The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

by Joseph Delaney

  “Stop!” Lizzie cried, just in time. She gave me an evil smile. “Now you can put it back in your pocket because you know what I’m capable of. Next time you disobey me again, I’ll make you smash that jar and I’ll put you in the deepest, darkest, dampest dungeon. Then we’ll see which of them comes for you first—the buggane or the Fiend.”

  I picked up my staff, turned, and went to do her bidding. What choice did I have?

  As I passed under the first portcullis and went across the yard to the main gate, the yeomen got to their feet, gathering just beyond the moat.

  “What have we here?” said Commander Stanton, walking toward me. “She’s bewitched you, all right! We sent you in old and tall and you come back young and a good few inches shorter!”

  They all laughed at his joke, but some of the guffaws were forced, the amusement hollow.

  “My master’s hurt,” I told him, and then went on to deliver Lizzie’s message, worried about how Stanton might react to her instructions. He didn’t look like the sort of man who would take kindly to her plan to rule Greeba Keep. It also seemed highly unlikely that he’d agree to choose a seneschal for her. I just hoped that he wouldn’t get it into his head to punish me, her messenger.

  Stanton looked unimpressed. “We’re to work for her, are we? And what if we’ve got plans of our own?”

  “She said you’ve got just ten minutes to decide. If you don’t respond in that time, some of you will die—one for every five minutes you keep her waiting.”

  Some of the men around him began to mutter and look apprehensive. I could sense the fear passing from one to the other like a disease.

  At first Stanton didn’t reply. He looked thoughtful and gazed up at the tower. Then he turned back to me again. “You’re a spook’s apprentice, so you know about these things. Could she do it? Could the witch really kill some of us from a distance like that?”

  “It’s not easy,” I admitted. “Witches often use curses and try to kill their enemies from afar, though it doesn’t always work. But Bony Lizzie is a really strong witch. She’s done things I wouldn’t have believed possible. A spook has some immunity against witchcraft, and my own master has practiced his trade successfully for many years. That didn’t help him, though,” I went on, shaking my head sadly. “She used dark magic and he fell unconscious at her feet. So who knows what she is capable of?”

  He nodded and looked at his men. “Well, I say we put her to the test. We’ll let the minutes pass. Maybe she’s only bluffing.”

  Not everyone was happy, but nobody challenged his decision. I turned to walk back over the moat, but Stanton grabbed my arm. “No, lad, you’re staying with us until we know what’s what.”

  He made me sit down by the fire and knelt beside me, warming his hands before the flames. “Who else is in there besides the witch and your master?” he asked.

  “My friend, Alice.”

  “Alice? You mean the little witch who survived the testing in the barrel? The sly one who hit me with that rock?”

  “She’s not a witch.”

  “Barrule thought so, and he knew about such things,” he interrupted.

  “She really isn’t a witch,” I insisted.

  Stanton looked at me long and hard, as if making his mind up about something, and then he said, “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Tom Ward.”

  “Well, Tom Ward, my name’s Daniel Stanton, the commander around here. I served Lord Barrule for fifteen years, and sometimes did things I didn’t like on his behalf. Still, a man knows which side his bread’s buttered on, and from time to time we all do things we’re not entirely happy with. Not sure being seneschal to a witch appeals to me much, though.

  “This is the situation. Barrule didn’t leave an heir. About ten years ago, his wife died in childbirth, and the baby only lived a few hours after her. So the parliament, the Tynwald, will decide next week who’ll be appointed to take his place and become leader of the ruling council. As I see it, my duty now is to secure that keep for its next master, who’ll be my new employer. That means dealing with that witch one way or another—”

  There was a sudden cry of pain from someone by the next fire. Daniel Stanton jumped to his feet. I followed him and saw a man lying on his back close to the flames. He was writhing in pain, his hands at his throat as if he were choking. His face was turning purple. Someone sat him up and tried to help him, lifting a cup of water to his lips. But suddenly the man gave a gasp, shuddered, and went limp.

  “He’s dead!” the cry went up.

  I was looking at lots of scared faces. Some of Stanton’s men looked ready to run.

  “The witch did it!” someone shouted.

  “Aye,” agreed a second voice, “and what if she does it again? Any one of us could be next!”

  The yeomen milled about, their faces tense. Stanton was the only one who didn’t look scared. He stood there impassively, his arms folded and head held high.

  Five minutes later, a yeoman close to us gave a groan, clasped his hands to his throat, then staggered and fell stone dead at our feet. Stanton’s men were now terrified. These were yeomen, soldiers used to facing violent death, but this was not natural. They were beginning to panic.

  Stanton held his hand up for calm and addressed his men in a loud, clear voice. “We’ll do as the witch demands!” he cried. “I’ll go and talk to her myself.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Right, boy, I take it you’d like to put an end to her if you could?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, why didn’t you finish her off when you had the chance the other night? I was there and saw what happened.”

  I shook my head. “Lots of reasons . . . I couldn’t bring myself to kill her in cold blood.”

  “That’s a hard thing to do,” he agreed with a nod, “and you’re just a boy. But if I get the chance, I won’t hesitate. So we’ll work together on this, agreed?”

  “The first thing is to try and get my master to safety. He’ll work out what to do.”

  “We’ll go and see what the witch has to say,” Stanton said. “We’ll play along with her for a while and wait for an opportunity to present itself.”

  CHAPTER XVII

  Stone Dead

  TOGETHER we went through the gates, into the tower, and up the steps to the throne room. Lizzie was waiting for us on the throne, looking imperious. There was no sign of Alice or the Spook.

  Daniel Stanton gave her a low bow. “I’m at your service, ma’am,” he told her.

  It was exactly the right thing to do; the witch positively glowed. “What do they call you?” she asked.

  “Stanton, ma’am. I was the commander of the Greeba Guard. I served Lord Barrule for almost fifteen years.”

  “Well now, Master Stanton, you’re my seneschal, although you’ll still captain the guard. Get them back to their posts sharpish, and the other servants too—especially the cooks. Tomorrow night there’s going to be a feast in my honor. Which is the largest room in the keep? How many can it hold?”

  “The great hall, ma’am. It’s in the building beside the tower. It can hold nearly two hundred.”

  “Send out invitations, then,” Lizzie commanded. “I want that hall filled. No riffraff, mind. I want landowners there—rich, important people. Get me the members of the ruling council and the Tynwald, as many as possible.”

  “I’ll go and attend to it right away, ma’am,” Stanton told her.

  Lizzie dismissed him. When he’d gone, she stood up and walked down the steps toward me. “I will rule this island. Do you doubt me, boy?” she asked.

  I looked at her warily. “It all seems to be going to plan,” I agreed.

  “Even better than you realize,” Lizzie said with a twist of her lips. “And don’t think that I’m not ready to deal with any tricks. Daniel Stanton has a smooth tongue, but I can see through his flattery. After tomorrow night, he’ll be too terrified to even contemplate opposing me. And as for you, I’ll keep you alive a little longer—you mi
ght just prove useful. But one wrong step, and it’s the end of that blood jar—then the Fiend can have you. Do I make myself clear?”

  I nodded.

  “Right then, give me your staff. You won’t be needing it anymore.”

  I tried to resist, but the compulsion was still strong, and I found myself laying it at her feet. I knew she wouldn’t want to touch it. Witches hated the feel of rowan wood.

  “Now get out of my sight,” she commanded, “but don’t leave the keep unless I tell you, and stay away from the dungeons. Go near your master, and it’ll be the worse for both of you. You’ll sleep in one of the rooms up there,” she said, pointing to the steps, “where I can keep an eye on you.”

  Within an hour the keep was a flurry of activity: the guards were back in position and the cooks were preparing for the feast the following night.

  There was nothing for it but to go up the stairs and pick one of the bedrooms. I spent the next few hours in the window seat, watching the bustle below in the courtyard while I tried to take stock of the situation and work out the best course of action. I was concerned for my master. And where was Alice? Lizzie hadn’t mentioned her absence. Had she been imprisoned in the dungeons too? If so, she’d be beyond the protection of the blood jar.

  Things were looking bleak. We were like flies trapped in Lizzie’s web, and I couldn’t see how to break free. I just had to wait for an opportunity and, when it came, take it despite the risk.

  To my relief, just before dark Alice appeared at the open doorway of my room. She was carrying a plate of cold ham, cheese, and biscuits.

  “Thought you might like to share some supper with me,” she said, coming toward me.

  “Where’s the Spook?” I asked.

  “He’s locked in a dungeon, Tom. Lizzie made me help her carry him down.”

  We sat together in the window seat and nibbled at the food. “Don’t eat too much,” Alice said with a smile. “Leave some room for the queen’s banquet tomorrow night!”

  “Can Lizzie be serious?” I asked. “What does she hope to achieve?”

  “She’s going to release all the prisoners of Greeba Keep and invite them to the feast—all except Old Gregory, of course. Don’t know what she wants to do that for. What’s her game, Tom?”

  “Hard to say why she’d release the prisoners, but if she really means to rule this island, I’d guess she’ll be out to impress and terrify her guests tomorrow—show them that resistance is futile. But we’ve got someone on our side—Daniel Stanton, whom she’s just appointed as her seneschal. He’ll kill her if he gets half a chance. He served Barrule for years, but now his loyalty is to his next master. The Tynwald will probably appoint somebody next week. But what about Mr. Gregory—she’s not going to feed him to the buggane, is she?”

  “Not yet, Tom. Lizzie wants to hurt him badly first. After she’s had her fun, then it’ll be the buggane’s turn.”

  “What I can’t understand is why she’s not killed me already, or put me in a cell to feed the buggane. Why risk having a spook’s apprentice around?”

  “Ain’t hurt you yet because I begged her not to,” said Alice. “And she ain’t hurt me because she really means what she said about me uniting the Pendle clans one day. She thinks she can win me over to the dark. She can’t, but it don’t do no harm to let her think I’m moving her way. That’s the only reason you’re still alive, Tom. I also asked her to let the dogs go—or have ’em fed, at least. She wouldn’t hear of it, though. They must be starving by now.”

  I nodded sadly. Claw, Blood, and Bone had suffered cruelly, but at least, unlike some of the other dogs, they were still alive. I’d have to do something about them—and soon.

  The following morning I passed Stanton on the stairs. He thrust a guest list under my nose. There were a lot of names.

  “These are the ones we’ve sent invitations to—all important people, but a lot of them won’t come. They see Bony Lizzie as a murderess and a witch and will already be making their own plans to deal with her, maybe even raising some sort of military force to move against the keep. Of course, they can’t do much until the parliament meets next week.

  “But there are those who have agreed to attend. Why, I don’t know,” the commander went on, shaking his head, “but some—especially those who don’t get their own way at the Tynwald—see her as a route to power. Some are simply coming along to assess the danger she represents. If the meeting turns against her, I might just use the uproar to kill her there and then. Now, tell me—what’s the best way to kill a witch, lad?”

  “A silver-alloy blade through the heart would be the most effective,” I told him. “A spook’s staff has one, but Lizzie’s locked away mine and my master’s. Any blade right through the heart might do the trick, though—at least for a while.”

  I didn’t like to tell him that he would have to cut out her heart afterward. Otherwise we’d be facing a dead and possibly even more dangerous Bony Lizzie. But first things first, I thought.

  Guests started to arrive at the keep just after sunset. They were greeted at the gate and escorted to the great hall. Mostly they were men, alone or in groups, but there were a few couples, too.

  The hall was large and spectacular, its high roof supported on heavy wooden beams arranged in a sequence of triangles such as you found in the very largest County churches. Although constructed on a smaller scale, it reminded me of the interior of Priestown Cathedral. On the walls, rich tapestries depicted scenes from the island’s history: There were longboats and fierce-looking men with horned helmets; vessels landing on rocky shores; battles, with houses burning and fields strewn with the dead. Dozens of torches lined the walls to show them off.

  Gradually the room began to echo with the low buzz of conversation as servants brought in trays of wine and offered a glass to each guest. The tables were arranged in parallel rows; the head table, where Lizzie would take her place, faced them. To our surprise, Alice and I were seated immediately to the left of the witch’s chair, with Daniel Stanton positioned on her right. Yeomen armed with spears stood guard along the wall at the back.

  Once all the guests had arrived, another group of yeomen brought in the prisoners and led them to the table right at the back, near the door. I saw that Adriana was among them.

  Only then did Lizzie enter the room and walk slowly to her place at the head table. The conversation died away as the guests followed her progress. She had clearly raided the wardrobe of Lord Barrule’s dead wife; this time she’d helped herself to jewels as well. Her fingers were adorned with gold rings, her wrists with gleaming, slender bracelets, and set within her hair, which was now clean and lustrous, was a spectacular diamond tiara.

  When she reached her chair, Lizzie halted and swept the room with her eyes. Then she gave a smile, but there was no warmth in it. It was the cruel, gloating smile of someone very confident of her power; the sadistic smirk of a bully about to torment her helpless victims.

  “Eat your fill!” she commanded. “We’ll dine first and talk later.”

  Then, without further ado, waiters scurried into the room with trays of choice cuts of meat. The cooks had worked hard, and it truly was a feast fit for a queen. But the guests all ate in silence, merely nibbling at their food, and you could sense the fear and unease that now gripped them. They knew what Lizzie was capable of—how she’d slain the powerful Lord Barrule and killed yeomen from a distance. She’d even bested a spook.

  At last, when the tables had been cleared and everyone’s glass filled again, Stanton rose to his feet and called out for silence. An expectant hush fell as Bony Lizzie stood and faced her nervous guests.

  She stared at them for a long time without speaking, pursing her red-painted lips. Suddenly I felt a chill in the air. She was using something from the dark already.

  “The old ways won’t do any longer!” she cried. “It’s time for change!”

  There was real authority in her voice. This was no longer the mud-splattered Lizzie who had taken
refuge with us in the buggane’s tunnels—though she still twisted her mouth and spoke in a heavy Pendle accent.

  “You’ve enemies across the sea to the east. Captured the County, they have, and now they’ll be looking this way. They’ll want to seize your land and make slaves of you all, there’s little doubt about that. This is no time for dithering; no time for empty talk. A parliament ain’t needed now. What good is a talking shop when we need action? Want a strong single voice, you do. Need a different type of rule. It’s me you need! I’ll be your queen. I’ll protect you. Support me and keep your freedom. It’s your choice.”

  Putting emphasis on the word “your,” she extended her left arm and brought it in a slow arc from left to right, pointing her index finger at her audience. The rings on her fingers and the diamonds in the tiara sparkled. She was indeed acting like a queen now—regal, powerful, and commanding. She was telling these people that they had but one choice, and that was to obey her.

  There was a low grumble of dissent, though one or two men smiled and nodded. Did they actually see her as a future leader, one who would drag them along in her wake?

  Lizzie ignored the mutters. “It’s a different life for everyone here now. Let the prisoners go, I have. They were Lord Barrule’s prisoners, not mine. His time is over, so I’ve released them and now the cells are empty—except for the spook, of course. But others will join him in my dungeons—those who oppose me.”

  This time the mutters became a rumble, then a roar of disapproval.

  “You’re either with me or against me!” Lizzie’s voice cut through the uproar.

  In response, a man rose to his feet; next to him was a very finely dressed woman with silver-gray hair, her gown rivaling Lizzie’s. An expression of alarm on her face, his wife grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back into his seat. But he shrugged her off and strode forward to stand directly before the high table.

  Florid of face and slightly overweight, he looked prosperous and commanding. But here he was dealing with something beyond his experience.