The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

by Joseph Delaney

  I felt the barge coming to a halt, and Mr. Gilbert stood up and looked down at Alice and me. His face was in darkness and I couldn’t read his expression but somehow he seemed threatening.

  I looked ahead and could just make out the form of his daughter, apparently draped over the leading horse. She didn’t seem to be moving so she wasn’t grooming it. It was almost as if she was whispering into its ear.

  “That daughter of mine,” Mr. Gilbert said with a sigh. “She does so love a plump horse. Can’t get enough of them. Daughter! Daughter!” he called out in a loud voice. “There’s no time for that now. You must wait until later!”

  Almost immediately the horses took up the strain again, the barge glided forward, and Mr. Gilbert went toward the bow and sat down again.

  “Don’t like this, Tom,” Alice whispered in my ear. “It don’t feel right. Not right at all!”

  No sooner had she spoken than I heard the fluttering of wings somewhere in the darkness overhead, followed by a plaintive, eerie cry.

  “What sort of bird is that?” I asked Alice. “I heard a cry like that just a few days ago.”

  “It’s a corpsefowl, Tom. Ain’t Old Gregory told you about ’em?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Well, it’s something you should know about, being a spook. They’re night birds, and some folk think witches can shape-shift into them. But that’s just a load o’ nonsense. Witches do use them as familiars, though. In exchange for a bit o’ blood the corpsefowl will become their eyes and ears.”

  “Well, I heard one when I was looking for Morwena. D’you think it’s her familiar? If so, she might be somewhere nearby. Perhaps she’s moved faster than I expected. Maybe she’s swimming underwater close to this barge.”

  The canal narrowed, the buildings closing in on either side, as if attempting to cut us off from the thin oblong of pale sky above. They were huge warehouses, probably busy with the hustle and bustle of business during the day but now still and silent. The occasional wall lantern sent patches of flickering light onto the water, but there were large areas of gloom and patches of intense darkness that filled me with foreboding. I agreed with Alice: I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was but things certainly didn’t feel right.

  I glimpsed a dark stone arch ahead. At first I thought it was a bridge but then realized that it was the entrance to a large warehouse and the canal went straight through it. As we glided into the doorway, the horses beginning to slow, I could see that the building was vast and filled with large mounds of slate, probably brought by barge from the quarry to the north. On the wooden quayside were a number of mooring posts and a row of five huge wooden supports, which disappeared into the darkness to hold up the roof. From each hung a lantern so that the canal and near bank were bathed in yellow light. But beyond lay the dark, threatening vastness of the warehouse.

  Mr. Gilbert bent toward the nearest hatch and slowly slid it back. Until that moment I hadn’t noticed that it wasn’t locked, something he’d once told me was vital when carrying cargo. To my surprise, the hold was also filled with yellow light and I looked down to see two men sitting on a pile of slate, each nursing a lantern. Immediately I saw something to their left that started my whole body trembling and plunged me into a pit of horror and despair.

  It was a dead man, the unseeing eyes staring upward. The throat had been ripped out in a manner that reminded me of what had been done to Tooth by Morwena. But it was his identity that scared me more than the cruel horror of his murder.

  The dead man was Mr. Gilbert.

  I looked across the open hatch at the creature who had taken the bargeman’s likeness. “If that’s Mr. Gilbert,” I said, “then you must be . . .”

  “Call me what you will, Tom. I have many names,” he replied. “But none adequately convey my true nature. I’ve been misrepresented by my enemies. The difference between the words fiend and friend is merely one letter. I could easily be the latter. If you knew me better . . .”

  With those words I felt all the strength drain from my body. I tried to reach for my staff but my hand wouldn’t obey me, and as everything grew dark, I caught a glimpse of Alice’s terrified face and heard her give a wail of terror. That sound chilled me to the bone. Alice was strong. Alice was brave. For her to cry out in such a way made me feel that it was all over for us. This was the end.

  Waking felt like floating up from the depths of a deep, dark ocean. I heard sounds first. The distant terrified whinnies of a horse and a man’s loud, coarse laughter close by. As memories of what had happened returned, I felt panic and helplessness, and I struggled to get to my feet.

  I finally gave up when I’d taken in my situation. I was no longer on the barge but sitting on the wooden quay, bound tightly to one of the roof supports, my legs parallel with the canal.

  By a simple act of will the Fiend had rendered me unconscious. What was worse, the strengths we’d learned to depend upon had failed us. Alice hadn’t managed to sniff out Morwena. My powers as a seventh son of a seventh son had proven equally useless. Time had also seemed to pass in a way that was far from normal. One moment the sun had been shining and the city spires were on the horizon; the next it had been almost dark and we’d been deep within its walls. How could anyone hope to defeat such power?

  The barge was still moored at the quay, and the two men, each with a long knife tucked into his leather belt, were sitting there, big steel-toed boots dangling over the edge. But the horses were no longer harnessed. One of them was lying on its side some distance away, its forelegs hanging over the water. The other was nearer, also lying down, and the girl had her arms around its neck. I thought she was trying to help it to its feet. Were the horses sick?

  But there was something different about her: Where previously her hair had been golden now it was dark. How could her hair have changed color like that? My mind was still befuddled or I would have worked out much sooner exactly what was happening. It was only when she left the horse, turned, and walked toward me, her feet bare, that I began to understand.

  She was cupping her hands, holding them before her strangely as she walked. Why was she doing that? And she was walking very slowly and carefully. As she drew nearer, I noticed the blood on her lips. She’d been feeding from the horse, drinking the poor animal’s blood. That’s what she’d been doing when I’d first glimpsed her. That’s why she’d halted the barge as we journeyed south.

  It was Morwena! She must have been wearing a wig. Either that or some dark enchantment had made me see her hair as golden. No wonder she’d kept her back to us. Now I could see that fleshless nose and hideous face. Her left eye was closed.

  A shadow fell upon me, and I flinched back against the post. I sensed the Fiend close at my back. He didn’t move into my field of vision, but his voice was an icy chill squeezing my heart so that it began to beat erratically and I could hardly breathe.

  “I have to leave you now, Tom. You are not my only concern. I have other important business to undertake. But my daughter, Morwena, will take care of you. You are in her hands now.”

  With those words he was gone. Why hadn’t he stayed? What could be so important as to call him away just when I was so completely vulnerable? He must have great faith in Morwena’s power. As his footsteps faded away, the Devil’s daughter came toward me, her expression cruel.

  I heard the flapping of huge wings and an ugly bird swooped to alight on her left shoulder. She raised her cupped hands and it dipped its beak into them again and again, drinking its fill of what she held there: the blood of the dying horse. Having quenched its thirst, the corpsefowl gave a shrill cry, flapped its wings, and fluttered upward, to be lost from sight.

  Morwena then knelt on the wooden quay, her hands red with blood, so close that she could have reached out and touched me. I tried to keep my breath steady but my heart was hammering in my chest. She stared at me with her reptilian right eye as her tongue flicked out and licked the blood from her lips. Only when they were clean did
she speak.

  “You sit so still and quiet. But bravery has no place here. No place at all. You are here to die and won’t escape your fate a second time!”

  Now she revealed those terrible yellow-green canine teeth, and her foul breath washed over me so that it was hard not to retch. Her voice was harsh and sibilant, beginning each sentence with the hiss and splutter of liquid being poured over hot coals, ending with the gurgle of a swamp swallowing its victims, sucking them into its sodden maw. She moved her head a little closer to mine, and rather than looking me in the eye, stared at my neck.

  For a moment I thought she was about to sink her teeth in before ripping out my throat. I actually flinched, and at that involuntary movement she smiled and raised her right eye to meet mine.

  “I’ve already drunk my fill, so live a little longer. Breathe for a while and watch what’s about to unfold.”

  I was starting to tremble and struggled to control the fear that is always a spook’s worst enemy when facing the dark. Morwena seemed to want to talk. If that was the case, I could get information that might prove useful. Things looked bleak, but I’d been in difficult spots before when my chances of survival appeared slim. As my dad used to say, “While there’s life, there’s hope,” and it was something I believed in myself.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “Destroy my father’s enemies: you and John Gregory will die tonight.”

  “My master? Is he here?” I asked. I wondered if he was a prisoner in the other hold.

  She shook her head. “He’s on his way even as we speak. My father sent him a letter to lure him to this place—just as he forged the letter he placed in your hands. John Gregory believes it’s a plea for help from you and now hastens here to his fate.”

  “Where’s Alice?”

  “In the hold where she’s safe,” Morwena hissed, that jutting ridge of bone that served as her nose now mere inches away from my face. “But I want you in view. You’re the bait that will draw your master to his death.”

  That final word was like the ugly croak of a swamp frog echoing over a stagnant bog. She quickly pulled a mottled handkerchief from her sleeve and gagged my mouth. That done, she looked up suddenly and sniffed twice.

  “He’s almost here!” she said, nodding toward the two men, who retreated into the shadows to lie in wait. I assumed she’d join them, but to my surprise and dismay, she approached the edge of the canal, lowered herself into the water, and disappeared from sight.

  The Spook was tough and skilled with his staff. Unless he was taken completely by surprise I estimated him to be more than a match for the two armed men. But if the witch attacked from the water while he fought them, that was another matter. My master was in grave danger.

  CHAPTER XX

  No Choice at All

  I sat there, helpless, knowing that any moment now my master would arrive; if Morwena had her way, he’d be the first of us to die. But things still weren’t hopeless because, for some strange reason of his own, the Fiend had now left us. My master would not be so easy to kill. He had a fighting chance at least. But how could I help him?

  I struggled to free myself from the thick rope that bound me to the post. It was very tight, and no matter how hard I twisted and turned it barely yielded. I heard a faint noise in the distance. Was it one of the waiting men? Or was it the Spook?

  The next moment there was no doubt. The Spook was walking down the quay toward me carrying his staff and bag, his footsteps echoing. I suppose we noticed each other at exactly the same moment because no sooner had I set eyes on him than he came to a halt. He stared at me for a long time before continuing more slowly. I knew he would have worked out that it was a trap. Why else would I be tied up like that in full view? So he could either retreat and make his escape or come forward and hope that he could deal with whatever had been prepared. I knew he wouldn’t leave me—so it was no choice at all.

  After another twenty paces he halted again, directly under one of the huge posts that supported the roof of the warehouse. He was staring at the two dead horses. The lantern was shining full in his face, and by its light I could see that although he looked old and a little gaunt, his eyes still glittered fiercely and his senses were sharp and alert, testing the dark recesses of the warehouse for danger.

  He continued toward me again. I could have nodded toward the water to warn him about the threat from Morwena. But to do so might distract him from the other threat from the darkness on his right.

  Suddenly, less than twenty paces from me, he halted again, and this time he put down his bag and lifted his staff defensively, holding it with both hands at an angle of forty-five degrees. I heard the distinctive click as he released the retractable blade and then everything happened very quickly.

  The two thugs burst out of the darkness from my left, their long knives glinting in the lantern light. Turning his back on the water, the Spook whirled to meet them. For a second his opponents seemed to hesitate. Perhaps they saw the wicked-looking blade at the end of his staff. Either that or the determination in his eyes. But then, as they rushed on, knives aloft, ready to cut him down, he struck. Using the thick base of his staff, he landed a terrible blow on one man’s temple. The man fell soundlessly, the knife flying from his fingers, even as the Spook thrust the point of his blade toward his second assailant. As the blade pierced the man’s right shoulder, he also dropped his knife, then fell to his knees and uttered a thin, high cry of pain.

  The Spook angled his staff toward his fallen enemy, and for a moment he seemed about to stab downward, but then he shook his head and said something to him in a low voice. The man staggered to his feet and stumbled away into the darkness, clutching his shoulder. Only then did the Spook glance back in my direction and I was finally able to nod desperately toward the water of the canal.

  I wasn’t a second too soon. Morwena surged into the air with the strength of a salmon leaping up a waterfall, her arms outstretched to tear at the Spook’s face, though her left eye was still closed.

  My master met her with equal speed. He spun, bringing his staff in a rapid arc from left to right. It missed Morwena’s throat by a hair’s breadth, and with a terrible shriek of anger she flopped back into the water less than gracefully, creating a huge splash.

  The Spook froze, looking down into the water. Then, with his right hand, he reached up and tugged his hood up, forward, and down so that it shielded his eyes. He must have seen the pinned eye and realized who he was dealing with. Without eye contact Morwena would not be able to use her bloodeye against him. Nonetheless he would be fighting “blind.”

  He waited, immobile, and I watched anxiously as the last ripple erased itself from the surface of the canal, which became as still as glass. Suddenly Morwena surged from the water again, this second attack even more sudden than the first, and then landed on the very edge of the wharf, her webbed feet slapping hard against the wooden boards. Her bloodeye was now open, its baleful red fire directed at the Spook. But without looking up, he stabbed toward her legs and she was forced to retreat.

  Immediately she struck at him with her left hand, the claws raking toward his shoulder, but he stepped away just in time. Then, as she moved the other way, he flicked his staff from his left to his right hand and jabbed toward her hard and fast. It was the same maneuver he’d made me practice against the dead tree in his garden—the one that had saved my life in the summer when I’d used it successfully against Grimalkin.

  He executed it perfectly, and the tip of his blade speared Morwena in the side. She let out a cry of anguish but leaped away quickly, somersaulting back into the water. The Spook waited a long time but she didn’t attack again.

  Only then did he come swiftly to my side, lean forward and tug the scarf downward to free my mouth.

  “Alice is tied up in the hold!” I said, gasping. “Mr. Gilbert is dead. And that was Morwena who attacked you from the water! The Fiend’s own daughter! And there could be other water witches on their way
!”

  “Calm yourself, lad,” the Spook said. “I’ll have you free in a moment. . . .”

  That said, he used the staff’s blade to cut through my bonds. As I came slowly to my feet, rubbing my wrists to restore the circulation, my master pointed at the knife of one of his assailants, which was lying on the quayside.

  “Free her while I stand guard,” he said.

  We stepped onto the barge, and staff at the ready, the Spook stood resolutely beside me while I slid back the hatch. Alice stared up at me from below. She was bound and gagged and they’d left her by the dead body of the bargeman.

  “The Fiend was here. He’s taken Mr. Gilbert’s shape,” I told my master.

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do for the poor man now,” said the Spook, shaking his head sadly. “We’ll have to leave him for others to find and bury. But cut the girl free. We need to be away from here as quickly as possible. The witch isn’t badly hurt. No doubt she’ll be getting ready to try again.”

  I could feel Alice trembling as I cut her bonds and helped her from the hold. She didn’t say a word and her eyes were wide with fear. It seemed that the proximity of the Fiend had terrified her even more than it had me.

  Once the three of us were standing on the quay, the Spook pointed north, then led us out of the warehouse, walking so fast that I struggled to keep up.

  “Aren’t we heading back to Chipenden?” I asked.

  “No, we’re not, lad. Not enough time to get there if Morwena gives chase. We’re off to poor Bill Arkwright’s house first. It’s the nearest refuge. But the sooner we get away from this canal bank, the better,” he said, eyeing the water warily.

  “I know a quicker route to the mill,” volunteered Alice. “I used to live near there with Bony Lizzie. We need to cross the canal and then keep well to the west.”