There were also three large canvas bags tied at the neck with string. Mab lifted out one of these, and as she set it down on the floor, I heard the distinct clink of coins. Her eyes widened, and she hastily untied the string and plunged her hand into the bag. When she brought it out again, there was a glint of gold: Her hand was full of guineas.
“Must be a fortune here!” Mab said, her eyes almost bulging from their sockets with greed.
Quickly she checked the remaining two bags; they too were full of gold coins—enough money to buy Jack’s farm many times over. I’d never have guessed that Mam had so much money left.
“That’s one bag each!” Beth exclaimed.
This time Mab didn’t contradict her sister. Her eyes had returned to the trunk. “Money’s good to have,” she said, “but I’d bet my life that there’s something even better in here. Wonder if it’s those books? Could be lots of knowledge here—spells and things. Wurmalde wanted these trunks badly. She wanted your mam’s power. So there’s got to be something in here well worth having!”
She chose the largest of the books, the one that had intrigued me, and pulled it from the trunk, but when she opened it at a random page, she began to frown. As she flicked through, the frown became deeper.
“It’s all in a foreign language!” she exclaimed. “Can’t make head nor tail of it. Can you read this, Tom?” she demanded, thrusting the book toward me.
I knew before I looked that it wouldn’t be in Latin, because that was a language many witches were familiar with. It was Mam’s book and, quite naturally, it was in her own language—Greek. The language she’d taught me from a very early age.
“No,” I said, trying to sound convincing. “Can’t make any sense of it at all . . .”
But at that moment a small envelope fell out of the pages and spun to the floor. Mab stooped and picked it up, holding it out for me to see before tearing it open.
To my youngest son, Thomas J. Ward
She screwed up the envelope and tossed it away before unfolding the letter. She frowned again and held it out toward me.
“It’s not good enough, Tom,” she said with a sneer. “Getting into bad ways, you are. First you won’t keep to a bargain, and now you’re telling lies. Thought better of you. This letter’s written in the same language as the book. Why would a mother write to her son in a language he didn’t understand? Better tell me what it says. Otherwise the others won’t be going anywhere—except to their graves!”
I accepted the letter and began to read, the words as clear to me as if they were written in my own language.
Dear Tom,
This trunk was intended to be the first to yield to the keys.
The other trunks can be opened only in moonlight and only by your own hand. Within them my sisters sleep, and only the kiss of the moon can restore them to wakefulness. Do not fear them. They will know that you are of my blood and will watch over you, if necessary giving their lives so that you may live.
Soon the dark made flesh will walk the earth once more. But you are my own hopes made flesh and, whatever the cost in the short term, you have the will and strength to triumph in the end.
Just be true to your conscience and follow your instincts. I hope that one day we will meet again, but whatever happens, remember that I will always be proud of you.
Mam
CHAPTER XVII
Moonlight
“WELL! What does it say?” Mab demanded.
I hesitated, but I was thinking fast. Mam’s sisters? What sort of sisters slept in trunks like these? And how long had they been there? Since Mam came to the County and married Dad all those years ago? She must have brought her sisters back with her from Greece!
And I’d seen something very much like this before, back in Anglezarke. Lamias. There were two kinds of lamia witches—the domestic and the feral. The first category had been like Meg Skelton, the Spook’s true love: identical to a human woman but for a line of green and yellow scales running the length of her back. The second type were like Meg’s sister, Marcia: They scuttled about on four limbs, were covered in scales, and drank blood. Some could even fly short distances. Could it be that Mam was a lamia, domestic and benign? After all, Greece was the homeland of Meg and Marcia, too. The feral Marcia had been returned home in a coffin so as not to terrify the other passengers on the boat—the Spook had used a potion to make her sleep on the journey. He’d used the same potion to make Meg sleep for months at a time.
Then I remembered how Mam used to go up to her special room once a month. She went alone, and I never asked what she did there. Had she been talking to her sisters, then putting them back to sleep in some way? I felt pretty sure that they must be feral lamias. Perhaps the two of them together would be a match for Mab and the other Mouldheels.
“Come on, I’m waiting!” Mab snapped. “My patience is running out fast.”
“It says that the other trunks can only be opened in moonlight and that I must turn the key.”
“Does it say what’s inside?”
“No hint at all, Mab,” I lied. “But it must be something special and more valuable than what we’ve already found in this trunk. Otherwise they wouldn’t be more difficult to get into.”
Mab looked at me suspiciously, so I kept talking to distract her. “What happened to the other, smaller boxes that were in Mam’s room?” I demanded. There had been lots of other boxes, all taken by the witches who’d raided the farm.
“Oh, them. Heard they were full of rubbish—cheap brooches and ornaments, that’s all. The Malkins shared ’em out among their clan.”
I shook my head sadly. “That’s not right. They belonged to me. I had a right to see them.”
“Just feel lucky that you’re still alive,” Mab said.
“Will you let Alice and my family go now?” I pressed her.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Jack’s ill—he must have help. They need a horse and cart to get him to a doctor as quickly as possible. If he dies, I’ll never open the trunks for you. Come on, Mab, keep your word. You’ve already got one trunk, and I’ll open the other two tonight, as soon as the moon comes up. Please.”
Mab stared hard into my eyes for a moment, then turned to her sisters. “Go and tell the others to let them go.”
Jennet and Beth hesitated.
“He needs that cart, Mab. He can’t walk,” I persisted.
Mab nodded. “Then he shall have it. Just see that you keep your word. Go on, jump to it!” she snapped, turning to her sisters. “And tell ’em to hurry those masons up!”
“Masons?” I asked as Beth and Jennet left to do their sister’s bidding.
“Masons to fix the wall. The Malkins are finished here. This tower belongs to us now. Times have changed. We rule Pendle now!”
Within an hour a team of four masons had arrived and set to repairing the wall. The men seemed nervous and were clearly working under duress. They obviously wanted to get the job over and done with as quickly as possible and displayed great strength, energy, and dexterity in heaving the heavy stones back into position.
Others from the clan went down the steps under orders to secure the lower regions of the tower. They were soon back, reporting that, as expected, the Malkins had left the lower dungeons and escaped through the tunnel. Mab gave orders for guards to stay down there on watch. When the Malkins found out that the soldiers had left the vicinity, they might try to return.
Before nightfall the breach in the wall had been repaired, but Mab had one more job for the masons. She made them carry the two heavy locked trunks up the narrow steps and onto the battlements above. That done, they left hurriedly, and the drawbridge was lowered, sealing us within the tower.
In addition to Mab and her sisters there were another ten witches, who made up the numbers of the coven. But there were also four older women, whose job was to cook and carry for the rest. They made a thin potato and carrot soup, and despite the fact that the members of a witch clan had made it, I
accepted a plateful. But fearing poison or some potion that would place me under Mab’s control, I checked that it was ladled from the same cooking pot as everyone else’s. When they had started, I dunked bread into it and began to eat.
After supper I would have liked to start sorting through Mam’s trunk, but Mab would have none of it and ordered me to keep away. “You’ll get your fill of them trunks before you’re finished,” she told me. “Months it’s going to take you, to translate all those books.”
Soon after sunset, carrying a lantern, Mab led me up toward the battlements, Beth and Jennet at my heels. At the top of the steps we passed into another room with a wooden floor, in which the mechanism for controlling the drawbridge was housed. It consisted of a large wooden capstan wheel with a system of wooden cogs and gears and a ratchet attached to a chain. Turning the wheel would wrap the chain around it and raise the bridge.
Beyond that we emerged onto the flagged battlements, which provided a good view on all sides. Pendle Hill rose high above the trees of Crow Wood and, because of the meadowland between the tower and the edge of those encircling trees, nobody could approach unseen. The gunners had gone off to war and now the tower was in the hands of the Mouldheels, theoretically unassailable. But then I glanced toward the trunks. Little did they know what waited within.
As it grew dark, the lantern seemed to grow brighter. I knew that the moon would already be above the horizon, but there was a stiff breeze from the west, driving low rainclouds across the sky. It might be some time before moonlight fell upon the trunks, if at all.
“Looks like rain, Mab,” I told her. “Might have to wait until tomorrow night.”
Mab sniffed the air and shook her head. “Moon’ll show its face soon enough,” she said. “Until then, we’ll wait up here.”
I stared out into the darkness, listening to the distant whine of the wind through the trees, thinking of all that had happened in the few days since we’d reached Pendle. Where was the Spook now? And what could he hope to do against the power of the witch clans? Poor Father Stocks was dead, and my master couldn’t hope to shift the Mouldheels from Malkin Tower alone, never mind deal with the others—especially the Malkins. And I needed to talk to the Spook about the existence of Wurmalde, who was a real puzzle. How did she fit into the complex society of the Pendle witches? She’d talked about taking revenge on Mam, but what exactly was she trying to achieve in Pendle?
I glanced at Mab, who was staring up at the night sky. “You’ve done well, Mab,” I flattered her, hoping to get her talking so that I could learn more about what we faced. “You’ve beaten the Malkins. And even with the help of the Deanes, they’ll never be able to get you out of this tower. It’s yours forever now.”
“It’s been a long time coming,” Mab agreed, looking at me a little suspiciously. “But I saw my chance and I made it happen. With your help, Tom. We’re a good team, me and you, don’t you think?”
I wasn’t sure what she was driving at. She couldn’t be taking a shine to me. Not me, a Spook’s apprentice. No, it had to be fascination and glamour she was trying to use on me. I decided to ignore her and change the subject.
“What do you know of Wurmalde?” I asked.
“Wurmalde!” Mab said, spitting onto the flags. “She’s nothing but an incomer. A meddler, she is, and the first who’ll get bad things happening to her. I’ll sort her.”
“But why would she come here when she’s not from one of the clans? What does she want?”
“She’s a loner. Don’t come from a good witch clan herself, so attaches herself to others. And for some reason she wants to be in this county and to raise the power of the dark—to strike out at you and your mam, I think. She’s mentioned your mam; really seems to hate her for some reason.”
“I think they knew each other back in Greece,” I said.
“Your mam a witch?” Mab asked me directly.
“Of course not,” I said, but I wasn’t convincing myself, let alone Mab. Powers, potions, bone buttons and now two feral lamia “sisters.” I was starting to believe deep down that my mother was indeed a lamia witch—a benign, domesticated one, but a witch nonetheless.
“You sure about that?” asked Mab. “Just seems to me that Wurmalde’s pretty interested in the power of your mam’s trunks, and your mam seems to have been very clever at stopping anyone from getting into them. How could she do that if she wasn’t a witch?”
I ignored her.
“Don’t worry,” Mab teased. “Nothing to be ashamed of, being related to a witch.”
“My mother’s not a witch,” I protested.
“So you say, dearie,” she said, making it obvious she didn’t believe a word of it. “Well, whatever your mam is, she’s Wurmalde’s enemy, and Wurmalde wants the three covens to join together at Lammas to raise Old Nick and destroy you and all your mother’s hopes, I think. But don’t fret, the Mouldheels won’t be part of it, not us. No, not despite all her attempts to persuade us. We’ve left ’em to their folly. Going too far, it is,” she said, shaking her head furiously. “Too much of a risk.”
Mab fell silent, but now I was really curious. I wanted to know what she meant about “going too far.”
“A risk? What do you mean by that?” I asked.
It was Beth who answered for her sister. “Because once you done that, there’s no going back, and he’s in the world to stay. And you might not be able to control him. That’s the big risk you take. Once Old Nick gets back into the world, there’s no end to the mischief he might do. Got a mind of his own, Nick has. Lose control of him and he could make us suffer, too.”
“But don’t the Malkins and Deanes know that?” I asked.
“Of course they do!” Mab snapped. “That’s why they want us to join ’em. First of all, if three clans work together, there’s more chance of raising Old Nick in the first place. Then, if it’s successful, with three covens working together we might be able to keep him in check. But it’s still a risk, and the others are fools to be taken in by Wurmalde’s promises of increased power and darkness. And why should I work with them anyway? As I said, the Mouldheels are the power in Pendle now, so let the others go to the Devil!”
For a moment there was silence as we both stared into the darkness, until suddenly the moon came out from behind a cloud. It was a thin crescent, a waning moon with horns facing toward the west. The light was pale, but it shone on the trunks, casting their shadows across the battlements.
Mab held out the keys and pointed to the nearer trunk. “Keep your promise, Tom,” she said softly. “You won’t regret it. We could have a good life here—you and me.”
She smiled at me and her eyes glittered like stars, her hair gleaming with an unearthly silver light. It was only moonlight, I knew that, but for a moment she was radiant. Although I understood exactly what she was trying to do, I could still feel the power she was exerting. Glamour and fascination were being used against me: Mab was trying to bind me to her will. Not only did she want me to open the trunks; she wanted me to do it willingly and happily.
I smiled back and accepted the keys. Her efforts were wasted. I was already both willing and happy to open the two trunks. And she was about to get the biggest surprise of her life.
Apart from the largest key, the one that opened the door to my room back at the farm, they appeared identical. But the second one I tried opened the lock with a click. I took a deep breath and slowly raised the lid. Inside the trunk, folded back upon itself, was something large. It was wrapped in a piece of sailcloth and bound with string. Instinctively I placed my hand on the upper surface, expecting to feel movement, but then I remembered that the creature within would sleep until touched by the light of the moon.
“There’s something big in here, Mab,” I said. “I’ll need a hand to lift it out. But I’ll open the other trunk first and see what’s inside that.”
Whether Mab agreed or not, I was already trying to open the second trunk. If they were indeed feral lamias, then one would s
urely be enough to see off the Mouldheels. But I wanted them both awake to make absolutely sure. I raised the second lid. . . .
“Same thing here, Mab. Let’s lift them both out.”
Mab didn’t look too sure, but Beth leaned forward eagerly and we heaved the long, heavy bundle from the trunk and placed it on the flags. Stretched out, it was about one and a half times the length of my own body. Jennet, not to be outdone, helped me with the second trunk. That completed, I smiled up at Mab.
“Cut through the string, Jennet,” I said.
Jennet pulled her knife from her belt and obliged, and I started to unwrap the sailcloth. I’d almost finished when disaster struck!
The moon went behind a cloud.
Mab brought the lantern across and held it at my shoulder. My heart sank, my confidence evaporating. I hesitated, hoping that the moon would come out again. Would the Mouldheels know what a lamia was? They might have heard of them, but hopefully, as lamia witches weren’t native to the County, they wouldn’t have seen one in the feral state. But if they did guess correctly, the two dormant creatures would be at the three sisters’ mercy. Once they’d used their blades, the kiss of the moon would come too late.
“Hurry up, Tom!” Mab ordered impatiently. “Let’s see what we have here. . . .”
When I didn’t move, she reached down and snatched back the cloth, immediately giving a little gasp.
“What’s this then? Never seen anything like this before!” she exclaimed.
I’d been face-to-face with Marcia, Meg Skelton’s feral sister. I remembered well her cruel face, white and bloated, with red blood dribbling from her chin. I also remembered her long greasy hair, scaly back, and four limbs ending in sharp claws. This creature was larger than Marcia. I was pretty sure that it was a feral lamia, but not the kind that just scuttled about on the ground. This was the other type, which I’d never seen before. The one that could fly short distances. It had black feathered wings folded across its back and also short feathers on its upper body.
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