As soon as I was on my feet, we had a long discussion in the upstairs sitting room. The coffins of Bill Arkwright’s mam and dad were no longer there; they’d been buried on the edge of a local churchyard where he could visit them. The Fiend had kept his word and their spirits had gone to the light. Now that the unquiet dead no longer haunted the mill, it had a new atmosphere of tranquility.
Arkwright was very grateful for what I’d done. He began the discussion by thanking me to the point where it became embarrassing. Next it was my turn to speak but I had little to tell the gathering, other than to describe how the fight on the marsh had unfolded. They knew the rest already. And the Spook knew too much. Far too much.
His face stern and tinged with anger, he explained that, although their bodies had been frozen in time, their minds had been free and they had somehow been able to see what I saw and listen to the discussion between the Fiend and me. They knew the task I’d been set and the bargain I’d made both for their lives and the release of Arkwright’s parents. That was terrible enough as they feared the outcome on the marsh and were aware of the imminence of their own deaths. But, cheated of that, the Fiend had later maliciously told them other things: facts designed to drive a wedge between the Spook and me and, even worse, create a gulf between us and Alice that could never be crossed.
“I was already saddened and worried by the fact that you used the mirror to talk to the girl. It showed me the bad influence she’s had on you. Far worse than I’d expected . . .” lamented the Spook.
I opened my mouth to protest but he gestured angrily for silence. “But now there’s more. That sly and deceitful girl has been in contact with Grimalkin for nearly a month.”
I looked across at Alice. Tears were streaming down her face. I suspected that the Spook had already told her what was going to happen as a consequence.
“And don’t try to tell me that good came from it,” the Spook continued. “I know that Grimalkin saved your life—saved all our lives—by fighting alongside you on the marsh, but she’s evil, lad. She belongs to the dark and we can’t compromise; otherwise we’ll end up no better ourselves and we might as well be dead as suffer that. Alice belongs in a pit, and as soon as we get back to Chipenden, that’s where she’ll go!”
“Alice doesn’t deserve that!” I protested. “Think of all the times she’s helped us in the past. She saved your life when you were seriously hurt by that boggart near Anglezarke. You would have died but for Alice.”
I stared hard at him but his expression was unrelenting and a torrent of words poured from my mouth before I could stop them.
“If you do that, if you bind Alice in a pit, I’ll leave. I won’t be your apprentice anymore! I couldn’t work with you after that!”
One part of me meant every word; the other was horrified. What would Mam think of the threat I’d just made?
“That’s your choice, lad,” said the Spook sadly. “No apprentice of mine is forced to complete his time. You wouldn’t be the first to walk away. But you’d certainly be the last. I won’t take on another apprentice if you go.”
I tried one more time. “You do realize that the Fiend told you those things about Alice deliberately? That he wants you to put her in a pit? That it serves his purpose because without Alice we’ll be weakened?”
“Don’t you think I haven’t gone over all this in my mind already, lad? This is no easy decision and I don’t make it lightly. And I do remember that your mam believed in the girl, too, so you don’t need to remind me of that. Well, anybody can be wrong. But my conscience tells me what to do. I know what’s right.”
“You could be making a big mistake,” I told him bitterly, feeling that nothing I said would change his mind. “The biggest mistake you’ve ever made.”
There was a long silence then but for the sound of Alice weeping. Then Arkwright spoke up.
“It seems to me that there’s another way,” he said quietly. “There’s clearly a strong bond between Master Ward and this girl. And I’ll say this to you, Mr. Gregory: If you carry out your threat, you’ll lose an apprentice. Perhaps the best you’ve ever had. We’ll all lose someone who could be a dangerous foe to the Fiend. Because without our training and protection, Tom will be seriously vulnerable and might never reach his full potential.
“And there’s something else very close to my own heart. The lad made a bargain with the Fiend that freed my mam’s and dad’s spirits from over fifteen years of suffering. But without the help of Grimalkin he wouldn’t have been able to win. And without Alice summoning her the witch assassin wouldn’t have stood at Master Ward’s side. So even I owe the girl something.”
I was astonished by Arkwright’s defense of Alice. I’d never heard him talk with such eloquence and passion. Suddenly I was filled with hope.
“From what I’ve been told, the girl had a bad upbringing, a training in witchcraft that very few people of even the strongest character would have been able to recover from. That she did recover and has contributed so much shows you her mettle. I don’t think we’re dealing with a witch here. And certainly not a malevolent one. But maybe, like all of us, she’s both good and bad inside, and you know only too well that light and dark fight a war within each of our hearts. I should know: At times my thoughts have been darker than most people’s. And I’ve had to struggle long and hard to limit my drinking. So let Alice go free. You wouldn’t be releasing a witch into the world. You’d be releasing a girl who I think will prove to be a strong-minded woman; she’ll still be on our side whatever the methods she may sometimes choose to employ. As I said, there’s a middle way,” he continued. “Don’t put her in a pit. Instead, why don’t you just send her away to make her own way in the world? Just banish her. Do that for us all. It’s a way out of this mess.”
There was a long silence, then the Spook looked at me. “Would that be lenient enough for you, lad? Could you live with that? If I did that, would you continue as my apprentice?”
The thought of not seeing Alice again was more than I could bear but it was far better than her being condemned to spend the rest of her life in a pit. I also wanted to continue as the Spook’s apprentice. It was my duty to fight the dark. I knew that my mam would want me to carry on.
“Yes,” I said softly, and the moment I spoke Alice stopped sobbing. I felt so bad, I couldn’t even look at her.
“Right, girl,” said the Spook. “Collect your things and get you gone. Keep well away from the lad and don’t ever come within five miles of Chipenden again! Return and you’ll know exactly what to expect.”
Alice didn’t reply and I suddenly realized that she’d been silent throughout and hadn’t uttered even one word in her own defense. That wasn’t like Alice! Now, silently, her face grim, she left the room.
I looked at the Spook. “I need to say good-bye to her,” I told him. “It’s something I’ve got to do!”
He nodded. “If you must. But make it short, lad. Don’t linger. . . .”
I waited for Alice at the edge of the garden. She smiled sadly as she approached through the drooping willows, carrying her few belongings in a bundle. It was starting to rain: a cold drizzle, the kind that soaks you to the bone.
“Thanks for coming to say good-bye, Tom,” she said, wading through the moat. Once across she held my hand very tightly, her left hand squeezing mine in such a grip that I thought my bones would break as well as my heart.
“I don’t know what to say,” I started.
She silenced me. “Ain’t nothing you can say. We both done what we thought was best—and I always knew what Old Gregory thought about me using the dark. It was a risk worth taking to protect you. I don’t regret it for a minute—though it breaks my heart to think I’ll never see you again.”
We walked in silence until we reached the canal bank. Then she released my hand, pulled something from the pocket of her coat, and held it out toward me. It was the blood jar.
“Take it, Tom. Fiend can’t touch you if you keep this close. It’
s got Morwena’s blood in it. Keep you safe, it will!”
“How did you get her blood? I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you remember? I washed your chain. But first I put some in the bottle. Don’t take much. Just add a few drops of your own blood to it and it’ll do the trick!”
I shook my head. “No, Alice. I can’t take it—”
“Oh, please, Tom, please. Just take it. Take it for me. Not trying to scare you. But you’ll be dead soon without this. Who’ll keep you safe if I’m not there? Old Gregory can’t, that’s for sure. So take the bottle so I can sleep at night knowing that you’re safe.”
“I can’t take it, Alice. I can’t use the dark. Please don’t ask me again. I know you mean well, but I just can’t accept it. Not now. Not ever.”
She looked down at the towpath, replaced the bottle in her pocket, and started to cry silently. I watched the tears run down her cheeks and start to drip from the end of her chin. One part of me wanted to put my arms round her but I daren’t. Do that and I’d never be able to let her go. I had to be strong and keep her at a distance.
“Where will you go, Alice? Where will you stay?”
She lifted her tear-lined face toward me, her expression a blank. “I’ll go home,” she said. “Back to Pendle. Back where I belong. I was born to be a witch and that’s what I’m going to be. It’s the only life I can live now. . . .”
Then Alice put her arms round me and pulled me close, almost squeezing the breath from my body. And before I could move, her lips were pressed against mine, kissing me hard. It only lasted a couple of seconds, then she turned and ran off down the towpath, heading south. It hurt me to watch her go. My own eyes filled with tears and I sobbed deep in my throat.
The clans were divided against themselves now, some in support of the Fiend, others in opposition. But because of what she’d done before—and also the blood that ran through her veins, half Deane and half Malkin—Alice had many enemies in Pendle. Her life would be in danger as soon as she set foot there.
What hurt me most of all was that I knew she didn’t want to go. She didn’t really want to become a witch—I was sure of that. Alice was just saying it because she was upset. Before our last visit to Pendle she’d been afraid of returning. I knew she felt no differently now.
Alice had said that Pendle was where she belonged. That wasn’t true but the danger now was that, under the influence of the dark forces there, she might eventually become a fully fledged malevolent witch. In time, despite Arkwright’s optimism, she could belong to the dark.
CHAPTER XXX
The Black Barge
AFTER another week at the mill the Spook set off for Chipenden without me. It seemed that I had no choice but to stay with Arkwright and complete my six months of training.
It was hard, and to add to the ache in my heart there was physical pain. Long before the end of my time there I was covered in bruises from head to foot. Our practice sessions with staffs were brutal, with no quarter given. But in time I sharpened my skills, and despite the difference in size and strength between me and Arkwright, gradually I began to give as good as I got. On at least two occasions my speed almost enabled me to get the better of him, and when the doctor visited the mill, it wasn’t only my injuries that he tended.
Arkwright had changed. Now that his mam and dad had gone to the light, a lot of his pain and anger had dissipated, too. He drank rarely and his temper was much better. I much preferred the Spook as my master, but Arkwright taught me well, and despite his rough ways, I learned to respect him. In addition to the training I received, we went out to deal with the dark together sometimes—once far to the north beyond the County’s border.
Time passed: A cold winter gradually gave way to spring, and at last it was time for me to return to Chipenden. By now Claw had two puppies: a dog and a bitch, which Arkwright named Blood and Bone. On the morning I left they were play-fighting together in the garden while Claw guarded them jealously.
“Well, Master Ward, at one time I thought you’d be taking the bitch back with you to Chipenden, but fond as she is of you, I think she dotes on those two whelps more!”
I smiled and nodded. “I don’t think Mr. Gregory would be too happy if I took Claw back. Not to mention the fact that dogs and boggarts probably don’t mix!”
“Better keep her here, then, and save your bacon!” Arkwright joked. Then his face grew serious. “Well, we’ve certainly had our ups and downs, but it all seems to have turned out for the best. The mill’s a better place following your visit, and I hope you’ve learned things that’ll stand you in good stead.”
“I have,” I agreed. “And I’ve still got the lumps to prove it!”
“So if you’re ever in need, remember that there’ll always be a place for you here. You could complete your apprenticeship with me if it proved necessary.”
I knew what he meant. Things might never be quite the same between me and the Spook. Although he’d acted for the best, I still thought he was wrong in his treatment of Alice. The fact that he’d sent her away would always be an unspoken barrier between us.
So I thanked Arkwright one final time and soon, having crossed the nearest bridge to the far bank of the canal, I was strolling south toward Caster, bag and staff in hand. How I’d once looked forward to this. But things had changed. There would be no Alice to greet me in Chipenden, and despite the fact that it was a fine spring morning, with the sun shining and the birds singing, my heart was right down in my boots.
My intention was to leave the canal bank long before Caster, then pass to the east of the city before making my way across the high fells. I suppose I must have been deep in thought. I was certainly worrying about the future. Whatever the cause, I didn’t notice it happening until it was too late. But what could I have done anyway?
A sudden shiver ran the length of my spine, and I looked about me and saw that it was dusk and growing darker by the minute. Not only that, but there was a chill in the air, and when I looked back over my shoulder, a thick gray mist was swirling toward me down the canal.
Then out of that mist, a black barge slowly approached. No horses pulled it and its movement through the water was completely silent. As it drew nearer, I realized that it was no ordinary craft. I’d seen the barges that carried Horshaw coal and they were black with grime; this one was highly polished and there were black wax candles in the prow, burning with fierce flames that didn’t flicker. More candles than on a church altar on a holy day.
The barge had neither deck nor hatches and steps led directly into the darkness of a deep, cavernous hold. One glance told me that such depth was impossible because most canal barges are flat-bottomed and canals themselves are not so deep. Yet the manner in which the strange vessel glided through the water was abnormal, and again I had that strange feeling of being in a dream in which the normal rules of life no longer apply.
The barge halted alongside me and I looked into the depths of that impossible hold and saw a seated figure surrounded by a cluster of even more candles. Although no command was uttered, I knew what I must do. So, leaving my bag and staff on the towpath, I stepped aboard and went slowly down the steps as if in the grip of a nightmare, a cold fear twisting at my stomach while my whole body began to tremble.
In the depths of that hold the Fiend, in the shape of the bargeman, was seated on a throne of the same dark polished wood as the barge. It was intricately carved and adorned with evil creatures straight out of the Bestiary in the Spook’s library at Chipenden. His left hand rested on a fierce rampant dragon, its claws lifted aggressively toward me; his right lay upon a fork-tongued snake whose sinuous body trailed down the side of the throne to coil three times around the claw-footed leg.
He smiled the smile of Matthew Gilbert, but his eyes were cold and venomous. I’d assisted Grimalkin to slay his daughter. Had he summoned me to take his revenge?
“Sit down, Tom. Sit at my feet,” he said, gesturing to the space before the throne, and I had no choice b
ut to obey, sitting cross-legged upon the planks to face him. I looked up into his face, which was no longer smiling, and felt utterly powerless and at his mercy. And there was something else that I found disturbing. I had no sense of being in a barge upon a canal. I felt as if I were falling, dropping like a stone, the ground hurtling up toward me.
“I sense your fear,” said the Fiend. “Calm yourself. I’m here to teach you, not destroy you. And if I wanted you dead, there are many others who would be delighted to do me that service. I have other children. And many others who’ve sworn allegiance to me. You couldn’t hope to evade them all.
“I kept my word,” he continued. “I allowed your companions to live—something I needn’t have done because you didn’t defeat my daughter alone but had the help of the assassin Grimalkin. But nevertheless, I did it as a gift to you, Tom, because one day we are going to work together, despite your present reluctance. In fact we are already far closer than you think. But just so that you know exactly what it is you’re dealing with, I’m going to reveal a secret.
“You see, there is one of my children whose identity only one other person in this world knows. A special child of mine who will one day achieve great things in my service. I speak of my beloved daughter Alice Deane. . . .”
For a moment I couldn’t take in what he’d just said. I was stunned. His words spun within my mind like black crows in a storm wind and then dived to plunge their sharp beaks into my heart. Alice was his daughter? He was saying that Alice was his daughter? That she was no better than Morwena?
Monsters or witches—those were the offspring of the Fiend. And if one was born human and untainted, he slew it on the spot, as he had done with the child of Grimalkin. But he had allowed Alice to live! Could it be true?
No, I told myself, trying to keep calm. He was just trying to divide us. I remembered what Mam had once said about the Spook, Alice, and me:
“John Gregory’s star is starting to fade. You two are the future and hope of the County. He needs you both by his side.”
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