Additionally, there were four limbs: The heavier lower two had sharp, deadly claws; but, by contrast, the upper limbs were much more like human arms, with delicate hands, and nails hardly longer than a woman’s. The creature was stretched out facedown, but its head was turned toward us so that half the face was visible. The visible eye was closed, but wasn’t as heavy-lidded as Marcia’s. In fact, it seemed to me that the face was attractive, with a kind of wild beauty, though there was more than a hint of cruelty about the mouth; the lower body of the creature was covered in black scales, each one coming to a fine point like a hair, the whole effect making me think of an insect.
As I said, the black wings were folded across the back, and where they met was a hint of something lighter beneath. I suspected that, like some insects, the lamia had double wings. Four wings in all, the lighter pair beneath protected by the heavier defensive armor of the outer two.
Mab sniffed loudly three times. “Dead, it looks. Dry and dead. But it don’t smell that way. Something odd here. A mystery. Are they just in a deep sleep?”
“There must be a reason for this, Mab,” I said, desperate to buy time. “It’s a puzzle to me, too. No doubt we’ll find the answers in those books we found in the other chest. But it’s my guess that the other one is the same. That they’re both familiars. Think how useful it would be to have something like this doing your bidding! Not a bad exchange for just surrendering a little of your blood. . . .”
“Wouldn’t like to think how much blood this thing here would expect,” Mab said, looking at me doubtfully and moving the lantern back a little way so the creature’s face was in shadow once more. “Put ’em back in the trunks,” she said, looking at her sisters. “Hurry up, Beth. And you help her, Jennet. They’re horrible things, and I don’t like the look of ’em one bit. Feel much better once they’re safely back under lock and key.”
Obediently Beth seized the edge of the canvas, no doubt intending to wrap up the creature before putting it back in the trunk. But at that moment the moon came out, and instantly the lamia’s visible eye opened wide.
It seemed to look straight at me before giving a sort of shudder and coming up slowly onto its four limbs. The twins squealed in fear and ran back to the hatch. Mab merely stepped away cautiously, pulling the blade from her belt and holding it at the ready.
The lamia’s head turned to me so that I could see both its eyes. Then it sniffed very loudly before turning back toward the three sisters. By now, Beth was already scrambling through the hatch, Jennet close behind. The creature shook itself very deliberately, like a dog ridding itself of water droplets after emerging from a river, then glared at Mab.
“You didn’t see this, Mab, did you?” I shouted.
“You knew, didn’t you?” she accused. “You read what was in the trunks but didn’t tell me! How could you, Tom? How could you do it? How could you betray me?”
“I opened the trunks. I kept my word, and I hope you like what you see,” I said quietly, trying to control my anger. How could she accuse me of betraying her when I’d been forced to do her bidding? I began to tremble, remembering how she’d held the knife against Mary’s throat, and suddenly my words came out in a rush of anger.
“All three trunks belong to me! That’s the truth, and you know it. And now you’ve lost the trunks and lost control of this tower, too. You didn’t rule Pendle for long,” I jibed, hearing my own voice ugly with mockery. Instantly I regretted having rubbed salt into the wound. There was no need to speak like that. Dad wouldn’t have liked it.
The lamia took a step toward Mab and she took two hurried steps backward. “You’ll be sorry for this,” she threatened, her voice low but filled with venom. “I actually cared about you, and now you’ve let me down! So you give me no choice! No choice at all. We will join up with the other clans and do what Wurmalde wants. She wants you dead. Wants to hurt your mam and thwart her plans. Wants to stop you from becoming a spook. And now I’m going to help her! See how you like it when Old Nick hunts you down! See how you feel when we send him after you!”
The lamia advanced again, its movements slow and deliberate, and panic animated Mab’s face. She gave a scream of terror and dropped both blade and lantern before scrambling down through the hatch after her sisters.
Wasting no time, I walked forward, picked up the fallen blade, and used it to cut the string that bound the other long bundle before quickly unwrapping the sailcloth to allow moonlight to fall upon the creature within. Moments later, both lamias were fully alert. They looked at me searchingly, but I couldn’t read the expression in their eyes. I was suddenly very nervous, my mouth becoming dry. What if they didn’t know me? What if Mam was wrong?
Could these really be my aunts? Mam’s sisters? I remembered my aunt Martha, on Dad’s side, a kindly old lady with red cheeks and a ready smile. She was dead now, but I recalled her with fondness. These creatures couldn’t be more different! And yes, I had to admit it: This meant that Mam must be a lamia, too.
What had happened? Could Mam’s sisters have stayed feral while she slowly shape-shifted into the domestic form, benign and kind? She’d been human in shape when Dad first met her. He’d been a sailor, his ship calling at a port in Greece. When he’d found her bound with a silver chain, her hand had also been nailed to the rock. Who’d done that and why? Did it have something to do with Wurmalde?
Afterward Mam’d taken Dad back with her to a house with a walled garden. They’d lived there happily for a while, but some nights Mam’s two sisters had come to visit. Then I realized that my first guess was wrong. Dad had said they were tall, fierce-looking women. They’d seemed angry with him. He thought that was why Mam had insisted that they leave Greece and make their home in the County—to get away from her sisters.
However, unknown to him, they must have been placed in those trunks when they were still domestic. Then they must have slowly shape-shifted back to the feral because they’d been deprived of human contact, dormant for years and years. It all seemed to point to that. I remembered something else that Mam had once said to me.
None of us are either all good or all bad—we’re all somewhere in between—but there comes a moment in each life when we take an important step, either toward the light or toward the dark . . . maybe it’s because of a special person we meet. Because of what your dad did for me, I stepped in the right direction, and that’s why I’m here today.
Had Mam perhaps not always been good? Had meeting Dad changed her? As my mind whirled with those thoughts, the two lamias turned away and headed for the open hatch, dropping through it in turn. I followed more slowly, first picking up the lantern that Mab had discarded. I climbed down into the wooden room that housed the device for lowering the drawbridge and looked through the second hatch into the vast living area below.
The air was full of screams, but they were coming from the storeroom into which the Mouldheels had fled; the Mouldheels were no doubt trying to escape by climbing through the other hatch into the first section of the tower below ground. I began to descend the spiral of steps toward the floor.
By the time I reached ground level, the screams and shouts were distant, fading away by the second. But there was a trail of blood that led from one of the tables near the wall into the storeroom. I wondered which of the witches was the victim and walked toward the door slowly, reluctant to face what I might find there.
However, I saw that the storeroom was already empty. I walked across and peered down through the hatch. It was dark, but in the distance I could see the bobbing lights of lanterns against the walls as the Mouldheels fled down the spiral steps, and the vast space echoed with faint screams. I lifted my own lantern and peered down. The trail of blood continued beyond the hatch. The eye of a lamia glittered, reflecting back the light. She was dragging something down the steps. It was a body. I couldn’t see the face—just legs and bare feet slowly receding downward.
The Mouldheels belonged to the dark, but I felt sorry for the dead victim below.
And I didn’t feel good about betraying Mab, even though I’d done it for the sake of the County. But what if she was right? What if she did escape the lamias and unite with the other clans to spite me? Had I just put myself, my family, and all the County in even greater danger?
I closed the hatch and turned away, sickened. I would have locked it if I could, but Alice still had my special key. I trusted Mam. I knew that I’d nothing to fear from the lamias. They were family, and I had their blood in my veins. But I still didn’t want them near me. I wasn’t ready to face who I was just yet.
CHAPTER XVIII
James the Blacksmith
IT was a long night. I tried to sleep, hoping to blot out for a while everything that had happened, but it was useless, and finally I went back up onto the battlements and waited for the sun to come up.
It seemed to me that I was safe enough in the tower. The drawbridge was up, the breach in the wall had been repaired, and the two lamias would prevent either the Mouldheels or the Malkins from coming back through the tunnels and up into the tower. But I needed to know how Jack was.
If only I could bring him and his family into the safety of the tower . . . and one of the potions in the first trunk might well be able to help him. I wanted to see the Spook, too, and tell him everything that had happened; but even more urgently I had to talk to Alice. She knew where I was, and if news reached her about what had happened, she might come back to the tower. She would be able to look through the potions and perhaps work out which one to use. It was dangerous out there and my courage was faint, but I knew that if Alice hadn’t come to the tower the next day, then I would have to go and look for her.
The sun came up and climbed into a sky that was clear, without even a hint of cloud. The morning wore on, but apart from the crows and the occasional distant glimpse of deer or rabbits, the clearing between the trees and the tower was empty of life. In a way, as the rhyme says, I was king of the castle. But it meant nothing. I was lonely and afraid and I didn’t see how life would ever get back to normal. Would Magistrate Nowell eventually come back and demand that I surrender? If I refused, would he bring the constable and lay siege to the tower again?
By the afternoon my appetite had returned, and I went down into the living area once more. The fire was still smoldering, so I stoked up the embers and started to bake potatoes for my breakfast. I ate them straight from the fire, too hot to hold for more than a second at a time. I burned my mouth a little, but they were delicious and the pain was worth it. It made me realize how little I’d eaten since arriving in Pendle.
I found my rowan staff in a corner and sat for a while holding it across my knee. Somehow it made me feel better. I thought of the silver chain that had been confiscated by Nowell. I wanted it back—I needed it for my work. But at least Mam’s trunks were back in my possession. I still felt weary and afraid, but decided that, after nightfall, I’d have to set off and find Alice or the Spook. Under cover of darkness I’d have more chance of evading capture—either by witches or the constable and his men. I wouldn’t be able to use the drawbridge; once I’d let it down and left the tower, there’d be nobody there to raise it again and any of the witches could easily get in. So I’d have to leave by the tunnel and risk an encounter with the wight. That decided, I pushed some more spuds into the fire for my supper and went up to the battlements to spy out the lay of the land.
I waited and watched, gathering my courage as the sun sank toward the horizon. After about half an hour or so, I glimpsed a movement in the trees. Three people emerged from the wood and began to walk to the drawbridge. My heart leaped with hope. One was the Spook, clearly identifiable from his staff and cloak. He was carrying two bags and walked purposefully, a gait that I could always recognize from a distance.
The person to his left was Alice—there was no doubt about that—but at first I didn’t recognize his other companion, who was carrying something over his shoulder. He was a big man, and as he drew closer, I felt there was something familiar about his gait, too, the way his shoulders rolled as he strode out. Then, suddenly, I recognized him.
It was my brother James!
I hadn’t seen James for almost three years, and he’d changed a lot. As he approached, I could see that the blacksmith’s trade had put muscle on him and he was broader at the shoulders. His hair had receded from his forehead somewhat, but his face glowed with health and he looked in his prime. And he was carrying a huge blacksmith’s hammer.
I waved furiously from the tower. Alice saw me first and waved back. I saw her say something to James, and he immediately grinned and waved as well. But the Spook just continued walking, his face grim. At last the three of them halted in front of the moat, facing the raised drawbridge.
“Come on, lad!” the Spook shouted up, gesturing impatiently with his staff. “Don’t dawdle. We haven’t got all day! Get that bridge down and let us in!”
It proved easier said than done. The good news was that the heavy capstan, which seemed designed for two to operate, not just one, had a ratchet system. That meant that as I turned it, releasing the chains, the weight of the bridge didn’t spin the wheel more than an eighth of a turn at a time before the ratchet stopped the cog from turning. Otherwise it would have whirled out of control, breaking my arms or worse.
Lowering the drawbridge was only half the battle. Next I had to open the big, rusty iron-studded door. But as soon as I’d drawn back the heavy bolts, it began to grind on its hinges. Moments later James heaved it wide open, threw down his hammer, and got his arms around me, squeezing me so hard that I thought my ribs might break.
“It’s good to see you, Tom! It’s really good. I wondered if I’d ever see any of you again,” he said, holding me at arm’s length and giving me a huge grin. James had broken his nose badly in a farm accident, and it was now squashed back against his face, giving him a roguish appearance. It was a face with character, as Dad used to say, and never had I been more happy to see it.
“There’ll be time for talk later,” said the Spook, entering the tower, Alice at his heels. “But first things first, James. Get that door closed and bolted and raise that bridge. Then we can afford to relax for a bit. Well, what have we here?”
He paused to glance down at the trail of blood that led into the storeroom and raised his eyebrows.
“It’s Mouldheel blood. Mam’s sisters were in two of the trunks,” I said. “They’re feral lamias. . . .”
The Spook nodded but didn’t look too surprised. Had he known all along? I began to wonder.
“Well, word came to us that the Mouldheels had fled down the tunnels soon after the Malkins, but we didn’t know why,” he said. “So this explains it. Where are the lamias now?”
“Down below,” I said, gesturing with my thumb.
James had closed the big wooden door and thrust home the bolts. “Mechanism for the bridge up there, Tom?” he asked, gesturing upward.
“Through the trapdoor and on the left,” I said and, giving me a quick smile, James ran up the steps two at a time.
“You all right, Tom?” inquired Alice. “Got help for Jack, then came here as soon as we could.”
“I feel better now you three are here, but I’ve had a few scary moments, to say the least. How is Jack?”
“Safe enough for now. He and Ellie and Mary are in good hands. Did my bit, too, just in case. Brewed him up something else, I did. Still unconscious, but his breathing’s much better and there’s color in his cheeks now. Physically, he seems much stronger.”
“Where is he? At Downham?”
“No, Tom. It was too far to take him, and I wanted to get back here and see if I could help you. Jack’s at Roughlee with one of my aunts—”
I looked at Alice with dismay and astonishment. Roughlee was the Deane village. “A Deane! You’ve left my family with a Deane?”
I looked across at my master, but he just raised his eyebrows.
“Aunt Agnes isn’t like the rest,” said Alice. “She ain’t all bad. Alway
s got on well, we have. Her second name’s Sowerbutts and she once lived in Whalley, but when her husband died, she came back to Roughlee. She keeps to herself. Her cottage is on the outskirts of the village, and none of the others will even know your family’s there. Trust me, Tom. It was the best I could do. It’ll be all right.”
I wasn’t happy, but as Alice concluded, there came the sound of the capstan turning and the bridge being raised. We waited in silence until James came down the steps again.
“We’ve a lot to say to one another, so let’s settle ourselves down,” said the Spook. “Over there by the fire looks as good a place as any.”
He helped himself to a chair and pulled it up close to the flames. James did likewise, but Alice and I sat down on the floor on the other side of the fire.
“Wouldn’t mind one o’ those spuds, Tom,” said Alice. “Ain’t smelled anything that good for days!”
“Those’ll be ready soon, and I’ll do a few more. . . .”
“I’ve sampled your cooking before, so I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” said the Spook drily, making his customary jibe. But despite that, I knew he’d enjoy a baked potato, even if he suffered a few singed fingers. So I went into the storeroom and came back with an armful of spuds and began to push them into the embers of the fire with a stick.
“While you’ve been getting yourself into serious trouble, I’ve been busy myself,” said the Spook. “I have my own way of sniffing things out, and there are always one or two folk who aren’t afraid to speak up and tell the truth.
“It seems that since last Halloween, emissaries of the Deanes have been slowly moving in on Downham village to plant their evil and terrorize the good folk. Most villagers were too terrified to warn Father Stocks, who, apart from the thefts from the graveyard, had no idea that things had deteriorated so far. Fear is a terrible thing. Who can blame them when their children are threatened? When their sheep waste away before their eyes and their livelihood’s in jeopardy? By the end of the summer, the whole place would have belonged to that witch clan. As you know, lad, I like to work alone—apart from my apprentice, that is—but this wasn’t the time for it.
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