The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

by Joseph Delaney

  Then, on the edge of the moors, I sheathed the sword, crawled under a hawthorn hedge, and, completely exhausted, fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

  I awoke to find that the sun was already high in the sky. My mouth was dry and my limbs ached, but the worst thing was my sense of shame. I had run from the threat in the cellar. No . . . not just run: I had fled in a cowardly panic. I’d been a spook’s apprentice for more than three years now, but I couldn’t recall another occasion when I’d behaved so shamefully. I’d faced terrible things from the dark and somehow found the courage to stand and fight. So what had been different this time? All I could think of was that the years of fear, fighting the dark and being in continual danger, had finally taken their toll. What if I’d lost my courage? How then could I function as a spook?

  And there was something even worse to face. What if my master was still alive? I’d abandoned him. He deserved better than that—much better. I got to my feet and began to walk slowly back toward Todmorden. This time I would stand and fight.

  CHAPTER XI

  THE CURSE OF THE PENDLE WITCHES

  IT was almost noon, but there were no hawkers or market stalls; few people were about on the west side of the town. As I walked through the narrow streets, I counted no more than half a dozen, and the last of these, the old gentleman with the stick whom we’d spoken to before, hobbled across to the other side of the street to avoid me.

  Then, as I approached the river, I saw Mr. Benson sitting on his cart among the trees, some distance from the bridge.

  “Where are these books of yours?” he demanded. “I haven’t got all day. They should be piled up here, ready to load onto the cart. My horses are getting nervous.”

  For a moment I considered asking him to wait in case my master was hurt and needed a ride, but I saw that it was a waste of time. The two horses were rolling their eyes and sweating excessively. I had to do this alone.

  “I’m sorry,” I told him, “but there won’t be any books to carry today. Here’s something for your trouble.”

  I reached into my breeches pocket, pulled out a few coins, and held them up to him.

  “Is that all?” he asked angrily, snatching them from my hand. “It’s hardly worth getting out of bed for that!” He whipped the horses twice, brought the cart around, and headed off without so much as a backward glance.

  I headed for the river, but when I came to the dilapidated wooden bridge, a tremor of fear ran through me. On the other side, the servants of the dark lay in wait for me, and judging by the glowing eyes in the cellar there were a lot of them—far too many for me to face alone. But it had to be done. I had to find out what had happened to my master, or I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

  I took one step, and then another. I kept putting one foot in front of the other until I was standing on the eastern bank of the river. It was daylight, I told myself, and the sun was shining. My enemies would have to take refuge in darkness, somewhere underground. I would be safe unless I left behind the light of the sun. But wasn’t that exactly what I would have to do? I needed to find the Spook. At some point I would have to search the cellar.

  I began to climb up Bent Lane toward the house of Mistress Fresque. As I walked, I remembered something else—another failure, a further dereliction of duty. When I fled the house, I should have taken the Doomdryte with me and destroyed it. It was something that my master would certainly have done. I could imagine him now, telling me off for making that mistake. Would I ever hear his voice again? I wondered.

  It was gloomy beneath the trees, but this time I could hear nothing following me. When I saw the house, I realized that the door was no longer hanging open. I stepped around the tree, drew the Destiny Blade, and rapped upon the door with the hilt.

  Almost immediately I heard footsteps approaching. The door opened and Mistress Fresque stood there, pointing at my sword with a frown on her face.

  “Put that away!” she commanded. “You will not need that while I am at your side.”

  When I hesitated, a smile came to her lips, but her eyes were hard. She was still young and pretty, but now there was an imperiousness to her manner—something she had hidden previously. “Trust me,” she said, her voice softening a little. “I bid you enter. This time, when you enter freely across the threshold of my home you will be under my protection.”

  What was I to do? Although she was an attractive young woman, I knew that she must be allied with dark forces. One part of me wanted to push her aside and force myself into her house; the other thought it more prudent to accept her offer of safe conduct. By so doing, I might find answers to the questions that were spinning around inside my head.

  When I had sheathed my sword, the smile spread to her eyes. “Enter freely and be safe!” She stepped aside to allow me to cross the threshold. “Follow me,” she said, leading me down the passage toward the library. The wainscot was now clean and shining, and the house smelled sweet and wholesome. The library was once again as I had first seen it with the Spook, the shelves orderly and filled with books. And our selection of volumes lay on the table once more. Some type of extremely powerful dark magic was at work here.

  But there was one change to the room that made me halt just inside the doorway. In the middle of the floor lay a skeleton. The bones were yellow-brown and old, and the head was missing. I glanced to my right and saw a skull lying beside the bookcase. My broken staff was beside it. These must be the remains of the creature I had slain.

  “That was my partner,” said Mistress Fresque, gesturing toward the skeleton. “We lived together happily for many years until you encountered him last night!”

  “I’m sorry that you lost him,” I said, keeping my voice even. “But it was him or me. And I think he killed my master, John Gregory.”

  “He would indeed have killed you, but you are wrong to think that he is no more. I did not lose him—merely the body that he had inhabited for many years. He will soon find another host. I hope it is to my taste!” she said with a smile. “Then, in revenge for what you did, he will come looking for you, wanting to take your head.”

  “What kind of creatures are you?” I asked.

  “I am a strigoica,” she replied, “the female of our kind. My partner is a strigoi. We are from the Romanian province of Transylvania, which means ‘the land beyond the forest.’ We are demons.”

  “Where is Judd Brinscall?” I asked. “What part has he played in all this? When did he start to serve the dark?”

  “Do not concern yourself with him. He is close to death now. His life can be measured in nights, or maybe even hours.”

  “Is that his reward for betraying us?”

  Mistress Fresque frowned and tightened her lips. It was clear that she would not answer. So, despite my anxiety about the Spook, I remained calm and asked another question, determined to learn all I could, gathering knowledge just as my master would have done.

  “Why did you come here?” I demanded.

  “There are many reasons for that, but we have kept ourselves to ourselves and lived here in happiness for some time, causing as little disruption as possible. Then I was ordered to lure you and your master to this place.”

  “Ordered? Who told you to do that?”

  “I cannot say. There are many from Romania who now dwell here. Most have arrived very recently. Some are very powerful, and I have no choice but to obey them. They can call upon a terrible being that could obliterate me in an instant.”

  “Why were we tricked into coming here? So you could kill us? You’ve killed my master and now it’s my turn?” I cried, reaching for my sword.

  “Draw that blade and you will no longer be under my protection!” snapped Mistress Fresque. “Your master is not dead but in desperate need of your help. Calm yourself and I’ll take you to see him.”

  I relinquished the hilt of my sword and nodded. The strigoica pointed to the door that led to the cellar steps. “He’s down there,” she said, walking toward it.

 
; She opened the door, and very cautiously I followed her into the small room. A lot had changed since the previous night. The steps were clean and the walls were painted green and free of cobwebs. There were torches in brackets set at frequent intervals, so our descent was well lit. Had the Spook been down here last night, trapped in the darkness and surrounded by creatures from the dark? I wondered. I could have stayed and helped him, but instead I had panicked and run. I was ashamed of my behavior and found it hard to explain. A lump came to my throat as I remembered the curse of the Pendle witches, which had once been used against the Spook: “You will die in a dark place far underground, with no friend at your side!”

  We reached the stone flags of the cellar. The only piece of furniture I could see was a wooden table, upon which stood a large black box with a hinged lid. Embossed in silver upon that lid was the image of a creature that I immediately recognized. I grew cold at the sight of it.

  It was a skelt. But why was its head depicted on the box? It made me think of the Doomdryte’s cover and the hilt of my sword.

  I shuddered. There was something ominous about it, and my heart began to bang in my chest. Mistress Fresque walked straight up to it and lifted the lid.

  “Here is your master,” she said.

  Within the box lay the head of the Spook.

  CHAPTER XII

  WORSE THAN DEATH

  MY heart sank into my boots and a flood of grief washed over me. I was too shocked to reply. I felt numb, unable to accept what I was seeing. The strigoica had lied. They had killed my master.

  “He can still speak,” she said, “but he is in agony and no doubt constantly prays for release. Why don’t you ask him?”

  No sooner had she said this than the Spook’s eyelids twitched and he stared up at me. His mouth opened and he tried to speak, but he could only croak, and a dribble of blood ran down his chin. An expression of pain flickered across his face, and he closed his eyes again.

  “This has been done in revenge for what you and your allies did to the Fiend,” Mistress Fresque said. “Your master will have no peace until you do what we require. To free his soul, his head must be burned. I am willing to give it to you—but first you must bring me the head of the Fiend.”

  The Spook groaned and opened his eyes again. He murmured something unintelligible, so I bent forward so that my right ear was close to his lips.

  He seemed to choke, his eyes rolling in his head, then cleared his throat and struggled to speak again. “Help me, lad!” he croaked. “Get me free of this. This is unbearable—worse than death. I’m in pain. I’m in terrible pain. Please set me free!”

  The world spun about me. Overwhelmed by grief, I almost fell.

  “Can you bear to allow your master to remain in this pitiful state for a moment longer than is necessary?” Mistress Fresque demanded. “We know of the witch who carries the Fiend’s head. Her name is Grimalkin. Summon her. Lure her to this place and, in exchange, you will be permitted to release your master from his torment.”

  I felt sick to my stomach at what I was being asked to do. In order to destroy the Fiend I had to sacrifice Alice. Now his supporters wanted me to bring about the death of Grimalkin, another of my allies. But betraying Grimalkin was only the first of the consequences of returning the Fiend’s head to his servants. They would take it back to Ireland and reunite it with the body, freeing him from the pit at Kenmare. He would come for me and Alice and snatch us away into the dark, dead or alive. The prospect terrified me, but my duty was clear in any case; it was owed to the people of the County. I could not allow the Fiend to return to the earth—which would soon become a darker and more desperate place. No, I could not do it. But I could seize my master’s head by force and give him peace.

  I drew the sword.

  Instantly a freezing wind gusted into the cellar and all the torches were extinguished. Out of the darkness I saw eyes staring at me. Each pair glowed red, as they had the previous night—but this time there were even more, and I heard threatening growls and noises that sounded like claws on the flagstones. I spun around, ready to defend myself, but saw that I was surrounded. Where had they come from? I wondered.

  I was afraid. There were too many of them. What chance did I have against such odds?

  “It is not too late!” Mistress Fresque hissed at me from the darkness. “Put away the sword immediately and you will be under my protection.”

  With trembling hands I tried to sheathe the Destiny Blade. It took me three attempts to return it to its scabbard, but when I had done so, the red eyes faded, the scratching ceased, and the torches flared and filled the cellar with yellow light once more.

  “Another second and it would have been too late,” Mistress Fresque told me, closing the lid of the box and turning to leave. “Follow me. Now that you have drawn your sword, it isn’t safe for you to spend too much time below ground. My protection is limited.”

  She led the way back up the steps and into the library. “Do not delay in summoning the witch assassin,” she warned me. “We offer to release your master’s head in exchange for that of the Fiend, but it must be done soon. Every day you delay, his torment will be increased. We can inflict unimaginable pain upon him.”

  “Where is the remainder of him?” I asked, feeling cold inside at the thought of what had been done to my master. “I would like to bury his body.”

  I knew I’d have to burn the head to release his spirit from the dark magic used, but burying the rest of him would make me feel better. The Church wouldn’t allow a spook to be put to rest in hallowed ground, but I might find a sympathetic priest to say a few words and allow my master to be buried close to a graveyard. But even that hope was quickly dashed.

  “That is not possible,” Mistress Fresque said coldly. “The rest of his body was not needed for our purposes, so we fed it to a moroi. They are extremely hungry elemental spirits that have to be appeased.”

  Disgusted and angry, I turned on my heel and left the house without another word. I headed for the riverbank, crossed the bridge, and sat down under the trees to think things through and consider my options.

  The thought of my master suffering like that was unbearable—he was enduring such terrible pain. However, my duty was clear: I had to leave him for now. How could I possibly deceive Grimalkin and lure her here, allowing the Fiend’s head to fall into the hands of the strigoica and her allies? It must be kept away from them; I had to use the time to find a way to destroy him forever.

  I don’t know how long I sat there, pondering my limited options, but at one point I wept for the Spook, who had served the County well and suffered much to protect it. He had also been more than a master to me; he had become my friend. He deserved a better end to his life. I’d hoped that as I completed my apprenticeship, he would start to reduce his own workload while I took a greater part of the burden until he finally retired. Now our future together had been snatched away. I was alone, and it was both a sad and a scary feeling.

  Eventually I came to a decision and walked back to the tavern. I went up to my room, and from the Spook’s bag I took a small piece of cheese and enough money to pay the landlord. I left both bags in my room, locked it, and went downstairs.

  He scowled when I approached but soon brightened when I dropped a silver coin into his palm.

  “That’s for two more nights,” I told him.

  “Did you find your master?” he asked.

  I didn’t reply, but as I walked away he called after me, “If he’s not back by now he must be dead, boy. You’ll end up the same way if you don’t go home!”

  I headed back to the bridge, nibbled at the cheese, and washed it down with a few mouthfuls of cold river water. I thought about Mistress Fresque’s house. How could it be clean and orderly during the day, with its library full of books, but a dilapidated ruin at night? Some type of powerful dark magic was being used here—a spell of illusion.

  So what was the truth about that house, its daytime and nighttime condition? Spook
s had to develop and trust their instincts, and mine told me that its ruinous condition at night was its true state.

  What would my master advise me to do? I asked myself. Instantly I knew. He would advise me to be bold and act like a spook! I would put my fears behind me. I could take back my master’s head by force and thus give him the peace he deserved. I had the Destiny Blade, and I was determined to use it. I would clean out that vile cellar and kill all the creatures of the dark within it. And I would attack at night when things were as they seemed.

  It was time to stop being afraid. Now I would become the hunter.

  CHAPTER XIII

  I WON’T SEE DAWN

  SOON after dark I began to climb Bent Lane once more. As I walked, I pondered on what I was facing. The Spook’s Bestiary was back at Chipenden—it would be the first book to be placed in the new library—so I could not use it as a reference source. Desperately I dredged my mind for what I had read about Romanian creatures of the dark.

  Strigoi and strigoica were demons, male and female respectively. They worked and lived in pairs. The male possessed the body of a dead person and had to spend the daylight hours hidden from sunlight, which could destroy him. The other, the female, possessed the body of a living person and was on guard during the day. No doubt Mistress Fresque had once been a nice ordinary young woman, but now her body had been taken over by a malevolent creature of the dark. I had decapitated her partner, but she’d said that wasn’t the end of him. Normally slaying a demon with a silver-alloy blade would bring about its destruction, but these Romanians seemed very powerful. I had seen the strigoi leave its dead host; now it would be searching for another. Once it had found one, it would seek me out. How could I put a permanent end to it? I wondered. There were far too many unknowns here.