Reassured by the silence, I moved through the hallway to the main staircase. I paused and untied the silver chain from around my waist, coiling it about my left wrist, ready to throw. It was still daylight, so I didn’t expect to meet Tibb yet, but I was more than ready for Wurmalde.
In the hallway I halted again and peered about. It seemed empty, so I began to climb the stairs, pausing every time the wood gave the slightest creak. At last I reached the landing. Just ten steps would bring me to Father Stocks’s room.
I crept along, opened the door, and stepped inside. The heavy curtains had been drawn across the window again and it was very gloomy, but I could just see the outline of the priest lying on the bed.
“Father Stocks,” I called softly.
When he didn’t answer, I went to the window and pulled back the curtains, flooding the room with light. I turned and walked back toward the bed. Even before I reached it, my heart had begun to beat very rapidly.
Father Stocks was dead. His mouth was wide open, unseeing eyes staring up at the ceiling. But he hadn’t died as a result of Tibb taking his blood. The handle of a dagger was protruding from his chest.
I felt upset and horrified at the same time, my mind reeling. I’d thought he would be safe enough until dark. I should never have left him alone. Had Wurmalde stabbed him? The blood on his shirt and the sheets appeared to come from the wound. Had she done it to cover up the fact that Tibb had taken his blood? But how could she hope to get away with murdering the priest?
As I was staring horrified at the body of poor Father Stocks, someone stepped into the room behind me. I turned quickly, taken by surprise. To my dismay, it was Wurmalde. She glared at me before a faint smile appeared on her face. But I’d already pulled back my left arm, readying the silver chain. I was nervous, but I also felt very confident. I remembered my last training session with the Spook, when I’d hit the practice post a hundred times without missing even once.
A fraction of a second later I’d have cracked the chain and hurled it straight at the witch, but to my astonishment another figure came in through the doorway to stand at Wurmalde’s shoulder, facing me, his forehead creased in a frown of displeasure. It was Master Nowell, the magistrate!
“A thief and murderer stands before you!” Wurmalde crowed, the accusation strong in her voice. “Look at those bloodstains on his shirt and look what he holds in his left hand. That’s silver, if I’m not mistaken.”
I stared at her, unable to speak, the words “thief” and “murderer” spinning around inside my head.
“Where did you get that silver chain from, boy?” Nowell demanded.
“It belongs to me,” I said, wondering what Wurmalde had told him. “My mam gave it to me.”
“I thought you came from a family of farmers?” he asked, the frown creasing his brow again. “Better think again, boy, because you’ll need a more convincing explanation than that. It’s hardly likely that a farmer’s wife would own such a valuable item.”
“It’s just as I told you, Master Nowell,” Wurmalde accused. “I heard a noise from your study and came downstairs in the dead of night to catch him red-handed. Otherwise you’d have lost even more than you have. He’d forced open the cabinet and was helping himself to your poor dead wife’s jewelry. He ran off before I could seize him, fleeing into the night like the thief and murderer he is, and when I went upstairs to tell Father Stocks what had happened, I found the poor priest as you see him now—dead in his bed, a knife plunged into his heart. Now, not content with murder and thieving that silver chain from somewhere, he’s sneaked back into your home to see what else he can get his hands on.”
What a fool I’d been. It had never crossed my mind that Wurmalde would kill Father Stocks and then simply blame it on me. When I opened my mouth to protest, Nowell stepped forward and seized my left shoulder in a strong grip before snatching the chain from my hand.
“Don’t waste your time trying to deny it!” he told me, his face livid with anger. “Mistress Wurmalde and I watched you from the windows just now. We saw you circling the house with your accomplice. My men are outside, searching the grounds—she won’t get far. Before this month is out you’ll both hang at Caster!”
My heart sank down into my boots. Now I knew for certain that Wurmalde had used fascination and glamour to control Nowell, and he believed everything she said. No doubt she’d broken into the cabinet and stolen the jewelry herself. But it would be a waste of time for me to accuse her. I couldn’t just come out with the whole truth either, because Nowell didn’t believe in witchcraft.
“I’m not a thief, or a murderer,” I told him. “I came to Pendle following thieves who not only stole trunks belonging to me but kidnapped my family. That’s why I’m here—”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that, boy. I intend to get to the root of the whole matter. Whether there’s a glimmer of truth in what you say or your whole story is a pack of lies, we’ll find out soon enough. Those who live in Malkin Tower have laughed at the law for far too long, and this time I intend to bring them to justice. If they’re your accomplices or it’s a case of thief against thief, we’ll find out tomorrow. There’s been a whole day’s delay persuading the military of the need to come here. But I intend to send all within that tower to Caster in chains for questioning, and you’ll be going with them, under armed guard! Now empty out your pockets. Let’s see what else you’ve thieved!”
I had no choice but to obey. Instead of stolen goods, salt and iron showered down onto the floor. For a moment Nowell looked puzzled, and I feared that he would then search my person and discover the keys around my neck, but Wurmalde gave him a strange smile and a vacant expression settled on his face before being succeeded by a new resolve. With a frown he marched me down into the servants’ quarters and locked me in a holding cell that was used by the constable. It was a small room with a stout door, and without my special key I’d no hope at all of getting out. He kept my chain, and Alice had my staff. I had nothing with which to defend myself.
As for Alice, I knew that she’d have sniffed out Nowell’s men and fled the grounds before they’d gotten anywhere near her. That was the good news. The bad news was that it was very unlikely that she’d try to get into the house and free me tonight. It was just too dangerous. And she couldn’t rescue my family without me. Time was passing, ticking toward the midnight deadline set by Wurmalde. If I didn’t give her my keys by then, she would hand Jack, Ellie, and Mary over to Grimalkin to be tortured. It didn’t bear thinking about.
But while Alice was free, I still had some hope of rescue. If not tonight, she’d do her best tomorrow—if I was still alive when dawn came. Wurmalde might visit me in the night to make one final demand for the keys. Or, worse—she might send Tibb.
A little while later, as I lay there in the darkness of the cell, I heard a key turning in the lock. Quickly I came to my feet and moved back to the far corner of the room. Dare I hope? Could it be Alice?
But to my disappointment and dismay, Wurmalde came in carrying a candle and closed the door behind her. I looked at her voluminous skirts and wondered if Tibb had entered the cell with her.
“Things may seem grim, but they’re not hopeless,” she said with a thin smile. “Everything can be put to rights. All it would take is the keys to the trunks. Give me what I want, and by tomorrow evening you could be on your way back home with your family—”
“Yes, and be hunted down as a murderer. I can never go home now.”
She shook her head. “Within days Nowell will be dead and the whole district will be in our hands. So there’ll be nobody around to accuse you. Just leave it all to me. All you have to do is give me those keys. It’s as simple as that.”
It was my turn to smile. This was her best chance so far to take the keys by force. I was alone and at her mercy. That she didn’t do so convinced me that she couldn’t. “That’s exactly what I have to do, isn’t it?” I asked. “I have to give you the keys. You can’t just take them.”
At that moment, somewhere within the house, a clock started to chime. She stared at me until the final stroke of midnight.
“Well, boy? You’ve had the time you demanded. Now give me your answer!”
“No,” I said firmly. “I won’t give you the keys.”
“Then you know the consequences of that decision,” she said softly, before leaving the cell. The key turned in the lock, and I heard her walking away. Then there was only silence and darkness. I was left alone with my thoughts, and never had they been darker.
My decision had just cost my family their lives. But what else could I have done? I couldn’t let the contents of Mam’s trunks fall into the hands of the covens. The Spook had taught me that my duty to the County came before everything else.
It was just a year and three months or so since I’d been happily working with my dad back on the farm. At the time, the work had seemed boring, but now I’d have given anything to be back there again with Dad still alive, Mam at home, and Jack and Ellie safe.
At that moment I wished that I’d never seen the Spook and never become his apprentice. I sat in the cell and wept.
CHAPTER XII
The Army Arrives
WHEN the cell was next un-locked, Constable Barnes came into the room carrying a wooden board. It was edged with metal and had two holes in it to put my hands through. I’d once seen a man placed in the stocks, and a similar device had been used to clamp his wrists, holding him to the spot while a crowd pelted him with rotten fruit.
“Hold out your hands!” Barnes commanded.
As I obeyed, he opened the hinged board and then closed the two halves over my wrists and locked it with a key, which he placed in his breeches pocket. The board was heavy and clamped my wrists tightly so that there was no chance of pulling my hands free.
“Make the slightest attempt to escape, and you’ll go in leg irons as well. Do I make myself clear?” the constable demanded aggressively, his face close to mine.
I nodded miserably, feeling close to despair.
“We’ll be meeting Master Nowell at the tower. Once we’ve battered through the walls you’ll be taken to Caster to hang with the rest. Though to my mind, hanging’s too good for a priest killer!”
Barnes gripped me by the shoulder and pushed me out into the corridor, where Cobden had been lurking just out of sight, a heavy cudgel in his hand. No doubt he’d been hoping I’d try to run for it. The two men led me out through a rear door to where the cart was waiting. The constable’s bailiffs were already sitting in the back, and they both stared at me hard. One spat on my shirtfront as I struggled to climb aboard.
Five minutes later we were through the main gates of Read Hall and heading for Goldshaw Booth and Malkin Tower beyond.
When we reached the tower, Nowell wasn’t alone. With him were five mounted soldiers wearing jackets of County red that, even before we reached the clearing, made them highly visible. As our cart trundled toward them, one rider dismounted and began to walk around the tower, peering up at the stone edifice as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.
Cobden brought the cart to a halt close to the horsemen.
“This is Captain Horrocks,” Nowell told Barnes, nodding at a stocky man with a ruddy complexion and a small, neat black mustache.
“Good morning to you, Constable,” said Horrocks, then turned his gaze to me. “Well, is this the boy Master Nowell’s been telling me about?”
“This is the lad,” Barnes said. “And others like him are inside that tower.”
“Don’t you fear,” said Captain Horrocks. “We’ll soon breach that wall. The cannon will be here at any moment. It’s the biggest gun in the County, and it’ll make short work of the business! We’ll soon call those scoundrels to account.”
That said, the captain wheeled his horse round and led his men in a slow circuit of Malkin Tower. The magistrate and Barnes followed.
The following hours passed slowly. I was sick to my heart and close to despair. I had failed to rescue my family and had to accept that they were probably being tortured or were dead inside that tower. There was no hope of Alice reaching me now, and soon I’d be on my way to Caster with any who managed to survive the bombardment of the tower. What hope did I have of a fair trial then?
Late in the morning a huge cannon arrived, pulled by a team of six big shire horses. It was a long cylindrical barrel supported on a gun carriage with two large wooden wheels rimmed with metal. The gun was brought into position quite close to our cart, and soon the soldiers had unhitched the horses and led them some distance away back among the trees. Next they began to attend to the gun, using a lever and ratchet to raise the cannon’s mouth higher and higher until they were satisfied. Then they put their shoulders to the wheels and positioned the carriage so that the barrel was pointing more directly toward the tower.
Barnes rode back to us. “Get the boy down and take the cart back to where the others are,” he instructed Cobden. “The captain says the horses are too near. The noise of the gun will drive ’em mad with fright.”
The two bailiffs dragged me down and made me sit on the grass while Cobden took the horses and cart and followed Barnes to join the others.
Soon another cart arrived, this one loaded with cannonballs, two big tubs of water, and a great heap of small canvas bags of gunpowder. All the gunners, bar the sergeant in charge, took off their red jackets, rolled up their sleeves, and set to unloading the cart, piling the ammunition carefully to form neat pyramids on either side of the gun. When the first tub of water was lifted down, the bailiff to my right joked, “Thirsty work, is it, lads?”
“This is to clean and cool the cannon!” one of the gunners called back, giving him a withering look. “It’s an eighteen-pounder, this, and without the water it’d soon overheat and explode. You wouldn’t want that to happen, now would you? Not with you sitting so close!”
The bailiff exchanged a look with his companion. Neither of them seemed at ease.
The unloading completed, that cart was also taken back into the trees, and soon after that Captain Horrocks and Nowell rode close by, heading in the same direction.
“When you’re ready, sergeant!” Horrocks called down to the gunners as he cantered past. “Just fire at will. But take this chance to sharpen up your skills. Make every shot count. As likely as not, we’ll soon be up against a much more dangerous foe.”
As the two men rode out of earshot, the bailiff, undaunted by his previous exchange with the gunner, couldn’t resist speaking up again. “Dangerous foe?” he asked. “What did he mean by that?”
“That’s not really any of your business,” the sergeant said with a swagger. “But since you ask, there’s talk of an invasion south of the County. Chances are we’ll have a more serious battle to fight than this little siege. But not a word to anyone, or I’ll cut your throat and feed you to the crows.” The sergeant turned away again. “Right, lads. Load up! Let’s show the captain what we can do!”
A gunner lifted one of the canvas bags and pushed it into the mouth of the cannon while his companion used a long rod to ram it down deep into the barrel. Another picked up a cannonball from the nearest pile and rolled it down into the barrel, ready for firing.
The sergeant turned our way again and spoke to the bailiff on my left, the one who’d kept silent. “Ever heard a big gun like this go off?” he asked.
The bailiff shook his head.
“Well, it’s loud enough to burst your eardrums. You need to cover them like this!” he instructed, clapping his hands over his ears. “But if I were you, I’d walk back about a hundred paces or so. The lad won’t be able to cover his ears, will he?” He looked at my wrists, still clamped apart by the wooden board.
“Bit o’ noise won’t matter much to
this lad. Not where he’s going. Murdered a priest, he did, and he’ll hang before the month’s out.”
“Well, in that case it won’t do no harm to give him a small dose of hell to be going on with!” said the sergeant, staring at me with open disgust as he strutted back to the cannon and gave the order to fire. One of the soldiers lit a reed fuse protruding from the top of the gun and then stood well clear with his companions. As it burned lower, the gunners covered their ears and the two bailiffs followed suit.
The noise of the cannon going off was like a thunder-clap right next to me. The gun carriage jerked back about four paces, and the shot hurtled through the air toward the tower, howling like a banshee. It fell into the moat, throwing up a spout of water as a great flock of crows soared out of the trees in the distance. A cloud of smoke hung in the air about the cannon, and as the gunners went to work again, it was like watching them through a November fog.
First they adjusted the elevation, then they cleaned the inside of the barrel with rods and sponges, which they kept dipping into the tubs of water. Eventually they fired again. This time the thunderclap felt even louder, but strangely I no longer heard the flight of the shot through the air. Nor did I hear it strike Malkin Tower. But I did see it hit the wall low down, throwing up splinters to shower back into the moat.
How long this went on I couldn’t say. At one point the bailiffs had a short conversation. I could see their lips moving, but I couldn’t hear a word they were saying. The sound of the gun had deafened me. I just hoped it wouldn’t be permanent. Smoke hung all around us now, and I had an acrid taste at the back of my throat. The pauses between firings grew longer and longer as the gunners spent more time using sponges on the barrel, which was no doubt starting to overheat.
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