The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

by Joseph Delaney

The spook led me closer to the waterfall and pointed. “There’s a narrow ledge just inside. Work your way along until you come to the recess. There are plenty of handholds, but be careful. It’ll be slippery.”

  I held my breath, then stepped through the curtain of water onto the stone ledge. The water was icy cold and made me gasp, but I was through it in a second. The spook was right about the ledge being narrow; right, too, about it being slippery. So facing toward the rock face and holding on to it where I could, I began to inch slowly along to my right. I shut out all thoughts of the drop behind me and muttered a few prayers to keep me calm. Moments later, to my relief, I reached the recess in the rock. It was big enough to sit in, and when I drew my knees up to my chest, my boots were just clear of the falling water. It was cold and damp, and I hoped I wouldn’t have to spend the whole night there. But anything was better than being at the mercy of the boggart.

  I didn’t have to wait long. It grew darker and darker, and by the end of twenty minutes it was difficult to see my hand in front of my face. Sounds became significant then. Someone coughed in the distance from the direction of the pit. Moments later, I heard the screech of an owl, followed almost immediately by the scream of the ghast. The most important noise of all was the comforting one of that screen of water falling into the pool below. But it wasn’t long before I began to worry. Was the noise lessening? If so, how long before it became just a trickle and gave no protection at all?

  Then I heard a faint scream in the distance. At first I thought it was the ghast again, but it grew steadily louder; added to this was what sounded like a ferocious wind gathering speed—one so powerful that it could strip the summer leaves off trees or rasp the flesh from living bones. And then the sound took on another dimension, as if a third note had been added to harmonize with the other two. This was the sort of rumbling growl that a very big and dangerous animal might make as it rushed toward its prey . . . rushed toward me! I realized then that this was the boggart.

  Louder and louder grew the three sounds; nearer and nearer came the boggart—until suddenly it was right in front of the waterfall, the noise so loud that I wanted to put my hands over my ears. But I didn’t. I kept perfectly still, too scared to even twitch an eyebrow. All I could see was a sort of red glow shining through the water, but I knew the terrible creature was there, threatening me: It sounded now as if huge teeth were being gnashed and ground together, hardly more than an arm’s length away. But for that protective curtain of water it would already have snatched my bones. I would be dead like the spook’s poor apprentice.

  I don’t know how long it waited there. The glow kept brightening and fading and moving from side to side as if it were searching for a gap in the curtain of water. This was the scariest moment of all: I remembered the spook had told me that the inside of the pit had to be coated thoroughly because a boggart could escape through the narrowest of openings. Would it find one in the waterfall? I wondered, my heart pounding in my chest.

  Its search lasted just a few minutes, though it seemed a lot longer. Then, to my relief, it was gone. Still I sat rigid, not daring to move until at last I heard the sudden whir of chains. The boggart must be in the pit, attracted by my blood in the bait dish, and the riggers were lowering the stone to trap it inside.

  Finally I heard a thud and guessed that it must be the stone dropping onto the rim of the pit, hitting the ground. Then, at last, the spook called out to me.

  “Right, boy, the boggart’s safe and sound. Out you come!”

  Weak with relief, I did as I was told, moving carefully back along the slippery ledge and ducking out through the cold waterfall again. The spook had lit a lantern and was sitting beside it on the stone lid of the boggart pit, which was now safely in position. The boggart was bound. My nightmare was over at last.

  “It all went according to plan,” said the spook. “Did you hear the boggart?”

  “Aye, I heard it approach. I could see it, too, glowing red through the waterfall.”

  “That it did, boy. You’re a seventh son of a seventh son, all right. It was red because it had fed earlier in the day—they take blood if they can’t get their favorite bones. But when it attacked, those two riggers wouldn’t have seen or heard a thing. Good job, too, or they’d have run a mile and we’d never have gotten the stone into place. I think they heard it slurping your blood down in the pit, though. One of them started to moan with fear, and the other’s hands were shaking so much he could hardly manipulate the chain! Well, sit yourself down, boy. It’s not over yet.”

  I sat down next to him on the stone. What did he mean, it wasn’t over yet? I wondered. But I said nothing for a while. The riggers were still busy taking the block and tackle down from the rowan branch and collecting their tools together.

  “We’ll be off now, Mr. Horrocks,” the taller one said, holding up a lantern and touching the rim of his cap in respect.

  “You did a good job, lads, so get you gone,” said the spook. “There’s a witch heading this way from the northwest, so I’d take any direction but that.”

  With those words he counted money into the man’s palm in payment for the work done, and both riggers set off up the slope as if the Devil himself were chasing them. When they’d left, the spook patted me on the shoulder. “You’ve been brave and sensible so far, boy. So I’m going to be honest with you again and tell you what’s likely to happen. To start with, there’s no way you can go to Houghton until all this is finally sorted out. You see, the witch still has that lock of your hair. . . .”

  With all the danger and excitement, I’d forgotten all about the witch. Suddenly I began to feel scared again. I’d disobeyed her, and telling the spook the truth had led to her boggart being trapped in the pit. She’d want vengeance for that.

  “Using it,” the spook continued, “she can do you serious mischief, so we have to get it back and destroy it— otherwise you’ll never be safe. And for now the best place you can be is by my side. Understand?”

  I nodded nervously and peered out into the darkness beyond the circle of light cast by the lantern. “Will she come here?” I asked.

  “That’s what I believe, boy, but hopefully not before dawn. She’ll be easier to deal with in daylight. You see, she’ll come to find out what’s happened to the boggart. Once she sees it’s bound, the witch will try to free it. That will give me a chance to sort her out once and for all. I’ll bind her with my silver chain and carry her back to my garden at Chipenden. She’ll spend the rest of her life bound in a pit, and the County will be a much safer place!”

  He made it sound easy, but we spent a long and uncomfortable night waiting for the witch. I didn’t sleep at all, and neither did the spook. Dawn came and the morning drew on. Once it was past noon and into early afternoon, the spook began to pace up and down, looking increasingly concerned.

  Finally he turned to face me. “Looks like I was wrong, boy. We’re dealing with a particularly crafty witch. She must have worked out that I’ve bound her boggart and that I’m planning to trap her. So she won’t come here. No, I’m afraid we’re going to have to seek her out.”

  “But won’t that mean going into her cottage? You said there’d be lots of dark magic traps and snares there!”

  “That’s true enough, boy. But what choice do we have? We might as well get it over with. Follow me!”

  With those words he picked up his bag and staff and set off northwest at a rapid pace while I struggled to keep up. At first we walked in silence, but as we drew nearer to the witch’s cottage, the spook slowed down and dropped back to walk beside me.

  “We’re not going to get there much before dark, boy, so we’ll have to wait until morning to deal with her. It’ll be easier and safer then. But I’m going to explain what we’re up against so that you know the worst.

  “The land around her cottage will no doubt be full of danger, with dark magic spells and snares ready to trap us. But inside her dwelling—well, that doesn’t bear thinking about. I expect the wit
ch will be waiting down in the cellar. That’s what witches often do when at bay. They find an underground lair, a place of darkness, and defend it with every dirty trick that a lifetime of malevolence has taught them. This isn’t going to be easy, boy.”

  As we approached the cottage through the trees, it was already getting dark. We were moving slowly and cautiously in case she’d set any snares. There was a sudden rustle from above, and I shuddered with fear as I saw a pair of large eyes staring down at us from a branch. It was an owl, and it suddenly took off, gliding away almost soundlessly through the trees toward the cottage.

  “If I’m not mistaken, that was the witch’s familiar,” said the spook. “There was an owl about last night when you were safely positioned behind the waterfall—almost certainly the same one—so it must have been watching what we were doing then.

  “A familiar can be something as small as a toad or as large as a big dog. Whatever it is, it’ll be the eyes and ears of the witch. You see, a witch usually uses what we call long-sniffing to see what’s about to happen, especially if danger threatens. But I’m not worried about that. Long-sniffing doesn’t work on seventh sons of seventh sons. So she has to find another way. Bone magic is stronger that blood magic, but more powerful than both put together is familiar magic. And a witch strong enough to control a boggart may also have a familiar doing her bidding. Most likely it’s that owl. If so, the witch will already know what’s happened to her boggart. Just as she’ll know now that we’re very close to her cottage.”

  We settled down in the trees just within sight of the cottage, ready for a long vigil. The spook had told me that we had to stay alert and couldn’t afford to sleep even for a moment. We’d only been there about ten minutes or so when I started to feel unwell. It was as if someone very strong had me in a bear hug and was squeezing my chest. I couldn’t get my breath and started to gasp and choke.

  The spook turned toward me. “You all right, boy?” he asked.

  “I’m finding it hard to breathe,” I told him.

  “Have you ever had problems like this before?” he asked.

  I shook my head. It was getting difficult to speak. But after a few moments the pain went away and I could breathe more easily. My brow was wet with sweat, but I was relieved. It felt so good just to be able to fill my lungs and not fight for air. But my relief was short-lived. Within minutes the pain came back, worse than ever. This time the constriction of my chest was so tight that I couldn’t breathe at all. I lurched to my feet in panic, the world spun about me, and I felt myself falling into darkness.

  CHAPTER V

  The Silver Chain

  THE next thing I knew, I was lying on my back looking up at the moon through the bare branches of a tree.

  The spook helped me to sit up. “It’s the witch,” he told me. “She’s using that lock of your hair to do you harm. I thought you were a goner then. You see, she’s trying to force my hand. She wants me to face her now, while it’s still dark and her powers are in the ascendancy. So I don’t have any choice—the next time she might kill you. You’ll have to come with me; it’s far too dangerous to leave you out here alone. Your best chance is still to stick close to me.”

  He helped me to my feet. I felt weak but stumbled after him as he made directly for the cottage. We hadn’t taken more than a dozen paces when I began to feel ill again. But this time it was different. Rather than feeling breathless, my body was now so heavy and weary I could hardly take another step.

  Then I began to see things beneath the trees—objects that shone white in the moonlight. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead and ran into my eyes. I was about to call out to the spook when he came to a sudden halt and motioned with his staff that I should stop too. When he turned slowly back to face me, the moonlight illuminating his face, I could see he also had sweat on his brow.

  “How are you, boy? You don’t look well to me. Not well at all.”

  “Is it the witch again?” I asked. “I feel really sluggish and heavy.”

  “Yes, she’s the one who’s making you feel like that—that’s certain. She’s not using your lock of hair though, because I can feel it, too. See those bones over there?” he asked, pointing with his staff.

  He indicated one of the white things I’d noticed. Now I could see that it was actually a heap of small bones, those of a rabbit, long since dead. I glanced about and saw other similar mounds. Some were the bones of birds; a particularly large pile in the distance looked like the remains of a deer.

  “We’re right on the edge of a dark magic snare,” said the spook. “It’s what we call a bone yard. Anything that enters the snare’s in trouble right away. Your bones start to get heavy. After a while you can’t move at all and die a slow death of starvation—that’s if you’ve not gone too far in. Later the witch comes to collect the bones she needs for her spells. She can make do with animals, but she’s really waiting for a person to blunder into her yard. Right near the center, victims suffer a speedier death. Their bones become so heavy they’re crushed to powder. Now we need to start walking backward, boy. Do it nice and slowly and take deep breaths—otherwise you might faint, and there’s no way I’d be able to carry you out of this trap.”

  I did as he instructed, breathing evenly and deeply and taking slow backward steps. It was hard, and I began to sweat with the exertion. At one point I almost lost my balance and just managed to recover in time. Falling would be as bad as fainting. Gradually the heaviness of my body eased, and eventually I felt quite comfortable in my skin again.

  “Now follow me. We need to skirt this trap and go the long way round,” the spook told me.

  As we took a roundabout route toward the witch’s lair, a thought struck me. “I was lucky not to stumble into that snare yesterday when I first saw the cottage,” I commented.

  “Luck wasn’t involved, boy. That spider spell the witch spun to lure you to her door would have guaranteed that you got there safely. It tugged you along by the safest path. Anyway, now we come to the dangerous part. I’ve got to go in and find where she’s hiding.”

  We were at the edge of the trees and could now see the front of the cottage. Getting inside would be easy. The door was hanging open as if inviting us to enter, but it was utterly dark within. The spook led us forward but paused at the threshold. He placed his staff on the ground and took the lantern from his bag, lighting it at once. Next he pulled out his silver chain and coiled it around his left wrist before handing the bag to me.

  “You’ll have to carry that for now, boy. Bring my staff, too, and hand it to me if I need it.”

  “How will I know when to hand it to you?”

  He gave me a withering look, then smiled grimly. “Because I’ll shout for it so loud it’ll blow your ears off! Look, just stay alert. As we search the cottage, stay five steps behind me. I need room to work. I’m going to try and bind the witch with my chain. That’s our best hope of dealing with her quickly.”

  So saying, he turned, picked up the lantern with his right hand, and led the way into the witch’s cottage. I followed close behind, carrying his heavy bag and staff, my knees starting to tremble. The lantern was casting strange shadows on the walls and ceiling, and I started to feel very cold. The unnatural cold that warns that something from the dark is very near.

  The spook advanced slowly and cautiously through the small front room and into the kitchen. The witch could be anywhere and might attack at any moment. He glanced at the heap of bones in the corner and shook his head; then, sighing deeply, he began to climb the stairs. I followed at a distance, my legs trembling with every step. My back was now to the kitchen, and I didn’t know if I was more afraid of what might lie in wait ahead of us or what might lurch out of the darkness behind. I could almost feel the witch’s talons clawing at my ankles as I climbed. I glanced nervously over my shoulder, but the kitchen was empty. We checked each bedroom in turn. Again, nothing. We would have to go down to the cellar. The prospect of that scared me more than anything. I hated
cellars. It brought back memories of my recurring nightmare. That, and the time my dad had thrown me into the cellar at home and nailed the door shut.

  We went down to the kitchen again, and the spook strode purposefully toward the cellar steps. I let him go down five before I began my own slow descent. There was a bend in the stair; beyond it, the steps continued down at right angles. When he reached that bend, the spook held the lantern high. I was facing his left-hand side, and from the expression on his face and the way his whole body suddenly straightened, I knew that he could see the witch waiting below.

  I was right! He uncoiled the silver chain with one flick of his wrist and prepared to cast it downward. But no sooner had he done so than the ground seemed to move beneath my feet. That was impossible. How could solid stone steps do that? But whatever I felt, farther down the effect must have been much stronger. Before he could cast the chain, the spook tottered, lost his balance, then fell headlong and was lost to view.

  Instantly I was plunged into darkness. The spook, chain, and lantern were down in the cellar. He was at the mercy of the witch. My heart hammering, I turned to flee. I could do nothing against a witch. How could I help him? I had to get away or she’d take my bones, too.

  But then something stopped me. What it was or why I changed my mind, I can’t explain to this day. Maybe it was self-preservation, because if I abandoned the spook, the witch would still have a lock of my hair. Later, she could release the boggart and send it after me. Or perhaps it was something inside me—the courage that a spook needs in order to face the dark and do his dangerous job.

  Whatever it was, I edged cautiously down the steps and, hardly able to believe what I was doing, my heart pounding in my chest, peered around the corner. Rather than looking down into absolute darkness, I could see almost everything in the cellar. The lantern was lying on its side but hadn’t gone out. The spook was on all fours, head hanging, forehead almost touching the floor. The witch was crouching over him with a knife in her hand. In just moments she’d take his life. But so intent was she upon her evil business that she didn’t look up and see me on the steps. No doubt she’d expected me to be long gone.