“Great to see you on your feet, Jack!” I said, holding out my arms to greet him. The old Jack would have gripped me in a bear hug and almost crushed my ribs in his exuberance, but my brother was far from being recovered. He halted about three paces away, and his mouth just opened and closed a few times; then he shook his head in bewilderment. He seemed steady enough on his feet, but words had deserted him. I just hoped that Alice would be able to find something in Mam’s trunk to help him.
Soon after sunset we thanked Agnes Sowerbutts and were on our way, the rain having eased to a light drizzle.
Alice and I were walking ahead, leading the way, but our pace wasn’t very fast. The rain finally stopped altogether, but there was thick cloud and it was very dark, which at least made it harder for anyone lying in wait to spot us. Little Mary was nervous and kept clinging to her mother, who had to keep stopping to comfort her. Jack just ambled along as if he’d all the time in the world, but he stumbled into things and at one point tripped over a log, making enough noise to alert every witch in Pendle.
Our plan was to keep to the east, passing Crow Wood far to the right. The first part went well, but as we curved round to approach the tower directly from the north, I started to become increasingly uneasy. I could sense something out there in the dark. At first I hoped my imagination was playing tricks, but the clouds were being ripped and torn by the wind and starting to fragment, the sky growing lighter by the minute. Then the moon found a gap in the clouds and the whole area was lit with a faint silver light. When I glanced back over my shoulder, I could actually see figures in the distance before a large cloud once more plunged us into darkness.
“They’re behind us, Alice, and getting nearer,” I told her, keeping my voice low so as not to alarm the others.
“Witches. Lots of ’em!” Alice agreed. “Some of their menfolk, too.”
We’d entered the trees of Crow Wood and were moving toward a fast-flowing stream, closing on it with every step. I could hear the rush and hiss of water boiling over rocks.
“We’ll be safe if we can just get across!” I shouted.
Luckily the bank was low, and I steadied Ellie as she hastened across, carrying Mary. The water hardly reached our knees, but the rocks were very slippery underfoot. Jack made heavy weather of it and fell twice, the second time close to the far edge, but he dragged himself up onto the muddy bank without complaining. We’d all reached the far side and I was relieved that the immediate danger was over. The witches would never be able to cross. But at that moment the moon came out again briefly, and I saw something that filled me with dismay. Twenty or so yards to our right was a witch dam, a heavy wooden board suspended above the water. Supported by ropes that ran across pulleys to handles on either side of the stream, the board was fitted between two grooved posts that would guide it into position as it was lowered.
We’d gained a little time, but it wouldn’t be enough. It would take our enemies just a few moments to lower the dam into position and stop the flow of water. Once across, they’d catch us long before we reached the tower.
“There’s a way to stop ’em, Tom!” Alice yelled. “It’s not hopeless. Follow me!”
She ran toward the witch dam. Flickering moonlight lit the scene briefly, and Alice pointed to the water underneath the board. I could see what appeared to be a thick, dark line running directly from bank to bank.
“It’s a groove, Tom,” Alice shouted. “Clan menfolk move the stones away and cut a trench in the bed of the stream. Then they line it with wood. It makes a tight seal so that the water can’t get through. If we can put some of the stones back, they won’t be able to lower it fully.”
It was worth a try, and I followed Alice down the bank into the water. In theory it was easy. All we had to do was find a few stones and put them in the trench. In practice it was very difficult. It was dark, and the first time I plunged my arms down past my elbows into the cold water, my fingers couldn’t get a grip on anything. The first stone I found was deeply embedded and wouldn’t budge. The second was smaller but still too heavy to lift, and my fingers kept losing their grip.
At the third attempt I found a stone just a little bigger than my fist. Alice was ahead of me and had already put two stones into place close to our side of the bank.
“There, Tom! Place it close to mine. Won’t take too many.”
By now I could hear hoarse breathing and the rapid slap of feet against the damp ground. After a further struggle I found another stone—this was twice the size of my first—and I splashed it down toward the trench, positioning my shoulder against the lower edge of the raised board to help me aim in the darkness. But our pursuers were very close now. When the moon came out again, I glimpsed the burly figure of a man reaching for the handle.
I found another stone and just managed to drop it into the trench when I heard the wheel turning. The board began to rumble downward. I was going to search again, but Alice gripped my arm.
“Come on, Tom. That’ll do! Won’t be able to make a seal, and the water will still flow.”
So I followed Alice back up onto the bank; we ran to where Jack, Ellie, and Mary were waiting and led them off through the trees. Had we done enough? Was Alice right?
Ellie was exhausted by now and stumbled along at a snail’s pace, still clutching her daughter. We needed to move faster. Much faster.
“Give Mary to me,” Alice insisted, holding out her arms for the child.
For a moment I thought that Ellie would refuse, but she nodded her thanks and handed over the child. With the rumble of the board growing fainter behind us, we kept going until we reached the clearing. The tower was ahead. We were almost safe.
As we came within shouting distance of the tower, my hopes soared: I heard a grinding noise from within, and as I watched, the moon came out again and, with a clanking of chains, the drawbridge began to descend. Worried by our late return, the Spook must have been watching from the battlements and seen our approach.
But as we reached the very edge of the moat, I heard a guttural shout behind us. I glanced back at the trees, and my hopes sank faster than the last stone I’d dropped into the trench. There were shadowy figures sprinting over the grass toward us. The witches must have crossed the stream after all.
“We should have used more stones,” I said bitterly.
“No, Tom, we did enough,” Alice said, handing Mary back to Ellie. “Ain’t witches, but it’s almost as bad. Clan menfolk, they are.”
There were at least half a dozen of them rushing at us, angry men with wild eyes, brandishing long knives, blades glittering silver in the moonlight. But the drawbridge was down now, and we backed onto it, Alice and I taking up a defensive position on its very edge, keeping the others between us and the big iron-studded door. The Spook would be descending the steps now, just as fast as he was able. But our enemies were almost on us.
I could hear my master drawing back the heavy bolts, but would he be in time? Ellie gave a cry behind me, and then I heard the sound of the big door grinding on its hinges. I raised my staff to defend myself, hoping to deflect the blade that was arcing toward my head. But someone else was beside me now. It was the Spook, and out of the corner of my eye I saw his staff spear forward at my assailant. The man screamed and fell sideways into the moat with a tremendous splash.
“Get inside!” shouted the Spook. “Get inside, all of you!”
He was standing his ground as two others ran to us, shoulder to shoulder. I didn’t want to leave him to face them alone, but he pushed me so hard toward the door that I stumbled and almost fell. Just then the moon went behind a cloud, and we were plunged into darkness again. Without thinking, I obeyed, reaching the door at Alice’s heels. There was another cry of pain, and I glanced back. Someone seemed to fall, and there was another splash. Was it the Spook? Had they knocked him into the water? Then a shadowy figure was running to the door, but even before I’d raised my staff to defend myself, I saw that it was my master.
He stumble
d inside, cursed, threw down his staff, and put his shoulder to the door. Alice and I helped him, and we just managed to get it closed before something heavy crashed against it. The Spook slammed the bolts home. Our enemies were too late.
“Up the steps and raise that drawbridge!” the Spook commanded. “Both of you! Look sharp!”
Alice and I ran up the steps, and together we began to turn the capstan. Down below we could hear angry shouts and metallic crashes as our enemies hammered uselessly against the door. It was hard work, but with our shoulders straining against the resistance of the wheel, we continued to turn the capstan, and bit by bit the bridge was raised. Just before it was fully up against the door, the banging outside ceased, and we heard distant splashes as our enemies jumped into the moat. It was either that or be crushed between the heavy wooden bridge and the huge door.
After that we were safe. Safe for a while, at least. The Spook, Alice, and I discussed what had happened, while Ellie tried to make Mary and Jack comfortable. We were all weary, and before an hour had passed we were settling down for the night, once again sleeping on the floor, wrapped in dirty blankets. I was exhausted and soon fell into a dreamless sleep, but I awoke during the night to hear someone sobbing nearby. It sounded like Ellie.
“You all right, Ellie?” I called out softly into the darkness.
Almost immediately the crying ceased, but she didn’t reply. After that, it took me a long while to get back to sleep. I began to wonder what tomorrow would bring. We were running out of time. In two days it would be Lammas. We had lost a day bringing Jack back to the tower, so I was sure the Spook’s priority tomorrow had to be settling with Wurmalde. If we didn’t find her and stop the witches, then the dark made flesh would be walking among us, and it wouldn’t just be Ellie crying herself to sleep at night.
CHAPTER XX
The End of an Enemy
WHEN we awoke, the Spook would allow me only water and a nibble of County cheese. I was right. We were off to deal with Wurmalde once and for all. She wouldn’t sniff us out, but there was a chance that Tibb might. In that case we could be walking into a trap, but we had to take that chance.
Even before we reached Read Hall, there’d be danger. Witches would almost certainly be watching the tower from the edge of the clearing, and at the first sound of the drawbridge coming down they’d attack. Once again we’d have to use the tunnel. But of course, they’d be using a mirror to watch the underground lake, so they’d know we’d left the tower. They might even be lying in wait in the thickets of the old graveyard, ready to ambush us. Yet despite the risks, the Spook was determined to strike at Wurmalde, whom he considered to be the dark heart of the threat to the County.
He pulled a whetstone from his bag, and there was a click as he released the blade from its recess in the end of his staff and began to sharpen it.
“Well, lad,” he said gruffly. “We have a job to do. We must bind Wurmalde and place her where she can do no more harm. And if anyone gets in our way . . .”
He paused, testing the sharpness of the blade with his finger, and when he looked at me, his eyes were hard and fierce; then he glared at Alice.
“You stay here, girl, and look after Jack. Reckon you’ll be strong enough to lower the drawbridge when James gets back with the villagers?”
“If Tom managed it, so can I,” she said with a cheeky smile, “and in the meantime I’ll see if I can find anything in that trunk to help Jack.”
Down in the dungeons beneath the tower, there was a change in the atmosphere; a change for the better. The Spook had done his work. The dead had left their bones behind and were now at peace.
Of the two lamias, there was no sign. I held my candle aloft to reveal that the dead animals were still fixed to the chains, but their desiccated bodies no longer dripped blood. We walked on into the tunnel warily and reached the small lake, where the pieces of the wight still floated. The surface of the water was like glass, and again I had a strong sensation of being watched. The only thing that had changed was the stench, which was now stronger than ever. Both the Spook and I covered our mouths and noses with our hands and tried not to breathe until we’d passed beyond the fetid water.
Finally we had to crawl, the Spook still in the lead and muttering under his breath. It was hard going, but at last we dragged ourselves through into the sepulchre. As I clambered out, the Spook was brushing the dust and mold from his cloak.
“My old bones didn’t take too kindly to that,” he complained. “It’ll be good to get out into the fresh air.”
“They had a dead witch shackled here,” I told the Spook, pointing to the leg irons in the corner. “Her name was Maggie, and she was once the Malkins’ coven leader. The Mouldheels tortured her to find the tunnel entrance. Now she’s free again.”
“How strong was she?” the Spook asked.
“Not like Old Mother Malkin, but strong enough. She traveled miles from Witch Dell to hunt.”
“Whatever happens in the next few days, there’ll still be years of work ahead of us before Pendle is finally cleared,” the Spook said, shaking his head wearily.
I blew out the candle and placed it next to the lantern that Alice had left behind on our last visit.
“Bring that lantern, just in case, lad,” commanded the Spook. “We might have to search Read Hall’s cellars.”
As we made our way cautiously through the thickets of the abandoned graveyard, rainclouds were gathering overhead, a strong wind blowing from the west. We hadn’t taken more than two dozen paces before we saw that witches had indeed been waiting in ambush. There were three of them, all dead. The surrounding grass was splattered with blood, the bodies covered in flies. Unlike the Spook, I didn’t get too close, but even from a distance it appeared to be the work of the lamias. Once again, it seemed, they’d cleared the way.
Just over an hour later we were approaching Read Hall. I wasn’t keen to reenter a house where Tibb had terrorized me and Wurmalde had accused me of murder—and where, no doubt, Father Stocks’s body was still lying atop the sheets, the knife in his chest—but it had to be done.
We were walking into danger, without a doubt. Both Tibb and the formidable Wurmalde might be lying in wait, not to mention servants and possibly other witches from the clans. But as we drew closer, it soon became clear that something was badly wrong. The front door was opening and closing in the wind.
“Well, lad,” the Spook said, “as they’ve left it open for us, we might as well use it!”
We made our way to the front door and entered. I was about to close the door behind us when my master put his hand on my shoulder and shook his head. We kept perfectly still and listened very carefully. Apart from the noise of the door and the whine of the wind outside, the house was silent. The Spook looked up the staircase.
“We’ll let the door carry on banging,” he whispered into my ear. “To change even the slightest thing could alert anyone inside. It’s too quiet, so I suspect the servants have fled the house. We’ll start by searching the downstairs rooms.”
The dining room was empty; it looked as if nobody had been in the kitchen for days—there were unwashed dishes in the sink and a smell of rotting food. Despite the morning light, Read Hall was gloomy, and there were dark corners where anything could have been lurking. I kept thinking of Tibb. Was the creature still somewhere here?
The last room we came to was the study. As soon as we entered, I could smell death. A body was lying facedown between the bookshelves.
“Light the lantern,” the Spook commanded. “Let’s take a closer look.”
It was clear that the corpse was Nowell. His shirt was in tatters, almost ripped from his back, and it was matted with dried blood, with more leading from the body toward the far door, which was open. There were also books scattered around him. The Spook glanced up at the top shelf, from where they’d clearly fallen, before kneeling down and rolling the dead magistrate onto his back. The eyes were wide open, the face twisted in terror.
&nbs
p; “It looks like Tibb killed him,” the Spook said, gazing up at the highest shelf again. “No doubt it was waiting there and dropped down onto his shoulders as he walked beneath. The creature might still be in the house.” He pointed to the trail.
He opened the door. Beyond it, the blood trail led down narrow stone steps into the darkness. My master went down, his staff at the ready, while I followed close behind, holding the lantern high. We found ourselves at the entrance to a small cellar. Along the right-hand wall were well-stocked wine racks. The stone floor was clean and tidy and the trail of dried blood led to the far corner, where Tibb lay facedown.
He was even smaller than I remembered when he’d gazed down at me from the ceiling—hardly larger than a medium-size dog. His legs were tucked underneath the thick black fur of his body, which was caked with dried blood. But small as he was, I knew that Tibb was incredibly strong. Father Stocks had been unable to fight him off, and Nowell had been murdered by him. Both victims had still been in the prime of life.
The Spook approached Tibb cautiously, and I heard a click as he released the blade from its recess in the end of his staff. At the sound Tibb stretched out his arms, unsheathed his claws, and lifted his head, turning its left side upward to face us. It was the head that sent a particular chill of horror down my spine. It was completely hairless and smooth, and the eyes were cold, like those of a dead fish, the open mouth revealing thin needlelike teeth. For a moment I expected Tibb to leap at the Spook, but instead the creature gave a groan of anguish.
“You’ve arrived too late,” Tibb said. “My mistress has abandoned me, leaving me to die. So many things I’ve seen. So many. But not my own death. That’s the last thing that any of us see!”
“Aye,” said the Spook, readying his blade. “I hold your death in my hands. . . .”
But Tibb just laughed bitterly. “No,” he hissed. “I’m dying even as you speak. My mistress never told me just how short my life would be. Nine short weeks in all. That’s all I’ve had. How can that be right? Nine weeks from birth to old age and death. Now I lack even the strength to raise my body from this cold floor. So save your strength, old man. You need it for yourself. Precious little time remains to you either. But the boy who stands at your side may carry on your doomed work. That’s if he lives beyond the new moon—”
The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection Page 85