At Grimalkin’s mention of the use of the mirror, I saw the Spook grimace and stare down at the tabletop. He had accepted the need to form such alliances, but still couldn’t condone the use of any form of dark magic.
“Mab Mouldheel and her sisters have already been to the Wardstone. I spoke to her when they passed through Chipenden over two weeks ago. They promised to help us at Halloween,” I told Grimalkin. “But I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her,” I added.
“You never bothered to tell me that, lad,” the Spook complained. “You’ve been a good, brave, diligent apprentice—I’ve never had a better. But there’s something that you’ve lacked. You’ve kept too many secrets from your master. And for that you should be sorry!”
“I am sorry for what happened in the past,” I said, “but this is different. It just slipped my mind.”
“Slipped your mind!” he said angrily. “You meet a witch who’s the leader of the Mouldheels and don’t think that worth passing on to me? That’s not to mention all the other things you’ve kept from me!”
“I was going to tell you, I swear it, but the day after, we found Grimalkin injured, and then I had to follow the witches. Since then it’s been one thing after another.”
The Spook nodded but didn’t meet my eyes. My omissions were piling up in his mind. He was clearly hurt by my lapse.
“I agree that Mab Mouldheel is not entirely to be trusted,” Grimalkin added after what seemed an uncomfortable silence, “but she helped us in Greece and I know she is opposed to the Fiend. Very few of her clan support him. They should come to us in numbers. Against such vast opposition, we need all the help we can get.”
Recent events had exhausted me, and no sooner had my head touched the pillow that night than I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
I awoke in the early hours. It was absolutely dark. I was finding it difficult to breathe.
There was a weight on my chest.
I felt a moment of terror, for the thing on my chest was moving.
Was this a nightmare? Was I still asleep? I wondered.
A moment later I was assured that I was wide awake by a voice whispering right inside my head.
Help me. I am desperate. Give me some of your blood or I will die.
It was the boggart, Kratch! The voice sounded weak and wobbly.
Without hesitation I spoke into the darkness. “Where have you been?” I asked. “I thought that you’d been destroyed.”
I fell away from this world toward the dark and lacked the strength to get back. I flickered like a candle in a storm on the edge of oblivion. I struggled long and hard; now I am finally here, but fear to fall again. It is as if I am on the edge of a cliff above a dark abyss. Help me or I will fall, never to rise again!
I was afraid to offer more of my blood, afraid that I might die in the process, afraid of what the consequences might be. But if I wished to have the boggart as an ally—how could I refuse?
“You can have some of my blood. Take it!” I commanded.
There was the lightest of touches on the back of my left hand as the boggart’s claw scratched my skin. There was no pain. But then I felt the lapping of a very small, rough tongue.
It seemed to go on for a long time. After a while I felt my heart thundering in my ears. It was a slow, heavy beat, and it seemed to be laboring.
“Enough! Enough!” I cried. “If you take too much, my heart will stop and I’ll die!”
The lapping ceased and there was a new sound—the low, light purring of a cat. And then, but for the thudding within my head, there was silence. Kratch had gone.
I sat up, fumbled in the dark for my tinderbox, and lit a candle. And there I stayed, feeling weak and nauseous, the room spinning around me.
When I felt strong enough to stand, I walked unsteadily down to the kitchen to get a cup of water. I sat slumped at the kitchen table and began to sip it, enjoying the feeling of the cold water slipping down my throat, thinking over what had happened.
Of course, there was no certainty that the boggart would be able to regain its strength and help us in the approaching battle. But it had not been destroyed—that was the good news. However, the thought of what I had done still filled me with unease.
The first time the boggart had taken my blood, I’d had no choice in the matter. This time I’d given it freely. Should I have done otherwise? To deny it what it asked might have been fatal, and we needed its help more than ever.
But the process reminded me of what some Pendle witches did—they had a familiar and fed it their blood. In return, it became almost a part of them, like extra hands or a pair of eyes, able to do their bidding at a distance. In the first year of my apprenticeship, Alice had done something similar, giving her blood to the demonic creature called the Bane. But the Bane was nothing like a rat, a toad, or a bird, the small creatures used by most witches; he had threatened to dominate and control her.
That might happen to me, for Kratch was a powerful boggart.
What if it came to me again asking for blood?
What should I do?
CHAPTER XXIV
A PLAGUE OF SKELTS
THE following morning I woke up late and was the last one down to breakfast.
My master and Grimalkin were already at the table, engaged in conversation. They were tucking into big plates of bacon and eggs.
“Good news, lad!” the Spook greeted me cheerfully. “The boggart’s back and it’s cooked us a hearty breakfast. My compliments to the chef!” He looked toward the fireplace, where a fire was blazing, filling the room with warmth.
The invisible boggart responded to his words with a faint purr.
I took my place at the table with a barely perceptible nod to each of them. Then I reached across and heaped up my plate with eggs and bacon, cutting myself a thick slice of bread and butter. I ate in silence, barely listening to the conversation between the witch assassin and my master. The food was cooked to perfection, though not as piping hot as I liked it; I wished I’d come down earlier.
“So are you in agreement with that, lad?” asked the Spook.
I looked up. I’d been concentrating on eating. “Am I in agreement with what?”
“Aren’t you listening? Keep your mind on things!” His voice was sharp. “You look a bit peaky. Did you sleep badly?”
I nodded. “I was awake half the night.”
“Sleep is important, lad. But there’s nothing better for combating insomnia than being physically exhausted when you go to bed. So what I’d like you to do is get yourself to the mill north of Caster and ask Judd Brinscall to join us in the coming fight. He’s a handy lad with a staff, and those three big dogs will be more than welcome, too. And what about that blacksmith brother of yours—James? You said he’s safe and well now. He’s a strong lad and gave a good account of himself up on Pendle Hill when we fought those witches. Maybe you should go out to the farm afterward and ask him to join us.”
I shook my head. “My family is in enough danger already. Remember what the Fiend warned about James? He was doubtless attacked by creatures of the dark, not robbers as he thought. I’d rather not bring him into more danger.”
“I’ll leave it up to you, lad. But remember, the odds are against us and we need every good soul we can get. All the County families will be in danger if we lose this battle and the Fiend is restored. Anyway, contact Judd first. I’ll expect you back tomorrow. Don’t forget that time is short. It’s only six days till Halloween.”
In order to do as he asked I’d have to run part of the way—the mill was at least a full day’s journey each way. But he was right. Time was running out.
“I’ll set off as soon as I’ve eaten,” I told him.
“Good lad! And while you’re doing that, Grimalkin will travel to Pendle to see how many allies she can gather for us there.”
I prepared to set off. I didn’t bother with my bag because I’d be traveling fast. But I had my silver chain tied around my waist under my sh
irt, and I was carrying my staff. I brought the two daggers but left the Destiny Blade behind.
Grimalkin was leaning against her horse, apparently whispering into its left ear. She wore the leather scabbards across her body, and they bristled with blades. Her lips were painted black. She looked formidable, and ready for combat.
“You’re going to ride?” I called out to her.
She nodded and led her mount to where I was standing.
“My leg is getting stronger every day but is still not ready for the walk to Pendle and back. . . . You fed the boggart last night, didn’t you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I admitted. “It came and asked for my blood, so I agreed. Otherwise it would have died. That’s what it told me.”
“You probably saved its life. But your face was so pale this morning—it’s a wonder your master didn’t suspect as much.”
“I never told him about the previous time, so the thought would never have entered his head. He was too busy enjoying his breakfast to notice.”
“Beware, Tom. The danger is that such a creature might take too much and kill you.”
“That’s what worries me,” I told Grimalkin. “What if it starts to dominate and control me like the Bane did with Alice? That’s the second time I’ve given it my blood.”
“That is another danger,” she agreed. “But if it works out well, you could establish a good partnership with the boggart. Remember what happened with Alice?”
I thought back to those dark days in Priestown, when Alice had released the Bane from its prison in the labyrinth behind the silver gate. “The third time she gave it her blood . . . that was to be the crucial moment when she became completely dominated by it.”
“Yes,” said Grimalkin, “and that’s the moment of risk for you too. But the Bane was a dark demonic entity, far more powerful than this boggart, and Alice was always being tugged toward the dark. You are strong. If you are careful, you could form a more equal partnership.”
I nodded; what she said was interesting.
Grimalkin rode southeast toward Pendle while I headed in the opposite direction, taking the high route over the fells. As I walked, I thought about the boggart—both the threat and the promise of greater united strength. And I remembered what it had said to me: You are brave! You are worthy to walk with me.
Those words suggested that it was indeed offering me an equal relationship rather than seeking to control me. But could you trust a creature of the dark? It had little of the human about it.
I strode up onto Parlick. Halfway up I came to some narrow sheep trails cutting across the rough grass, and I followed one round. It brought me onto the western flank of a sequence of fells, with the sea visible to my left.
It was another bright, sunny day with little cloud. I couldn’t help thinking that we’d soon pay for the fact that, apart from the downpour on Beacon Fell, we’d had little rain lately. The County is mostly wet and windy, and nature would probably redress the balance by giving everything a long, hard soaking.
I set a fast pace but soon got winded and had to rest. It was all right the Spook telling me to complete the journey quickly so that I’d sleep, but losing so much blood to the boggart had weakened me; it was unlikely I’d reach the mill before dark.
While I nibbled at my cheese I realized that I hadn’t yet talked to the Spook about the ideas that I’d jotted down in my notebook.
I thought about the list again and contemplated the battle ahead. We would be outnumbered, but the aim was not to defeat our opponents but to somehow ensure that the head and body of the Fiend were kept apart. This had to be done either before sunset or midnight on Halloween, when their dark magic would restore his power.
I knew from studying my master’s maps—now unfortunately lost in the fire—that several ley lines passed through the Wardstone. If I could get myself into the right position, I could summon the boggart to my side again. Of course, this time our enemies would be well aware of the potential threat. No doubt Lukrasta would try to destroy Kratch. And Alice might be by his side, joining her strength to his.
I pushed the hurtful thought aside and continued on my way, passing east of Caster as the sun sank below the horizon. Here I crossed a ley line that ran east toward the Wardstone; the invisible line of power was also one of the old tracks that led from the coast toward the hill. But there was no sight of any witches, nor any indication that they had been in the area.
By the time I started to follow the west bank of the canal, the sun had set. This place held many memories. Here I’d been pushed into the cold mucky water by Bill Arkwright and taught to swim the hard way! He’d been a tough master, but I’d grown to like him. I recalled sadly how in Greece he had fallen when holding off some fire elementals while the Spook, Alice, and I escaped.
My most scary memory of that time had taken place here on the canal bank. I’d climbed down into the hold of a black barge and come face-to-face with the Fiend himself, sitting on a huge throne and surrounded by black candles. It was from his lips that I first learned that Alice was his daughter; and that Bony Lizzie was her true mother. . . .
The mill was hidden behind a row of trees and the moon was obscured by clouds, so it was difficult to find the place where I needed to leave the canal. But then I came to the bridge and heard a stream rushing below in the darkness, so I scrambled down the bank and followed this west. Soon I was ducking beneath the branches of weeping willows to reach the six-foot iron fence that bordered the mill garden.
It was then that I heard a noise in the darkness, somewhere to my left. I turned just as the moon emerged to illuminate a fearsome insectlike creature with a flat head and a long snout. I recognized it immediately—that long bone tube put its identity beyond doubt. I raised my staff, but it scuttled away, and I lost sight of it when the moon went behind a cloud again.
It was a skelt! They were rare, and to find one so close to the mill was disturbing. What was it doing here? I wondered.
After that I proceeded more cautiously, following the fence through soggy ground to find the narrow gap that was the only entrance to the mill. I waded through the saltwater moat to the inner garden. All this, fence and saltwater, formed part of the defenses against water witches; the whole area teemed with them. But there was another deterrent—the dogs!
As I headed toward the mill, they began to bark. I heard a door open, and then the three big wolfhounds were racing through the darkness toward me. A tremor of fear momentarily knotted my stomach. Claw and her two fully grown pups, Blood and Bone, were used to hunt down water witches. I knew them well; they were savage. They should have recognized me by my scent, but they were bounding toward me, and I was still nervous.
At the last moment the furious barking ceased, and then I was down on my knees, patting them and being licked in return.
“It’s Tom Ward!” I called out before continuing, the dogs running around me in circles.
I wished it was Bill Arkwright stepping out to greet me, but things changed and you had to live with it. Instead it was Judd Brinscall who came to shake my hand and give me a warm, welcoming smile before leading me inside.
Soon I was seated at Judd’s table, tucking into a large plate of lamb’s liver and onions. Judging by this, Judd was an excellent cook. I was starving so, aside from the first pleasantries we’d exchanged on meeting, I hadn’t yet told him the reason for my visit.
He waited patiently, watching me eat, and I suddenly remembered his betrayal of the Spook at Todmorden. He had helped to lure my master into a situation where he had almost lost his life. Of course Judd’s family had been targeted by dark forces, and he’d been acting under duress. At the time I’d found it difficult to forgive him for his betrayal, but now I realized that I had to let bygones be bygones.
“How are things here, Judd?” I asked, swallowing the last tasty mouthful. “Do you know, I saw a skelt not too far from your fence.”
I expected him to be surprised, but he just nodded. “The water witches ar
e under control at last. I must have killed a dozen of them, and I’ve another three in pits. Now I have another infestation on my hands—this time it’s skelts.”
My blood ran cold at that. I remembered what Grimalkin and Alice had told me about the Kobalos to the north: They awaited the birth of their god in the form of a skelt. Skelts formed the hilts of the hero swords, too. Why should there be so many skelts around—especially at this critical time, as we approached Halloween?
“But they’re rare, surely,” I said. “Bill Arkwright once told me that you could go for years without seeing even one.”
“That’s true,” Judd agreed. “He told me exactly the same thing. But they’re anything but rare now. They’re killing a lot of sheep. Every morning there’s a dozen or so lying drained and dead along the canal. Farmers no longer put their animals in fields anywhere near water or bog. I could do with a bit of help. . . . I don’t suppose your master would loan you to me for a couple of months?”
“In other circumstances, Judd, I’m sure he’d have been glad to offer you my help, but I’m afraid we’re facing a crisis and we need your help. That’s why I’m here. Mr. Gregory has asked me to bring you to Chipenden—the three dogs too, if you don’t mind.”
The Spook had written to Judd, informing him of what had happened, but now I explained in detail. Judd listened in silence, his face grave.
“It sounds like the odds are against us,” he said at last, looking glum.
“It’s likely to go hard,” I agreed. “Not all of us will live to tell the tale.”
For a moment I thought he was going to refuse his help, but then he leaned forward and patted my shoulder. “Well, get a good night’s sleep, Tom. We’ll set off for Chipenden at first light.”
It was late when we reached the Spook’s house. After eating supper and discussing matters with my master, Judd went to bed in the spare room that had once belonged to Alice. I sat with the Spook for a while, watching a big fire roaring in the grate. The nights were starting to get colder. Winter was approaching.
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