The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

by Joseph Delaney

  “They are unlikely to be successful, though,” I told him in an attempt to raise his spirits—although in truth I felt very low myself. My brother was surely dead, and there was no certainty that I would ever see Alice again. Even if she did return, further horror and heartache lay ahead.

  “That’s true, lad. Do you remember what I wrote in my Bestiary about it?”

  I frowned. “Some of it,” I said uncertainly. “I know the incantation is hard to complete.”

  “Some of it! That’s not good enough, lad! You need to be up to the mark. It’s vital that you start to think and act like a spook. Come with me!” he said, rising from his chair immediately.

  My master led the way to his new library. He climbed the stairs slowly but was out of breath by the time we reached the door.

  “There!” he said, pushing it open to reveal what lay within. “What do you think?”

  There was a smell of new wood, and I saw row upon row of empty shelves. “It’s great,” I said. “Full of promise. All it needs now is books, and lots of them, and then we can call it a library!”

  I smiled as I spoke, and the Spook smiled back; he had not lost his sense of humor. He led me to a row of shelves opposite the window. On the middle one, leaning against one another for support, were the first three books in the new library. I read the titles: The Spook’s Bestiary; A History of the Dark; The Pendle Witches.

  My master had begun the second two while we were refugees on the Isle of Mona. He had completed both before we left Ireland to return to the County.

  He lifted the Bestiary and placed it in my hands. “Read what it says about the Doomdryte!”

  I flicked through until I reached the right place. “There’s not much here,” I said.

  “There’s enough, lad. Read the whole section on grimoires aloud.”

  “‘These are ancient books, full of spells and rituals, used to invoke the dark,’” I began. “‘Sometimes they are employed by witches, but they are mainly used by mages, and their spells have to be followed to the letter, or death can result.

  “‘Many of these famous texts have been lost (the Patrixa and the Key of Solomon). The most dangerous and powerful grimoires, however, were written in the Old Tongue by the first men of the County. Primarily used to summon demons, these books contain terrible dark magic. Most have been deliberately destroyed or hidden far from human sight.

  “‘The most mysterious and reputedly most deadly of these is the Doomdryte. Some believe that this book was dictated word for word by the Fiend to a mage called Lukrasta. That grimoire contains just one long dark magic incantation. If successfully completed (in conjunction with certain rituals), it would allow a mage to achieve immortality, invulnerability, and godlike powers.

  “‘Fortunately, no one has ever succeeded, as it requires intense concentration and great endurance. The book takes thirteen hours to read aloud, and the reader cannot pause for rest.

  “‘One word mispronounced brings about the immediate death of the mage. Lukrasta was the first to attempt the ritual, and the first to die. Others followed in his foolish footsteps.

  “‘We must hope that the Doomdryte remains lost forever—’”

  “That’s enough, lad,” the Spook interrupted. “So you see the danger? The Romanian entities used only the power emanating from the book to feed their illusions. What if the book was used in the way it was intended?”

  I shrugged. “It seems unlikely to me that anyone could successfully complete that ritual.”

  “How unlikely? The Fiend and his servants grow ever more desperate, and that means desperate measures will be employed. I’m worried about that book, and you should be too, lad! It might be somewhere in the County. The threat is very close.”

  “Well, talking of books, I’ve got something to add to your collection!” I said. I opened my bag and handed him three books. They were the notebooks I’d kept during the first three years of my apprenticeship.

  “Thanks, lad,” he said. “This is the right place for them. And you’ll be able to come in here and consult them whenever you feel the need.”

  “Here’s another book,” I said, reaching into my bag again, feeling a little nervous. I wasn’t sure how the Spook would react. “Alice was going to write an account of the two years she spent being trained by Bony Lizzie. Instead she wrote this, thinking it might be more useful.”

  The Spook accepted it and read the title from the spine: “The Secrets of the Pendle Covens.” Then he opened it at the first page and began to read Alice’s neat writing.

  My master closed the book very suddenly and looked at me hard. “Do you think this book belongs on the shelves of this library?” he demanded.

  “It’s about the magic used by the witches, and about their strengths and weaknesses. It should help us a lot!” I insisted.

  “Well, lad, it’s your decision,” said the Spook, “because the truth is, this is your library. It’ll be yours until you hand it on to the next spook. In the meantime, you’ll decide what goes on these shelves. My knees have gone, and I’ve lost my wind,” he continued, shaking his head sadly. “You’ve almost a year left before you complete your time, but to all intents and purposes, from this moment on you are the Chipenden Spook. Start to think like one! I’ll still be around to offer advice, but from now the burden of the job must rest on your shoulders. What do you say?”

  “I’ll do my best,” I said.

  “Aye, lad, you’ll do your best. That’s all any of us can do.”

  ONCE again, I’ve written most of this from memory, just using my notebook when necessary.

  A letter arrived from my eldest brother, Jack, yesterday. He said that James was missing but that they hadn’t given up hope. Jack was confident that he would return any day. I don’t know what to write back. Is it better to allow him to live in hope for a while? If I tell him what I know, Jack will somehow blame me anyway. He thinks that my job as an apprentice spook has brought nothing but trouble to my family. He is right. I believe James is dead, slain by the Fiend’s servants. But for the fact that he is my brother, he would still be alive.

  The routine of spook’s business goes on, but when the bell rings at the withy trees, I am now the one who deals with any problem. Ghosts, boggarts, and the occasional witch I deal with alone. My master spends a lot of time sitting in the garden. He looks older, and the whole of his beard is now white. He reminds me of the old men I saw as a boy—the ones who used to sit around the market square in Topley village. They seemed to have withdrawn from life and were waiting for death, just content to observe and remember. I think John Gregory is also waiting to die, and that saddens me. It is one more burden I have to carry.

  Judd Brinscall has taken the three dogs with him and gone north of Caster to set himself up in the water mill. He has taken on the territory that Bill Arkwright once covered and is now busy ridding the area of an infestation of water witches. I’ve done my best to forgive him for his betrayal of the Spook, but I still can’t quite get it out of my head. It will take time.

  As for Grimalkin, she is on the run again with the Fiend’s head, still pursued by his servants. I offered to lend her the dagger; she had once refused the Destiny Blade, but now she accepted Bone Cutter. She will give it back when Alice returns from the dark with the third weapon, so that all three sacred objects are finally in my possession.

  Our fight against the dark continues—but I miss Alice. And time is running out. It is now early August, and I’ve just turned sixteen. I am in the fourth year of my apprenticeship to the Spook. It is less than three months till Halloween, when we have one chance to complete the ritual and destroy the Fiend forever. Each morning I awake full of hope, thinking that this will be the day when Alice returns from her quest in the dark. As the hours pass, my mood slowly changes. Hope gradually gives way to despair. By dusk I am choked with grief, convinced that I will never see her again.

  Even if she succeeds, it is only then that the horror truly begins. Mam’s letter
not only explained how I must sacrifice Alice; it revealed other aspects of the ritual. One requires the use of a living skelt. I have a strong sense of foreboding about the creature—images and references to it keep cropping up. And it bothers me that its head decorates the hilts of the sword and dagger.

  I think about the task that faces us. If we fail, the Fiend will eventually win, and a new age of darkness will begin.

  Knowing nothing of the ritual and what it involves, my master is chiefly concerned with the whereabouts of the Doomdryte, the evil grimoire that we saw in Mistress Fresque’s library. He is right to be worried. In the hands of our enemies, that book could be very dangerous indeed.

  Despite all that’s happened, I’m still a spook’s apprentice—though I must start to think and behave like the Chipenden Spook. I must anticipate the time when John Gregory will no longer be here—even to offer me advice.

  THOMAS J. WARD

  CREDITS

  COVER ART © 2012 BY PATRICK ARRASMITH

  COVER DESIGN BY CHAD W. BECKERMAN AND PAUL ZAKRIS

  COPYRIGHT

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  The Last Apprentice: Lure of the Dead

  Copyright © 2012 by Joseph Delaney

  First published in 2012 in Great Britain by The Bodley Head, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, under the title The Spook’s Blood.

  First published in 2012 in the United States by Greenwillow Books.

  The right of Joseph Delaney to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  Illustrations copyright © 2012 by Patrick Arrasmith

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  www.epicreads.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Delaney, Joseph, (date).

  [Spook’s blood]

  Lure of the dead / Joseph Delaney ; illustrations by Patrick Arrasmith. — 1st ed.

  p. cm. — (The last apprentice ; bk. 10)

  “Greenwillow Books.”

  Summary: As creatures of the dark hunt for the witch assassin Grimalkin, who carries the captured Fiend’s head, Spook’s apprentice Tom tries to find a way to finish this terrifying evil once and for all.

  ISBN 978-0-06-202760-3 (trade ed.)

  EPub Edition © JULY 2012 ISBN 9780062027634

  [1. Apprentices—Fiction. 2. Supernatural—Fiction. 3. Witches—Fiction. 4. Horror stories.] I. Arrasmith, Patrick, ill. II. Title.

  PZ7.D373183Lu 2012 [Fic]—dc23 2012017728

  12 13 14 15 16 LP/RRDH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  FIRST EDITION

  DEDICATION

  FOR MARIE

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Prologue - Nessa’s Nightmare

  Chapter I - Is It a Trade?

  Chapter II - No Manners at All

  Chapter III - The Dark Tower

  Chapter IV - The Kobalos Beast

  Chapter V - I Must Feed!

  Chapter VI - The Shaiksa Assassin

  Chapter VII - The Bite of a Blade

  Chapter VIII - Only One Chance

  Chapter IX - North to Valkarky

  Chapter X - The Hyb Warrior

  Chapter XI - His Big Stinky Mouth

  Chapter XII - The Keeper of the Gate

  Chapter XIII - The Haggenbrood

  Chapter XIV - Gossip and News

  Chapter XV - Grimalkin

  Chapter XVI - The Dead Witch

  Chapter XVII - Do We Have a Trade?

  Chapter XVIII - A Very Interesting Question

  Chapter XIX - Hostile, Hungry Eyes

  Chapter XX - The Tawny Death

  Chapter XXI - The Slarinda

  Chapter XXII - The Kangadon

  Chapter XXIII - He Who Can Never Die

  Chapter XXIV - Daughter of Darkness

  Chapter XXV - Farewell to my Sister

  Chapter XXVI - The Slave Kulad

  Chapter XXVII - A Cry in the Night

  Chapter XXVIII - We Will Meet Again

  Slither’s Dream

  Glossary of the Kobalos World

  Credits

  Copyright

  BACK in the County, things have rarely looked more dangerous for Tom Ward. His master, the Spook, has been weakened by years of battle, and his closest friend Alice has disappeared on a dangerous quest. Tom may now be the only one who can prevent the Fiend from returning to bring new terror to the world.

  But while his battle wages on, the dark never rests—in the County or elsewhere. And far to the north, a long way from Tom’s lands, a new darkness is rising.

  This book takes place shortly after the events of Lure of the Dead, and it tells of new creatures, new lands, and new horrors beyond imagination. . . .

  This is Slither’s tale.

  SLITHER

  PROLOGUE

  NESSA’S NIGHTMARE

  IT is very dark in my bedroom. The candle has guttered out; the flame has flickered and died. It is cold, too, despite the extra blankets. It has been a long winter, one of the very worst. This is spring, but there is still a crust of frozen snow on the fields and the farmyard flags, and also ice inside my room patterning the windowpanes.

  But it is my birthday tomorrow. I will be ten. I am looking forward to the cake. I have to blow out all its candles with one really big breath. If I do that, Father will give me my present. It is a dress—a red dress with white lace at the neck and hem.

  I want to sleep. I squeeze my eyes tight shut and try. It’s better to sleep because then the night will pass quickly. I will open my eyes to see sunlight streaming in through the window, dust motes gleaming like tiny suns.

  Suddenly I hear a noise. What is it? It sounds like something scratching on the floor by the wainscot. Could it be a rat? I fear big gray rats with their small eyes and long whiskers. My greatest fear of all is that one might find its way into my bed.

  My heart begins to race with fear, and I think of calling out for my father. But my mother died two years ago, and he manages the farm all by himself. His days are long and tiring, and he needs his sleep. No, I must be brave. The rat will soon go away. Why should it bother with my bed? There is no food here.

  Again there comes a scratching of sharp claws on wood. My heart jumps with fear. The noise is nearer now, halfway between the window and my bed. I hold my breath, listening for the sound to be repeated. It is, and now it is much closer, just below my bed. If I were to look down, it might be staring up at me with its small beady eyes.

  I must get up. I will run to my father’s room. But what if the rat’s whiskers touch my feet? What if I tread on its long thin tail?

  Now it gets even louder. I feel a tug at my bedclothes and shiver with fear. The rat is climbing up onto my bed, using its claws to pull itself on top of the blankets. In a panic, I try to sit up. But I can’t. I seem to be paralyzed. I can open my mouth, but when I scream, no sound escapes my lips.

  The rat is crawling up onto my body now. I can feel its small sharp claws pricking into my skin through the blankets. It is sitting on my chest. Its tail goes thumpety-thump, faster and faster, keeping perfect time with the beating of my heart.

  And now there is a new thing, even more
terrifying. The rat seems to be growing heavier by the second. Its weight is pressing down on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. How can that be possible? How can a rat be so large and heavy?

  Now, in the darkness, I sense its face moving closer to mine. It’s a big face, and I can feel the rat’s warm breath on my skin. But there is something even stranger than its size and weight. Its eyes are glowing in the dark. They are large and red, and by their lurid glare I can now see its face.

  It isn’t a rat after all. The face is that of a fox or wolf, with a long jaw and big sharp teeth. And those teeth are biting into my neck. Long, thin, hot needles of pain pierce my throat.

  I scream. Over and over again, I scream silently. I feel as if I am dying, slipping down into the deepest darkness, away from this world.

  Then I am awake, and the weight is gone from my chest. I can move now, and I sit up in bed and begin to cry. Soon I hear the sound of heavy boots pounding across the wooden boards of the corridor. The door is flung open, and Father enters, carrying a candle.

  He places it on the bedside table, and moments later I am in his arms. I sob and sob, and he strokes my hair and pats my back in reassurance.

  “It’s all right. It’s all right, daughter,” he murmurs. “It was just a dream—just a terrible nightmare.”

  But then he holds me at arm’s length and studies my face, neck, and shoulders carefully. Next he takes a white handkerchief from the pocket of his nightshirt and gently dabs it at my neck. He scrunches it up in his hand and quickly thrusts it back into his pocket. But not quite fast enough to prevent me from seeing the spots of blood.

  Is the nightmare over?

  Am I awake?

  Or am I still dreaming?

  CHAPTER I

  IS IT A TRADE?

  I woke up feeling very thirsty.

  I’m always thirsty when I wake up, so there was nothing different there, no hint at all that this would be a day to remember.