At last the bailiffs must have grown weary of being so close to the gun. They dragged me to my feet and walked me back a hundred paces, as the sergeant had advised. After that it wasn’t so bad, and gradually, in the delays between firing, I realized that my hearing was coming back. I could hear the howl of the shot through the air and the crack of the iron ball striking the stones of Malkin Tower. The gunners knew their job, all right—each shot struck approximately the same point on the wall, but as yet I could see no evidence that it was being breached. Then there was another delay. They ran out of cannonballs, and the wagon bringing a fresh supply didn’t arrive until late in the afternoon. By then I was thirsty and asked one of the bailiffs for a drink of the water they were swigging from a stone jug brought by one of the soldiers.
“Aye, help yourself, lad,” he laughed. Of course, I couldn’t lift the jug, and when I knelt down close to it, intending to lick beads of water from its neck, he simply moved it out of reach and warned me to sit back down or he’d give me a thumping.
By sunset my mouth and throat were parched. Nowell had already ridden back in the direction of Read Hall. The failing light had halted work for the day and, leaving one young gunner on duty guarding the cannon, the others made a fire back among the trees and were soon busy cooking supper. Captain Horrocks had also ridden off, no doubt to find a comfortable bed for the night. The horsemen had remained to share the supper.
The bailiffs dragged me back into the trees, but we sat with Barnes and Cobden, some distance away from the soldiers’ cooking fire. The bailiffs set to making a fire of their own, but there was nothing to cook on it. After a while one of the soldiers came across and asked if we were hungry.
“We’d be very grateful if you could spare us a bite,” Barnes said. “Thought it would all be over by now and I’d be back at Read tucking into my supper.”
“That tower’s going to take a bit longer than we thought,” the soldier replied. “But don’t you worry, we’re getting there. Up close you can see the cracks. We’ll breach it afore noon tomorrow, and then we’ll see some fun.”
Soon Barnes, Cobden, and the bailiffs were tucking into platefuls of rabbit stew. With knowing winks they set a plate down on the grass in front of me.
“Tuck in, boy,” Cobden invited, but when I tried to kneel and bring my mouth down close to the plate, it was snatched up and the contents thrown into the fire.
They all laughed, thinking it a great joke, and I sat there, hungry and thirsty, watching it splutter and burn while they ate. It was getting darker and the cloud had gradually thickened toward sunset. I hadn’t much hope of sneaking away because they’d decided to take turns watching me and the soldiers would have their own sentry posted anyway.
Half an hour later, Cobden was on guard while the others slept. Barnes was snoring loudly with his mouth wide open. The two bailiffs had nodded off the moment they stretched themselves out on the grass.
I didn’t even bother trying to sleep. The board fastened to my wrists was tight and starting to hurt, and my head was churning with all the things that had happened—my encounters with Wurmalde and Tibb and my failure to save poor Father Stocks. Cobden had no intention of allowing me to drop off anyway.
“If I have to stay awake, then so shall you, boy!” he snarled, kicking my legs to drive the point home.
After a while, though, it seemed to me that he was having trouble staying awake himself. He kept yawning and pacing about before coming across to give me another kick. It was a long, uncomfortable night but then, about an hour or so before dawn, Cobden sat down on the grass with a glazed expression in his eyes. His head would nod before jerking back to wakefulness, and each time, he glared at me as if it were entirely my fault. After this had happened four or five times, his head dropped onto his chest and he began to snore gently.
I looked across toward the soldiers’ campfire. They were some distance away, so I couldn’t be absolutely certain, but none of them seemed to be moving. I realized that this was the one chance I might get to escape, but I waited a few more minutes to make sure that Cobden was fast asleep.
At last, very slowly, I stood up, afraid to make the slightest noise. But as soon as I was on my feet, to my dismay, I glimpsed something moving in the trees. It was some distance away, but something gray or white seemed to flicker. Then I saw another movement a little farther to the left. Now I was certain, so I crouched down low. I was right. Figures were moving toward me through the trees to the south. Could it be more soldiers? Reinforcements? But they didn’t march like soldiers. They seemed to glide silently, like ghosts. It was almost as if they were floating.
I had to get away before they arrived. The board clamping my wrists would affect my balance and make running difficult, but far from impossible. I was about to take a chance when I glimpsed another movement and looked back to see that I was completely surrounded. Shadowy figures were converging on us from all points of the compass. They were nearer now, and I could see that they were clad in black, gray, or white gowns—women with glittering eyes and wild, unkempt hair.
They were almost certainly witches, but from which coven? The Malkins were supposed to be inside the tower. Could it be the Deanes? Had there been moonlight, I’d have noticed their weapons earlier. It was only as they moved closer to the fire that I realized that each witch was carrying a long blade in her left hand and something else—as yet unidentifiable—in her right.
Had they come to murder us in our sleep? With that dark thought, I realized that I couldn’t just run off into the trees and leave my captors to their fates. They’d treated me badly, but they didn’t deserve to die like this. Constable Barnes wasn’t working directly for Wurmalde and probably just thought he was doing his duty. If I woke them up, there was still a chance that, in the confusion, I’d be able to escape.
So I nudged Cobden with my foot. When there was no response, I kicked him harder, but again to no avail. Even when I bent and shouted his name right into his ear, he just carried on snoring gently. I tried the same with Barnes, with no more success. At that moment the truth struck me. . . .
They’d been poisoned! Just like poor Father Stocks had been at Read Hall. Again, I was all right because I’d eaten nothing. There must have been something in the rabbit stew. How it had gotten there I didn’t know, but now it was too late because the nearest witch was no more than fifteen paces away.
I tensed, ready to run for it, choosing a space to my right, a gap between the trees that was not blocked by a witch. Then a voice called out to me, one that I recognized. It was the voice of Mab Mouldheel.
“No need to be scared, Tom. No need to run. Here to help you, we are. We’ve come to bargain.”
I turned to watch Mab walk up to the sleeping Cobden. She knelt and lowered her blade toward him.
“No!” I protested, horrified by what she was about to do. Now, for the first time, I could see what she was holding in her other hand. It was a small metal cup with a long stem—a chalice to collect the blood. The Mouldheels were witches who used blood magic. They were going to take what they needed.
“We’re not going to kill ’em, Tom!” Mab said, giving me a grim smile. “Don’t you worry yourself. We just want a little of their blood, that’s all.”
“No, Mab! Spill just one drop of blood and there’ll be no bargain between us. No deal at all.”
Mab hesitated and looked up at me in astonishment. “What are they to you, Tom? They hurt you, didn’t they? And would have taken you to Caster and hanged you without a second thought. And this one belongs to Wurmalde!” she said, spitting down at Cobden.
“I mean it, Mab!” I said, looking over at the other witches, who were gathering to listen. A second group was moving toward the soldiers’ camp, blades at the ready. “I might be prepared to do a deal, but spill one drop of blood and I’ll never agree. Call them off. Tell them to stop!”
Mab stood up, her eyes sullen. Finally she nodded. “All right, Tom, just for you.” At that, the other M
ouldheels turned their backs on the soldiers and slowly returned to join us.
It struck me now that the men at my feet could be dying anyway because of the effects of the poison. Witches are skilled at both poisons and antidotes, so there might still be time to save them.
“There’s something else,” I told Mab. “You’ve poisoned these men with that stew. Give them the antidote before it’s too late.”
Mab shook her head. “We put it in the water, not the stew, but it’s not going to kill ’em,” she said. “We just wanted them asleep while we took some of their blood. They’ll wake up with bad heads tomorrow, that’s all. I need these lads to be on their mettle in the morning. Need them to keep up the good work and blast a hole in that tower! Now follow me, Tom. Alice is waiting back yonder.”
“Alice is with you?” I asked in surprise. Mab had said the same thing when she’d lured me from Father Stocks’s house. Then, her intention had been to kill Alice.
“’Course she is, Tom. Been negotiating, we have. Lots to do before dawn—if we want to rescue that family of yours.”
“They’re dead, Mab,” I said sadly, my eyes starting to brim with tears. “We’re too late.”
“Says who?”
“Wurmalde was going to have it done if I didn’t give her the keys by midnight.”
“Don’t trust her, Tom,” Mab said dismissively. “They’re still alive. Seen ’em, I have, with my mirror. They’re not in a good way, admittedly, so we mustn’t waste any time. But you’ve got a second chance, Tom. I’m here to help.”
She turned and led the way back through the trees. That day my thoughts had been at a very low ebb. It had hardly seemed possible that I might even save myself, never mind my family. But now I was free and suddenly filled with new hope and optimism. There really was a chance that Jack, Ellie, and Mary were still alive; perhaps we’d be able to bargain with Mab and get her to show us the entrance to the tunnel that led to the dungeons below Malkin Tower.
CHAPTER XIII
The Sepulchre
ALICE was waiting at the edge of Crow Wood. Lit by the predawn light, she was sitting on a rotten log, my staff at her feet. Facing her, with watchful, distrustful eyes, were Mab’s sisters, the twins Beth and Jennet.
As I approached, Alice stood up. “You all right, Tom?” she asked anxiously. “Here, let me get that cruel thing off you. . . .”
She pulled my special key from the pocket of her dress and in moments had unlocked the board, hinged it open, and thrown it to the ground. I stood there rubbing the circulation back into my wrists, relieved to be free of it.
“Wurmalde killed poor Father Stocks and blamed me,” I told her. “They were taking me off to Caster to hang—”
“Well, they ain’t taking you anywhere now. You’re free, Tom,” Alice said.
“Thanks to me,” Mab interrupted, giving me a sly smile. “It was me, not Alice, who helped you. Just remember that.”
“Yes—thank you,” I said. “I appreciate you setting me free.”
“Free so we can bargain,” said Mab. “So let’s get on with it.”
Alice tutted. “I’ve told her what’s what, Tom,” she said, “but she won’t give me back my lock of hair. One trunk ain’t enough for her either.”
“Don’t trust you, Alice Deane—no farther than I can spit!” Mab said, turning down the corners of her mouth. “Two of you and only one of me, so I’m holding on to that lock o’ hair until this is over. Soon as I get what I want, you can have it back. But one trunk won’t do. Give me the keys to all three, and it’s a bargain. In exchange I’ll get you safely to the dungeons under yonder tower. With me to help, we can save the lives of your family. If I don’t go with you, they’ll die for sure.”
Mab looked really determined, and I sensed that I wasn’t going to get Alice’s lock of hair back until she had the keys. Which meant that, in the tunnel, Alice would still be in Mab’s power and unable to help me overcome her. I’d have to do it myself.
My dad had taught me that a bargain was a bargain and that it was wrong to go back on your word. Now I was planning to do just that, and I found it hard. Moreover, even though she’d done it for her own ends, Mab had just rescued me, which meant that I was no longer a prisoner about to be taken to Caster and hanged. I owed her something for that, but now I was about to betray her. I felt guilty on both counts but knew I had no choice. I had to deceive Mab because lives depended on it. I’d no intention of giving her even one of the trunks, but I had to be crafty.
“You can have two trunks, Mab. Two and no more. That’s my best offer.”
She shook her head firmly.
I sighed and stared at my feet, pretending to be thinking deeply about the situation. After almost a full minute I looked her straight in the eye. “My family’s lives are in danger, so I’ve no choice, have I? All right—you can have all three trunks.”
A grin split Mab’s face from ear to ear. “The keys then, and it’s a bargain,” she said, holding out her hand.
It was my turn to shake my head. “If I give you the keys now, what guarantee have I got that you’ll guide us to the dungeons? It’s no different to you being outnumbered in the tunnel, is it?” I said, gesturing toward the other witches, who were watching and listening to every word. “Once we rescue my family you can have the keys. Not a moment sooner.”
Mab turned her back on me, perhaps so that I couldn’t see her eyes or read the expression on her face. I felt certain she would cheat me if she could.
At last she turned back to face me. “That’s a bargain then,” she agreed. “But this is going to be difficult. We’ll need all our wits about us to get into that tower alive! We’ll have to work together.”
As we prepared to set off, I picked up my staff.
Mab frowned. “You don’t need that nasty stick,” she said. “Best leave it behind.”
I knew she didn’t like rowan wood and regarded it as a weapon that I could use against her, but I shook my head firmly. “My staff comes with me or the bargain’s off!” I told her.
Alice and I followed Mab in a slow widdershins curve, a counterclockwise circuit of the tower. Soon we had left Crow Wood behind but still kept the same approximate distance from Malkin Tower, which was always visible to our left against the brightening sky.
In the distance, on our right, the vast bulk of Pendle Hill was also visible and suddenly I thought I saw a light flare right on the summit, so I halted and stared toward it. Mab and Alice followed the direction of my gaze. As we watched, the light flickered before burning steadily so that it was visible for miles around.
“Looks like someone’s lit a fire right on top of the hill,” I said.
There were special hills throughout the County where beacons were sometimes lit, the signal passing from hilltop to hilltop much faster than a messenger on horseback could ride. Some of them even took the name Beacon Fell, like the one to the west of Chipenden.
Mab glanced toward me, gave a mysterious smile, then turned away and continued the journey. I shrugged at Alice, and we followed at her heels. The signal must be for somebody, I thought. I wondered if it was something to do with the witch clans.
After about fifteen minutes Mab pointed ahead. “Yonder’s where the entrance is!”
We were approaching what my dad would have called a neglected wood. You see, most woods are coppiced every few years or so, which means that some of the saplings are hacked down and taken for firewood. This also helps the wood by creating light and space for the remaining trees to develop so that both humans and trees benefit. But here, among the mature trees of this wood—oak, yew, and ash—was a dense, tangled thicket of saplings. The area hadn’t been touched for many a long year, and it made me wonder why.
Then, as we reached the edge, I suddenly glimpsed tombstones among the undergrowth and realized that the trees and vegetation concealed an abandoned graveyard.
At first glance it looked impenetrable, but a narrow path led into the thicket, and Mab plunged
in without a backward glance. That surprised me, because I knew she couldn’t set foot on holy ground. It must have been deconsecrated, probably by a bishop, and was no longer a holy place.
I followed Mab, with Alice close at my heels, and within moments I glimpsed some sort of ruin to our left, covered with moss and lichen. Only two walls were standing, and the tallest section came no higher than my shoulder.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“All that’s left of the old church,” Mab called back over her shoulder. “Most of the graves were dug up and the bones taken elsewhere and reburied. The ones they could find, anyway.”
Right at the heart of the thicket we reached a clearing, which was scattered with tombstones. Some had fallen flat, others leaned at precarious angles, and there were holes in the ground where the coffins had been dug up and removed. They hadn’t bothered to fill in the graves again, and now they were hollows filled with weeds and nettles. And there, among the tombstones, was a small stone building. A young sycamore tree had grown right through the roof, splitting the stones, its branches forming a leafy canopy. The walls were covered with ivy and the building had no windows, just a rotting wooden door.
“What’s that?” I asked. It was far too small to be a chapel.
“It’s a sepulc—” began Alice.
“He asked me,” interrupted Mab. “It’s a sepulchre, Tom. A grave house above ground, once built for a family with more money than sense. Six shelves, it has, and each one is still a resting place for dead bones. . . .”
“The bones are still there?” I asked, not sure which girl to look at. “Why didn’t they move them with the rest?”
“The family didn’t want their dead disturbed,” Mab said, walking toward the door of the sepulchre. “But they’ve been disturbed already and will be again.”
She gripped the handle and slowly eased open the door. It was already dark in the shade of the sycamore, but beyond that door was absolute blackness. I didn’t have a candle stub and tinderbox with me, but Mab reached into the left pocket of her gown and pulled out a candle of her own. It was made from black wax, and as I watched, the wick suddenly sprouted a flame.
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