It would be easy enough to find out where a spook lived. What if they’d already discovered the location of the mill? They could be waiting in ambush, either in the garden or within the building.
But after cautiously crossing the moat and thoroughly checking the mill inside, including the room with the coffins, I realized my fears were groundless. No press-gang and no witches. Then, despite my weariness, I carried the five barrels of salt into the garden and tipped them into the moat, making sure that most went into the section open to the marsh. I needed to maintain the strength of the solution to keep out Morwena. Claw followed me while I did so but then barked twice, circled me three times, and bounded away into the distance—no doubt she was off hunting rabbits.
I was worried about the water pits under the mill, too. There were the skelt and the witch to consider. Did they need more salt to keep them docile? If I put too much in, I might kill them, so I decided to take a chance and leave them be for now.
Back in the kitchen, I built up the fire in the stove and dried my wet clothes; then I allowed myself a well-deserved sleep before cooking a hot meal. Those done, I decided to go upstairs to the attic room and search Arkwright’s library for the book about Morwena. I hadn’t read it all, and I needed to find out everything I could about her. It might make the difference between death and survival. I was nervous of ghosts strong enough to move objects, but it was still daylight and, after all, they were Arkwright’s mam and dad, sad and trapped rather than malevolent.
The coffins stood side by side and the three armchairs were drawn up to the stove. I glanced at the cold ashes in the grate and shivered at the damp chill in the air, shaking my head sadly. The two ghosts would no longer have the companionship of their son.
I turned my attention to Arkwright’s books. His library was just a fraction of the size of the Spook’s at Chipenden, but that was only to be expected. My master had not only lived longer, giving him more time to acquire and write books; he had also inherited them from the generations of spooks who’d lived there before him.
Arkwright’s shelves held many titles of local interest, such as: The Flora and Fauna of the North County, The Art of Basket Weaving, and Lakeland Paths and Byways. Then there were his notebooks, dating from the time of his apprenticeship almost to the present. These were bound in leather and would no doubt give a detailed account of the knowledge and skills Arkwright had acquired while following our trade. There was also a Bestiary, less than a quarter the size of Mr. Gregory’s but probably just as interesting. And beside it was the book about Morwena.
I decided to take it downstairs and read it by the warmth of the stove. I’d taken just one step toward the door when I felt a sudden icy chill: a warning that the unquiet dead were approaching.
A luminous cylindrical shape began to form between me and the doorway. I was surprised. Most ghosts didn’t appear during daylight hours. Was it the mother, father, or even the ghost of Arkwright himself? Lingering spirits were usually bound to their bones or the scene of their death, but very occasionally a ghost was forced to wander. I just hoped it wasn’t Arkwright. Some spirits are possessive after death and particularly resent intruders into their homes. They still want to live there. Some aren’t even fully aware that they’re dead. I couldn’t help thinking that he’d be angry to find me inside his room, reading one of his books. For an intrusion such as this, I’d suffered cuts and bruises. What now?
But it wasn’t Arkwright. A woman’s voice called out to me. It was the ghost of Amelia, his mother.
“My son, my William, still lives. Help him, please, before it’s too late.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Arkwright. Really sorry. I wish I could help but I can’t. You must believe me, your son really is dead,” I said, trying to keep my voice as kind and calm as possible, just as the Spook advised when facing the unquiet dead.
“No! That isn’t true. Listen to me! He’s shackled within the bowels of the earth, still waiting to die.”
“How can you know that,” I asked her gently, “when you’re a spirit bound to this place?”
She began to weep softly and the light faded. But just when I thought she’d gone completely, the light flared to a new brilliance and she cried out in a loud, tremulous voice, “I heard it in the howl of a dying dog; I read it in the whispers of the marsh reeds; I smelled it in the water dripping from the broken wheel. They spoke to me and now I speak to you. Save him before it is too late. Only you can do it. Only you can face the power of the Fiend!”
And then in an instant, the column of light shifted into the image of a woman. She was wearing a blue summer dress and carrying a basketful of spring flowers. She smiled at me, and the scent of those flowers suddenly filled the bedroom. It was a warm smile but her eyes glistened with tears.
Suddenly she was gone. I shivered and made my way back to the kitchen, thinking over what had been said. Could the ghost of Arkwright’s mother be right? Was he still alive? It seemed unlikely. The trail of blood had led right to the edge of the lake, and he’d lost his staff and boot. The witches must have dragged him into the water. Surely they’d have taken their chance to slay him there and then? After all, he’d been their enemy for long enough and killed many of their kind.
As for that poor ghost, she was probably just confused. That happens sometimes with spirits that are bound to the earth. Their reason flees. Memories fray and become tattered and torn.
With trepidation I thought about what lay ahead. I didn’t expect Morwena and the other witches to arrive much before dawn. When they came, the moat would hopefully keep them at bay—but for how long? With luck Alice and the Spook would arrive before then. Together we could finish off Morwena forever. I certainly didn’t feel capable of it alone. Then we could return to Chipenden and leave behind this terrible place of streams, lakes, and bogs. I hoped that the Spook wouldn’t be too angry with Alice for using the mirror. Surely he had to see that it was justified?
I’d just picked up the book and started to read when I heard the sound of a distant bell. I listened carefully. After a few moments the sound was repeated. When it rang for the fifth and final time, I knew that it was Mr. Gilbert down by the canal with a delivery.
He must have often rung the bell when Arkwright was away on business. If I just stayed in the mill, he’d probably move on down the canal, thinking to call next time he passed. But Mr. Gilbert wouldn’t yet know that Arkwright was dead, and as he’d seemed genuinely fond of the man, I felt it was my duty to go and break the bad news to him. After all, it should be safe enough. Morwena would still be miles away, and I could do with seeing a friendly face.
So, carrying just my staff, I set off for the canal. It was a bright afternoon and the sun was shining. Mr. Gilbert was heading south, and the barge was on the far side of the canal. It seemed very low in the water, suggesting that it was heavily laden with cargo. Someone was grooming the horses. It was a girl of about my own age, golden hair glinting in the sun—no doubt Mr. Gilbert’s daughter. He waved to me from the towpath and pointed toward the nearest bridge, about a hundred yards to the north. I crossed over and came back to the barge.
When I drew closer, I could see that the bargeman was holding an envelope. He raised his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. “You look down in the mouth, Tom. Bill’s not giving you that bad a time, is he?”
There was no easy way to explain what had happened so I told him simply, “I’ve some bad news for you. Mr. Arkwright’s dead. He was killed by water witches north of the bay. They may be after me now, so take care of yourself on the water. Who knows where or when they might appear.”
Mr. Gilbert looked stunned. “Who indeed!” he said. “It’s a terrible business. Bill’ll be sadly missed, and I fear for the County now he’s gone.”
I nodded. He was right. There would be nobody to replace him. Competent members of our trade were thin on the ground. The area north of Caster would become much more dangerous now. It was a significant victory for the dark.
With a regretful sigh he handed me the envelope. “This is from Mr. Gregory,” he said quietly. “He gave it to me this morning at Caster.”
It was addressed to me and was in my master’s handwriting. To reach Caster so soon the Spook and Alice must have set off over the fells almost immediately and walked through the night as I had. I was relieved at the thought. But why hadn’t the Spook carried on to the mill? He could have got himself a ride on the barge—although the barge was now on the wrong side of the canal, as if it had come from the north rather than from Caster. But then I realized the bargeman must have used the bridge I’d just crossed to bring the horses over to this side so he could now head back south. I tore open the envelope and began to read.
Ask Mr. Arkwright to release you from his instruction for a few days. Mr. Gilbert will bring you safely to Caster, where I’ll be waiting. This is a matter of great urgency. Right in the heart of that city, close to the canal, I’ve found something of immense help in our fight against the dark. It concerns you directly.
Your master,
John Gregory
The Spook seemed to know nothing of Bill’s death, so either Alice hadn’t told him or for some reason he was pretending not to know. And as he hadn’t come straight to the mill to deal with Morwena, I knew that the find in Caster must be something very special.
“Get yourself aboard,” said Mr. Gilbert, “but first there’s somebody I’d like you to meet. My son had long overdue chores at home, but my daughter’s with me. Come here, daughter, and meet young Tom!” he called out.
The girl looked up from her grooming and, without bothering to turn round, lifted her arm to wave but made no effort to obey her father.
“A very shy girl,” Mr. Gilbert observed. “But let’s be on our way. No doubt she’ll pluck up the courage to talk to you later.”
I hesitated. Leaving Claw at the mill would probably be all right; she could fend for herself for now. And I felt fine enough about leaving my bag but not the most valuable thing it contained: my silver chain. Who knew what we might face in Caster? It was a potent weapon against the dark—particularly witches—and I didn’t want to be without it.
“I need to go back to the mill for something,” I told Mr. Gilbert.
He frowned and shook his head. “We haven’t really got time. Your master’s waiting and we need to get to Caster before dark.”
“Why don’t you start the journey,” I told him, “and I’ll run and catch up.”
I could tell that he didn’t like the idea, but what I’d suggested was perfectly reasonable. Pulling a heavy barge, horses usually plodded along at a relatively slow pace, so I would be able to catch up and then ride and rest for the remainder of the journey.
I smiled at him politely, then set off at a run. Soon I’d crossed the bridge and was sprinting along the banks of the river toward the house.
When I walked into the kitchen, I had the shock of my life. Alice was sitting in the chair by the stove and Claw was close to her, muzzle resting comfortably upon her pointy shoes.
She smiled up at me and patted Claw on the head. “Expecting puppies, this one,” she said. “Two, I reckon.”
I smiled back, relieved and glad to see her. “If that’s so, their father’s dead,” I told her, the smile slipping away. “Morwena killed him as well as his master. It’s been bad, Alice. Really bad. You can’t know how glad I am to see you. But why aren’t you in Caster with the Spook?”
“Caster? Don’t know nothing about that. Old Gregory went off to Pendle more than a week ago. On his way to Malkin Tower, he said. He was going to look in your mam’s trunks and see if they held any information about the Fiend. When I talked to you in the mirror, he still wasn’t back so I left him a note and came by myself. Knew you needed help urgently.”
Puzzled, I handed Alice the Spook’s letter. She read it quickly and looked up, nodding. “Makes sense,” she said. “Most likely Old Gregory found something important and traveled straight from Pendle to Caster. Don’t know what’s happened to Arkwright yet, does he? Just sent a message to the mill and asked for you.”
“You nearly missed me, Alice. Mr. Gilbert’s waiting for me now. I came back only to get my silver chain.”
“Oh, Tom!” Alice said, coming to her feet and moving toward me, alarm on her face. “What’s happened to your ear? It looks really sore! I’ve got something that should help. . . .” She reached for her pouch of herbs.
“No, Alice, there isn’t time now and the doctor said it’ll be all right. It’s where Morwena hooked me with a talon and dragged me into the bog. Claw saved me. I’d be dead but for her.”
I unfastened my bag and pulled out my chain, which I then tied about my waist, hiding it under my cloak. “Why didn’t you follow the canal from Caster to the mill, Alice? It’s the shortest route.”
“No it ain’t,” she said. “Not if you know what’s what. Told you before, I know this place well, don’t I? Year before I met you, Bony Lizzie brought me up here and we stayed on the edge of the marsh until Arkwright came back from one of his trips north and we had to move on. Anyway, I know that marsh like the back of my hand.”
“I don’t expect Mr. Gilbert’ll mind if you travel with me. But he’ll probably have set off already and we’ll have to catch up.”
When Claw followed us out into the garden, Alice shook her head. “Ain’t a good idea for her to go with us to Caster,” she said. “City ain’t no place for a dog. Better off here, where she can live off the land.”
I agreed but Claw completely ignored Alice’s commands that she “stay” and trotted at our heels until we were on the path beside the stream.
“You tell her, Tom. Maybe she’ll listen to you. After all, she’s your dog now!”
My dog? I hadn’t thought of that. I couldn’t imagine the Spook wanting a dog with us in Chipenden. Nonetheless I knelt beside Claw and patted her head.
“Stay, girl! Stay!” I commanded. “We’ll be back soon.”
She whimpered and rolled her eyes. It wasn’t that long since I’d been terrified of her but now I felt sad at leaving her. But I wasn’t lying: We’d call back here on our way to deal with Morwena.
To my surprise, Claw obeyed me and stayed behind on the path. We jogged along until we reached the canal. The barge was still waiting.
“Who’s the girl?” Alice demanded as we walked toward the bridge.
“That’s just Mr. Gilbert’s daughter. She’s really shy.”
“Never seen a shy girl with hair that color,” Alice said, an edge of venom in her voice.
The truth was I’d never seen a girl with quite that color hair at all. It was far brighter and more vivid than that of Jack’s wife, Ellie, whose hair I’d always considered especially beautiful. But whereas Ellie’s was the color of best-quality straw three days after a good harvest, this really was a most spectacular gold, now lit to brilliance by the sun.
The girl was still grooming the horses and probably felt more comfortable doing that than talking to strangers. Some people were like that. My dad told me that he’d once worked with a farm laborer who wouldn’t give you the time of day yet talked to the animals all the time.
“And who’s this young lady?” Mr. Gilbert asked as we came up to the barge.
“This is Alice,” I said, introducing her. “She stays with us at Chipenden and makes copies of Mr. Gregory’s books. Is it all right if she travels with us on the barge?”
“Only too happy to oblige.” Mr. Gilbert smiled, glancing at her pointy shoes.
Moments later we were both aboard, but the bargeman’s daughter didn’t join us. Her job was to lead the horses down the towpath while her dad relaxed on the barge.
It was now late afternoon, but it was pleasant to be gliding toward Caster in the sunshine. However, the thought of entering that city filled me with foreboding. We’d always avoided it previously because of the danger of being arrested and imprisoned in the castle. I wondered what it was that my master had found that
was so important.
CHAPTER XIX
The Bargeman’s Daughter
THE journey south was uneventful. The strange thing was that, for most of the time, nobody spoke a word. I’d lots of things to say to Alice but I didn’t utter them in the bargeman’s presence. I just didn’t like talking spook’s business in front of him and I knew my master would have agreed. Such things were best kept to ourselves.
I already knew that Mr. Gilbert was a taciturn man and didn’t expect much in the way of conversation, but then, as the castle and church spires of the city came into view, he suddenly became very talkative.
“Do you have brothers, Tom?” he asked.
“I have six,” I answered. “The eldest, Jack, still lives on the family farm. He runs it with James, the next eldest, who’s a blacksmith by trade.”
“What about the others?”
“They’re scattered about the County doing jobs of their own.”
“Are they all older than you?”
“All six,” I said with a smile.
“Of course they are—what a fool I am to ask! You’re the seventh son of a seventh son. The last one to gain employment and the only one fitted by birth for Bill Arkwright’s trade. Do you miss them, Tom? Do you miss your family?”
I didn’t speak and for a moment became choked with emotion. I felt Alice rest her hand on my arm to comfort me. It wasn’t just missing my brothers that made me feel that way—it was because my dad had died the previous year and Mam had returned to her own country to fight the dark. I suddenly felt very alone.
“I can sense your sadness, Tom,” said Mr. Gilbert. “Family are very important and their loss can never be replaced. It’s good to have family about you and to work alongside them as I do. I have a loyal daughter who helps me whenever I need her.”
Suddenly I shivered. Only moments earlier the sun had been far above the treetops, but now it was quickly growing dark and a thick mist was descending. All at once we were entering the city and the angular shapes of buildings quickly rose up on either side of the canal bank like threatening giants, though all was silent but for the muffled clip-clop of the horses’ hooves. The canal was much wider here, with lots of recesses on the far bank where barges were moored. But there was little sign of life.
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