single-story cottage, so there was no upstairs to investigate. The inner door opened into a tiny, cramped room; on the bed were creased, dirty sheets, and another black candle flickered on the window ledge. There was no sign of Alice. Where could she be?

  Beyond the bed, set into the far wall, was another door. I turned the handle, eased it open, and stepped through to find myself in the living room.

  One glance told me that I wasn’t alone! To my right was the hearth, where the embers of a coal fire gleamed. But directly facing me, sitting hunched at a table, was a witch with wild eyes and a mass of frizzy white hair. In her left hand was a candle stub with a flickering flame that gave off a lot of smoke. Instinctively I raised my staff as her mouth opened and she began to shout, shaking her fist toward me. But there was no sound, and instantly I realized that the witch wasn’t actually in the room with me. I was looking into a large mirror. She was using it to watch from a distance.

  How far off was she? Miles away or close at hand? Wherever she was, using another mirror, she might well be able to tell the Mouldheels that there was an intruder in the cottage. How long before somebody returned?

  Below the mirror and to my left I could see narrow steps leading down into the darkness. There must be a cellar. Could Alice be down there?

  Quickly I pulled my tinderbox and a candle stub from my breeches pockets. Moments later, ignoring the witch, who was still ranting silently in the mirror, I was on my way down the steps, candle in my right hand, staff in my left. There was a locked door at the bottom, but my key made short work of that. I eased it open and let the candle illuminate the room.

  Relief washed over me as I saw Alice sitting with her back against the wall next to a heap of coal. She seemed unhurt. She looked up, opening her mouth to speak, fear etched into her face. Then she recognized me and sighed with relief.

  “Oh, Tom! It’s you. I thought they were coming to kill me.”

  “It’s all right, Alice,” I told her. “I’ll have you free in a minute.”

  I knelt down, and it really was but the work of a moment to unlock the padlock with my key and ease the chains from Alice’s legs. So far things were going really well. But when I helped her to her feet, she was shaking and still seemed fearful. It was then that I realized there was something odd about the cellar. It was too bright. One candle shouldn’t have lit it so well.

  As I came to my feet, I saw why. Fastened to each of the four walls, at about the height of my own head, was a large mirror set in an ornate black wooden frame. The mirrors were reflecting the candle back, intensifying the light. But then, to my horror, I saw something else: In each mirror was a face staring out at me, eyes filled with spite.

  Three were women—witches with wild, malevolent eyes and thick, unkempt hair—but the fourth looked like a child. And it was that fourth image that held my gaze, fixing me to the spot so that I felt unable to move. The head was small—that’s why I’d assumed it was a boy—but the features were those of a man, completely bald and with a hooked nose. For a moment the image was still, frozen in time like a portrait, but as I watched, the mouth widened like an animal’s jaws getting ready to savage its prey. The teeth within were razor-sharp needles.

  Who or what it was I had no idea, but it scared me badly—I had to get out of that cellar. All four figures were watching us. They now knew that I’d released Alice. I blew out the candle and returned it to my pocket.

  “Come on, Alice,” I said, seizing her hand. “Let’s get away from here!”

  With those words I began to lead her up the steps, but either she was afraid to go or was weakened in some way because, as I climbed, she seemed to drag and her hand tried to pull me back.

  “What are you doing, Alice?” I demanded. “They could be back at any moment!”

  Alice shook her head. “Ain’t that easy. Did more than just chain me. Bound here, I am. Won’t get much farther than the yard anyway. . . .”

  “A spell of binding?” I asked, halting and turning to face her on the steps. I already knew the answer. Mab had said she was bound—she obviously hadn’t been lying.

  Alice nodded, her face desperate. “There’s a way to get me free of it, but it ain’t going to be easy. Not easy at all. Got a lock of my hair, they have. Twisted back on itself. It needs to be burned. That’s the only way—”

  “Where will it be?”

  “Mab has it ’cause she cast the spell.”

  “We’ll talk outside,” I said, pulling Alice up again. “Don’t worry, I’ll find a way.”

  I tried to sound cheerful, but my heart was sinking toward my boots. What hope had I of getting the lock of hair away from Mab, with so many others to help her?

  Somehow, by pulling and tugging, I managed to get Alice to the top of the cellar steps. The witch was no longer peering out through the mirror. Was she on her way here now? We got through the bedroom and the kitchen and reached the back door, but when I opened it, my heart sank even lower. I could hear angry voices some distance away but getting nearer by the second. We began crossing the yard to the gate that led to the track at the front of the house. Alice was really trying, but she was gasping merely with the effort of walking, and beads of sweat were erupting on her brow. Suddenly she came to a halt.

  “Can’t go any farther!” she sobbed. “Can’t take another step!”

  “I’ll carry you!” I told her. “Mab said you’re bound for a hundred paces. If I can get you beyond that, maybe you’ll be all right.” And without waiting for a reply I caught her by the legs and heaved her up onto my right shoulder. Gripping my staff in my left hand, I went through the open gate, crossed the track, then plunged through the fast-flowing stream to the far bank. Now I felt better. Witches couldn’t cross running water, so I’d put a barrier between us and pursuit. They’d have to find a different route, maybe going miles out of their way. It had given us a head start back to Downham.

  It was hard carrying Alice, and she k
ept moaning as if in pain. So I called out to her, “Are you all right, Alice?”

  Her only reply was to give another groan, but there was nothing for it but to keep moving, so I gritted my teeth and strode on, heading north, with Pendle Hill on my left. I knew I would soon reach Witch Dell, so I moved to my right, farther east, hoping to give it as wide a berth as possible. Soon I came upon another stream. Hearing no sounds of pursuit, I eased Alice from my shoulder and down onto the grass at the water’s edge. To my dismay, her eyes were closed. Was she asleep or unconscious?

  I called her name several times but received no response. I tried shaking her gently, but that did no good either. So, growing more concerned by the moment, I knelt down beside the stream, cupped my hands, and filled them with cold water. Next I allowed the water to drip and then flow onto Alice’s forehead. She gave a gasp and sat up straight, her eyes wild and fearful.

  “It’s all right, Alice. We’ve gotten away. We’re safe—”

  “Safe? How can we be safe? Come after us, they will. Won’t be far behind.”

  “No,” I told her. “We forded the stream on the other side of the track. It’s running water, so they can’t cross.”

  Alice shook her head. “Ain’t that easy, Tom. Most witches ain’t stupid. Lots of streams flow down that big ugly hill over there,” she said, pointing toward Pendle. “Would witches live where it was so difficult to get from place to place? They have ways and means, don’t they? They’ve built ‘witch dams’ in places where they’re really needed. Turn a handle and pulleys lower a big wooden board down into the water, cutting off the flow from upstream. Of course, it don’t take water that long to back up and flow around the board, but it’s more than enough time to allow a few witches to cross. They won’t be that far behind, if I’m not mistaken!”

  No sooner had Alice finished talking than I heard someone shout from beyond the trees to our rear. It sounded like they were on our trail all right, and closing in.