What could he hope to do about that? Nothing. Nothing at all. If that were true, their spirits were trapped in the mill until the world itself came to an end.
The first thing that warned me of danger was the silence. It was intense. I could hear nothing. Nothing at all. The second was that I was unable to move. I was sitting on the floor as before, resting my head against the wall. I tried to turn my head and look at Alice, but my body refused to obey. I tried to speak to warn the others of my fears but couldn’t even open my mouth.
I could see a candle on the floor opposite, set within reach of the Spook. Moments earlier the flame had been flickering but it was now perfectly still. It looked as if it had been carved from metal; it seemed to reflect light rather than cast it. On my left was the stove with its open door; I could see the flames within but each was static. Then I realized that I wasn’t breathing. In a panic I tried to take a breath but nothing happened. Yet I felt no pain. My body wasn’t crying out for air. My insides seemed too still and quiet. Had my heart stopped beating? Was I dead?
But then I remembered that I’d felt a little like this before—on the barge as we traveled toward Caster with the Fiend in the guise of the bargeman. Then the Devil had been tampering with time; it had passed too quickly. But I knew that this was different. I knew exactly what had happened: The Fiend had halted time itself.
I heard a noise from the shadows in the far corner of the room: a thump followed immediately by a sizzling, hissing sound. It was repeated twice more.
Suddenly I could smell burning. Wood smoke. The floorboards. And then I saw that although time had stopped and everything within the room seemed to be frozen into immobility, one thing was moving. And what else could move but the Fiend himself?
I couldn’t see him yet—he was invisible—but I could see his footprints advancing toward me. Each time one of his unseen feet made contact with the floorboards, it burned the shape of a cloven hoof into the wood, which glowed red before darkening with a spluttering hiss. Would he make himself visible? The thought was terrifying. I’d been told by Grimalkin that to inspire awe and force obeisance he’d appeared in his true majestic shape to the covens at Halloween. According to the Spook, some people believed his true form was so terrible that anyone who saw it would instantly drop dead. Was that just a scary bedtime tale or was it real? Would he do that to me now?
Something began to materialize—no gray or silver phantasm but a solid-looking shape. However, it was not the terrifying apparition I’d feared. Once again, the Fiend had taken the shape of Matthew Gilbert, the bargeman, who now stood before me in boots and jerkin, exactly as I’d first seen him, smiling the same friendly, confident smile.
“Well, Tom,” he said, “as I told you the last time we met, the difference between fiend and friend is only one letter. Which one shall I be to you? That’s the choice you must make in the next few minutes. And upon that decision rests your own life as well as the fate of your three companions.”
CHAPTER XXVII
A Hard Bargain
“MOVE your head, if you wish,” the Fiend said with a smile. “It will make things easier. You’ll be able to see better and I don’t want you to miss a thing. So what is it to be? Friend or foe?”
I felt a lurch as my heart began to thump very hard in my chest and I sucked in a big breath. I turned my head slightly, instinctively checking to see that Alice was all right. She was still and quiet but her eyes were wide with fear. Could she also see the Fiend? If so, she was still frozen in time just like the Spook and Arkwright. Only the Fiend and I seemed able to move, but I felt very weak and knew I lacked the strength to climb to my feet. Yet I opened my mouth and found I could speak. I turned my gaze back toward my enemy and gave him my answer.
“You’re the dark made flesh. You can never be my friend.”
“Don’t be so sure about that, Tom. We are closer than you think. Far closer. Believe it or not, we know each other very well. Let’s take a question that each human being considers at some time in his or her brief life. Some answer it quickly and hardly ever think about it again. Some are believers. Some skeptics. Some debate it in anguish for the duration of their lives. It’s a simple question, Tom, and this is it. Do you believe in God?”
I believed in the light. As for God, I wasn’t sure. But my dad had believed, and maybe, deep down, the Spook also believed, though he hardly ever talked about such things. He certainly didn’t believe in an authoritative old man with a white beard, the deity of the Church.
“I’m not sure,” I answered truthfully.
“Not sure, Tom? Why, it’s as plain as the nose on your face! Would God allow so much evil into the world?” the Fiend continued. “Disease, starvation, poverty, war, and death—that’s all you poor humans have to look forward to. Would such a God let the war continue? Of course not. Therefore he simply cannot exist. All those churches, all that worship by devout but misguided congregations. And all for what? For nothing! Nothing at all! Their prayers go out into the void and are unheard.
“But if we ruled, together we could change everything and make this world a better place for all. So what do you say? Will you help me to do that, Tom? Will you stand at my side? We could achieve so much together!”
“You are my enemy,” I said. “We could never work together.”
Suddenly I began to shiver with fear. I remembered the hobbles that the Spook had told me about—the limitations placed on the Fiend’s power that the Spook had read about in Mam’s books. The Fiend wanted me to work with him so that he could rule here until the end of the world. If he killed me himself, he’d only rule for a century. So would he do that now: kill me anyway because I’d refused?
“Sometimes it’s very difficult to rule, Tom,” the Fiend said, stepping closer. “Sometimes hard, painful decisions have to be made. As you refuse my offer, you give me no alternative. You must die so that I can bring about a better world for all humanity. My daughter awaits you in the marsh. There you must kill or be killed.”
So he’d decided to let her kill me instead. That way the hobbles would be nullified and he would grow in power until he finally ruled the world.
“Her against me?” I protested. “No! I’ll not go out to meet her. Let her come to me.”
I thought of her out there in the marsh at her strongest, of the peril of that blood-filled eye. I’d be helpless, fixed to the spot within seconds. Then slain, my throat ripped out like the bargeman’s.
“You’re in no position to make the rules, boy. Go out there and face her if you want your companions to live,” said the Fiend. “I could slay them in a second while they’re powerless before me. . . .”
He leaned forward and rested his hand lightly on Alice’s head. Then he spread his fingers. It was a big hand and seemed to be expanding even as I watched. Now the whole of Alice’s head was enclosed by the span of that huge hand.
“All I have to do is clench my fist, Tom, that’s all; her head will be crushed like an eggshell. Should I do it now? Do you need to see how easy it is for me?”
“No! Please!” I cried out. “Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt any of them. I’ll go to the marsh. I’ll go right now!”
I lurched to my feet, snatched up my staff, and moved toward the door. There I paused and looked back at my enemy. What if I released the blade in my staff and attacked him? Would I have a chance? But it would be futile and I knew it. The instant I moved toward him I’d be frozen in time again, just as helpless as the Spook, Alice, and Arkwright.
I nodded toward them. “If I survive or I win . . . ? Will you let them live?”
The Fiend smiled. “If you win, they will live — at least for a while. If you die, I will kill them, too. So you fight for the lives of these three as well as your own.”
I knew my chances of defeating the Fiend’s daughter on the marsh were slim. How could my staff and chain be strong enough against her powers? And Alice, the Spook, and Arkwright would die with me. But there was something I might achieve
before that happened. One last thing to be bought with my death. It was certainly worth a try.
“One more thing,” I said. “Give me that and I’ll go to the marsh now. Life is short and everybody has to die sometime but it’s a terrible thing to be tormented afterward. Arkwright’s mam and dad have suffered enough. Whether I win or lose, will you release Amelia’s soul so that they can both go to the light?”
“Win or lose? You drive a hard bargain, Tom.”
“No harder than the task you set me. You expect me to die. That’s what you want. Is that fair? At least give me what I ask so it won’t all have been for nothing.”
He stared hard at me for a moment and then his face relaxed. He’d made his decision. “Then so be it. I’ll grant your wish.”
Without a backward glance, I left the kitchen, ran through the other room and out into the night. As I moved farther into the garden, I felt a change. Outside the house time was moving forward normally. But it wasn’t a good night to venture out onto the marsh.
A thick mist had descended, the visibility was down to about ten paces. Overhead the orb of the moon was just visible, so there wasn’t much depth to the mist, but that wouldn’t help me on the marsh, where the land was low and flat. How I wished I could have Claw with me but I assumed she was frozen in time like the others.
I paused on the edge of the moat and took a deep breath. Once across it, I would face the Fiend’s daughter. She would be waiting out there; the darkness and mist would be to her advantage. I advanced onto the marsh cautiously. It was a pity I’d only practiced being hunted by the dogs once, otherwise I’d now know the meandering paths much better.
Deep, stagnant water or treacherous bog lay on either side of the paths. I’d seen the way Morwena leaped out of the water like a salmon. I had to be prepared for a similar attack now. The threat might come from either side of any path I trod. As for weapons, I had my staff and I now felt in the pocket of my cloak and my fingers closed over the silver chain. It was reassuring to feel it there. Finally I had salt and iron, but that could be used only as a last resort, when staff and chain were no longer an option and both hands were free.
Suddenly an eerie sound echoed over the marsh. It was the unmistakable cry of the corpsefowl, the witch’s familiar. She had an extra pair of eyes free to soar into the sky; the bird would be searching for me now. No doubt the Fiend had already told his daughter that I was on my way. The bird’s cry had come from the west, somewhere close to the mere where I’d met Morwena and been hooked through the ear. So I took the most southerly of the paths available to me. I didn’t want to meet the witch near the deep water.
Despite the slippery ground, I began to walk faster, growing more and more nervous with each step. Then, suddenly, I saw something ahead. There was a body lying on the path. I didn’t want to retrace my steps so I approached it cautiously; it might be a trap of some sort. But it was a man lying facedown with his head twisted to the left. He was quite dead. His throat was torn out just like the one near the mill. He was wearing a uniform; it was another of the press-gang.
The Fiend’s daughter might be close by now, ready to attack, so I moved on quickly. I’d been on the path for no more than two or three more minutes when I heard another sound, directly ahead. What was it? Not the corpsefowl this time. I halted and peered into the mist. All I could see were large clumps of reed and the faint line of the path twisting through them. So I continued more slowly this time.
I heard it again and halted immediately. It was a sort of croaking cry followed by a gurgle. It sounded as though someone was in pain. As if they were choking. I advanced a step at a time, my staff at the ready, until I could just make out a horizontal shape on the path ahead. Was it somebody creeping toward me? Two more steps and I could see that it wasn’t moving. It looked like a long bundle of rags. Was it another of the soldiers? Then I saw it more clearly.
There was a witch on the path, lying on her back, one hand trailing in the water. Her eyes and mouth were wide open: the former were fixed and staring but looking at the sky, not toward me; the mouth showed the four long, sharp canines of a water witch. Was it the one who’d escaped from the pit under the mill? Was she hurt—or dead?
I hesitated. I was very close to her now. What if she was only pretending? Just waiting until I got close enough for her to grab hold of me? And then a voice spoke to me out of the darkness, one that I recognized only too well.
“Well, child, we meet again!”
My knees turned to water. Beyond the body, facing me, was Grimalkin.
Now she would get her revenge. Perhaps she’d saved me in the folly just so that she could savor this moment. I wished the ground would swallow me up. I feared the snip-snip of those terrible scissors. I eased the silver chain out of the pocket of my cloak and readied it. I’d missed her last time, but I’d been exhausted and I’d cast on the run. My left hand was shaking with nerves but I forced myself to breathe evenly. I would be brave like my master, the Spook. Even if I died, I could still be brave. I could do it. I’d trained long and hard for this moment.
I looked her in the eye and prepared to throw. She wasn’t like Morwena and at least I could look into her face. It was a beautiful face but stern and cruel, and her mouth was slightly open, the lips painted black. And I could see the savage teeth that she’d filed to sharp, cruel points.
“Put away your chain, child,” she said softly. “I’ve not come for you. This night we fight together against our enemy.”
It was only then that I noticed that she brandished no weapon; all her blades were sheathed.
I lowered my chain. I believed her. After all, she’d warned me about the water witches in the tunnel, then helped me fight them off. My mam had always told me to trust my instincts and I felt that Grimalkin was telling the truth. It seemed to me that this was to our advantage. Despite what the Spook had said, if the dark fought against the dark, it would surely be weakened.
Grimalkin pointed at the dead body of the witch. “Don’t worry, child,” she said softly. “She won’t bite. Just step over her body. Hurry. We have little time!”
I stepped over the witch, and ten more paces brought me face to face with the assassin. As before, she was bristling with weapons, the sheaths carrying knives of various sizes, not to mention the scissors. But there were two changes: Her hair was pulled back tightly from her brow and tied at the nape of her neck with a black silk scarf; secondly, she was very dirty, her face and bare arms and legs streaked with mud, and she stank of marsh slime.
“What do you seek here, child? Your death?” she demanded, opening her black-painted lips to show her pointed teeth again. “The Fiend’s daughter is close. Within minutes she’ll be here.”
I shook my head. “I’ve no choice. The Fiend made me come here; otherwise he’ll kill my master, Alice, and Arkwright. If I slay his daughter, he’ll spare their lives.”
She laughed softly. “You’re brave,” she said, “but foolish. Why try to fight her here? Water is her element. If you begin to win, she’ll flee deeper into the marsh where you can’t reach her. And give her half a chance and she’ll drag you into the water. No! This isn’t the way. We must lure her onto higher, drier ground. I’ve seen you run and you’re fast, almost as fast as me. But how sure are your feet over this terrain? Now, if you are to survive, you must match me step for step.”
Without another word, she turned and began to run down the path that would take us deeper into the marsh. I followed at her heels, running faster and faster across the treacherous ground. Once I almost lost my footing and came close to falling into the bog; on two occasions Grimalkin began to pull away from me into the mist, and only by making a huge effort did I manage to keep her within sight.
At last we began to climb out of the marsh. Ahead was a small rounded hill with the ruin of a small abbey at its summit. It was Monks’ Hill. Three stunted sycamores grew among the rubble. In places hardly a stone stood upon a stone, but Grimalkin led us to a low wall and we settl
ed down with our backs to it so that we could gaze upon the swamplands. Above us the moon shone from a cloudless sky, lighting the ruins and the hillside to a silver.
We were above the mist, which now lay undulating below, obscuring the marsh and the path. We were sitting upon an island rising from a calm sea composed of white cloud. For a long time we didn’t speak. After my exertions I was happy just to allow my breathing to return to normal, and it was the witch assassin who spoke first.
“It is to Alice Deane that you should give thanks that you don’t face your enemy here alone.”
I turned toward Grimalkin in astonishment. “Alice?” I asked.
“Yes, your friend Alice. Afraid that the Fiend and his daughter were about to slay you, she summoned me north to come to your aid. We’ve been in contact many times during the past month. Mostly by mirror.”
“Alice used a mirror to contact you?”
“Of course, child. How else do witches communicate over long distances? I was surprised at first but she persisted and slowly won me round. How could I refuse one whose mother was a Malkin? Especially when our cause is now the same.”
“So did you come looking for me on the island?”
“You or the Fiend’s daughter. But I was never on that island until we spoke. I watched you from the mainland shore, saw the witches preparing to enter the water, and warned you. I’d been watching you for days. John Gregory wouldn’t welcome my presence so I kept my distance.”
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