Alice (14 page)

I thought at first that she was going to refuse, but then she nodded. ‘My name’s Betsy Gammon and I’ll give you just five minutes of my time.’

With that, she stood aside, so I followed Lizzie inside. Betsy led us to the rear of the house and into the kitchen. It was dirty, full of rubbish, and there were flies everywhere, most of them disgusting big bluebottles. There was a small door on the right, and she opened it and began to descend some narrow stone steps, her candle sending scary shadows onto the wall. When we reached the cellar, I gazed about me in astonishment.

It was huge – at least three or four times the area of
the farmhouse above. At some point, a great deal of excavation had been carried out – the reason, I realized, for the huge pile of soil next to the house. About half the cellar was taken up by a big pit full of water, but on a huge earthen shelf there were several tables and more than twenty stools. In the far corner lay four of those tubular skelt cages. Two of them were occupied; the creatures stared at us with hungry eyes, their long bone-tubes jutting out through the bars and quivering with anticipation.

Betsy settled herself down on a stool and stared up at us shrewdly. She didn’t invite us to sit. ‘Well,’ she said at last, ‘tell me what your proposal is.’

Although the woman wasn’t a witch, there was something very threatening about her. She was one of the most horrible people I’d ever met – and that says a lot when you come from a village of Pendle witches as I do.

‘Summon twelve of the sisters first,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’ll put it to all of ’em while you tell me what they say.’

Betsy Gammon shook her head. ‘I don’t think you understand what’s what here. Not very bright, most of them, are they? So they listen to me and do exactly what I say. They’ve got the talons and teeth, and I’ve got the brains.’ She tapped her head and gave us an evil smile. ‘So don’t waste any more of my time. Explain fully why you’re here! It don’t do to mess with Betsy!’

Lizzie’s face had gone red with anger and she began to mutter under her breath.

‘And don’t waste your Pendle spells on me!’ Betsy cried. ‘I’ve no magic of my own but I’m shielded by the sisters. Your
spells can’t hurt me. And all I have to do is whistle, and twenty or more of those I keep will surge up out of that pit and rip you and the girl to shreds. I’ve half a mind to do it anyway!’ She lurched to her feet.

I jumped up in terror, but then Lizzie spoke. ‘Nay, hear us out . . .’ Her voice was surprisingly gentle, placating the woman. ‘I didn’t know how it was here, but you’ve put us right. I can see that you run things. Here, let me show you something . . .’

Lizzie pulled the egg out of her pocket, slowly unfolded the blue silken cloth and showed it to Betsy. ‘There’s power in this, lots of power!’ she exclaimed, eyes bright with excitement. ‘Stole it from a spook, I did. And a coven could get that power for itself. I’m offering to share it with those you keep.’

Betsy scowled at Lizzie, her little piggy eyes almost lost within her bloated face. ‘Why would you come here when you could share it with your own clan back in Pendle?’

‘Had a falling out with my sisters there,’ Lizzie lied smoothly. ‘Almost sent the Malkin assassin after me, they did. Best I stay away until things cool down a bit. That’s why I’ve come to you.’

‘You’re as good as dead if they send Grimalkin after you . . .’ Betsy nodded in agreement, her voice softening too. ‘So, tell me: what needs be done to get that power?’

‘It’s a full moon three nights from now,’ said Lizzie. ‘It has to be done then. We need to sacrifice seven children and drip their blood onto the egg. Then the whole coven performing this rite gets power. Each one of us can make any wish and it’ll come true within seven days!’

Lizzie was crafty, she was. I remembered the exact wording of what the egg had said:

Give me the heart’s blood of seven human children on the night of a full moon. Give me thirteen witches united in that deed, and I will give the one who holds the egg her heart’s desire! More power than she has ever dreamed of. Once my need is met, let her think only upon what she wishes, and it will be done within seven days
.

Lizzie would be holding the egg, and only she would get her wish. The others would be cheated. And to achieve that, seven children would be murdered.

I KNEW LIZZIE
killed people for their bones. I knew she probably sometimes murdered children – though she’d never done it in front of me before.

There was nothing I could do. If I made a fuss, it would be my bones she’d take. She didn’t have to spell it out. I knew how it was.

But this was worse than anything that had happened so far.

Seven children were going to be murdered so that Lizzie could get her wish from that evil leather egg. And this time I would be right there in the thick of it.

I’d be as guilty as Lizzie.

I had never wanted to be a witch, but what choice had I been given?

I like to think I was upset on the awful night Lizzie came to claim me, but I don’t remember crying. My mam and dad had been cold and dead in the damp earth for three days, and I still hadn’t managed to shed a single tear – though it wasn’t for want of trying. Tried to remember the good times, I really did. And there were a few, despite the fact that they fought like cat and dog and clouted me harder than they ever hit each other. I mean, you should be upset, shouldn’t you? It’s your own mam and dad that have just died, so you should be able to squeeze out one tear at least.

It wasn’t until much later that I found out that they weren’t my real mam and dad after all. Not only that, they’d been murdered by Lizzie, using a spell that made their blood grow hot and bubble within their veins so that later it appeared as if they’d just died of a fever. She’d done it so that she could control me and teach me the dark arts.

I had an aunt, Agnes Sowerbutts, and she was kind to me and took me in. But Lizzie wanted me herself, so that was that. The night she came for me there was a bad storm, forks of Fiend-lightning sizzling across the sky and crashes of thunder shaking the walls of the cottage and rattling the pots and pans.

But that was nowt compared to what Lizzie did. All day I’d been nervous, waiting for her to come calling, but Agnes had scryed that it would most likely be after dark – Lizzie’s favourite time. At last there was a hammering on the door fit to wake the rotting dead, and when Agnes drew back the bolt,
Bony Lizzie strode into the room, her black hair matted with rain, water streaming from her cape to cascade onto the stone flags. Poor Agnes was scared, but she stood her ground, bravely placing herself between me and Lizzie.

But I wasn’t brave at all. I was terrified – so much so that my knees knocked together and big sobs kept snatching my breath away.

‘Leave the girl alone!’ Agnes said calmly. ‘Her home is with me now. She’ll be well looked after, don’t you worry.’

Lizzie’s first response was a sneer. They say there’s a family resemblance, but I could never have twisted my face the way she did that night. It was enough to turn the milk sour, or send the cat shrieking up the chimney as if Old Nick himself were reaching for its tail.

I’d always done my best to keep out of Aunt Lizzie’s way. It had been over a year since I’d last seen her and she was scarier than ever. But the day before, news had reached us that she wanted me to live with her. Agnes was supposed to take me to Lizzie’s cottage, but I’d pleaded with her not to, and she’d sent word that she wouldn’t do it. We’d both known that wouldn’t be the end of it.

‘The girl belongs to me, Sowerbutts,’ Lizzie said, her voice cold and quiet, filled with malice. ‘We share the same dark blood. I can teach her what she has to know. I’m the one she needs.’

I’d known that Lizzie wanted me to live with her but hadn’t realized she wanted to train me as a witch. That came as a real shock.

I remember thinking that she was just about the
last
thing I needed, but as I said, I was really scared and kept my mouth shut.

‘Alice needn’t be a witch like you!’ Agnes retorted. ‘Her mam and dad weren’t witches, so why should she follow your dark path? Leave her be. Leave the girl with me and go about your business.’

‘She’s the blood of a witch inside her and that’s enough!’ Lizzie hissed angrily. ‘You’re just an outsider and not fit to raise the girl.’

It wasn’t true. Agnes was a Deane, all right, but she’d married a good honest man from Whalley, an ironmonger. When he’d died she’d returned to Roughlee, where the Deane witch clan made its home.

‘I’m her aunt and I’ll be a mother to her now,’ Agnes retorted. She still spoke bravely, but her face was pale, and I could see her plump chin wobbling, her hands fluttering and trembling with fear.

By now I’d edged away into the far corner of the room, wondering if I could slip away into the kitchen, reach the back door and make a run for it. I knew that the argument between Lizzie and Agnes wouldn’t last long. I knew who’d win.

Next thing, Lizzie stamped her left foot. It was as easy as that. In the twinkling of an eye, the fire died in the grate, the candles flickered and went out, and the whole room became instantly dark, cold and terrifying. I heard Agnes cry out in terror, and I was screaming myself, desperate to flee. I would have run through the closed door, jumped through a window or
even scrabbled my way up the chimney. I’d have done anything, just to escape.

But I couldn’t move a muscle; I was paralysed with fear.

I did get out, but with Lizzie at my side. She just seized me by the wrist and dragged me off into the night. It was no use trying to resist – she was too strong and held me tight, her nails digging into my skin. I belonged to her now, and there was no way she was ever going to let me go. And that night she began my training as a witch. It was the start of all my troubles.

That was how it had begun with Lizzie, and my training had indeed been hard and unpleasant.

With the murder of seven children it was going to get a whole lot worse.

I was about to take the first proper step towards becoming a malevolent witch. If I helped Lizzie with this, there would be no going back.

Betsy put two fingers in her mouth and gave a piercing shriek. It was enough to make your ears bleed. Something surged up out of the water and landed on its feet on the soft ground facing her. Muddy water went everywhere, and I took a quick step backwards.

It was a water witch, wearing rags covered in green and brown scum, her hair matted, face filthy with muck. I’d seen those murderous talons before, but what I hadn’t noticed was the deadly feet. The witch had webbed toes, each one ending in a sharp talon. I guessed they would propel her fast through the water; she could fight, cut and kill with all four limbs.

Betsy Gammon began to talk to her in the language of
the water witches. Most of it was made up of grunts and other noises – something between a bark and an old tom-cat spitting up a hairball. But there were a few words I recognized: ‘blood’ and ‘skelt’ were two that I would have expected to be part of the conversation between a water witch and her keeper, and both were uttered several times.

I also heard the name ‘Arkwright’ – which didn’t surprise me. The local spook must be an ever-present danger to these witches. He hunted them down with his two fearsome dogs and kept them away from the monastery ruins, a place that was sacred to them. There was also the considerable danger that he would one day discover the whereabouts of this farm and put an end to their keeper, scattering the witches and making their activities as a coven more difficult. They must be using powerful magic to cloak the building and keep the dogs from following the scent of a witch here. But how long could they keep that up? The use of magic could be very taxing; it must require a good deal of blood.

In reply to Betsy’s long monologue, the water witch gave just a single grunt before turning and diving back into the water with hardly a splash. She didn’t even look at us. When she had disappeared, the keeper turned to confront Lizzie again.

‘It will be done,’ she said. ‘But first we need children. It’s best to have more than seven. Extras always come in useful – skelts love their sweet young blood. They must be taken from the east – well away from the local spook’s territory. We will supply twelve brats. You must bring us the thirteenth. We all contribute. Isn’t that fair?’

I shuddered, but Lizzie agreed. ‘Aye, that’s very fair. I’ll do my share.’

‘Then be back here one night before the full moon and bring your sacrifice! But first I’ll cook you some supper. It’s best to dine together to seal a bargain.’

I didn’t fancy eating anything out of that dirty kitchen, but I didn’t have much choice, did I?

‘Gammon by name and gammon’s what I love to eat!’ Betsy cackled as if this were a great joke, and then bade us sit at the grimy table and handed out plates.

She’d cooked the gammon so that it melted in my mouth. The problem was, it immediately sent me into a coughing fit. Gammon is always on the salty side, but this was almost inedible, and I found myself choking.

Lizzie nibbled a little, trying to hide her annoyance at being given salty gammon. Then I saw her slyly spit it out under the table when Betsy wasn’t looking. Witches had an aversion to salt. Even in food, it could be dangerous. Betsy knew that only too well and was enjoying Lizzie’s discomfort.