The Spook's Blood (Wardstone Chronicles) (10 page)

But the Spook was quickly proved wrong, for I soon found a book by one of his ex-apprentices – none other than Judd Brinscall!

‘Look at this!’ I cried, handing the book to him. It was a slim volume entitled
A Study of the Moroii
.

My master nodded in appreciation. ‘He was a good apprentice, lad, one of the few who completed his time to my satisfaction. And during his travels abroad he’s added to our store of knowledge. Moroii are Romanian elemental spirits. And I can tell that he knows his business because he’s spelled moroii with two “i”s at the end, which is correct for the plural. He must have given this to Mistress Fresque. I’d certainly like it for my new Chipenden library.’

After more than three hours of debate and selection we had piled about three hundred and fifty books on the table. ‘It’s getting late, lad. I think it’s time we were off. We’ll come back first thing tomorrow,’ said the Spook, putting his hand on my shoulder.

‘Aren’t we going to take up Mistress Fresque’s offer to stay the night?’

‘I think it’s best if we get back to the tavern. There are a few things that I need to think through,’ said the Spook, pulling the
cord
twice. I could hear nothing but knew that somewhere a bell would be ringing.

Within a minute Mistress Fresque had joined us; she smiled when she caught sight of the books on the table. ‘I see that you have been busy.’

‘That we have, but now we’re tired,’ said the Spook. ‘So we’ll come back in the morning, if you don’t mind.’

‘Won’t you stay here tonight?’ she said, looking very disappointed. ‘You really are most welcome. I get so few visitors and would love to offer you further hospitality.’

‘Your offer is very kind, but we don’t want to put you to any trouble. Before we go there is one thing I’d like to ask  . . . ’

The Spook went over to the table and picked up the book by Judd Brinscall. ‘This book by Judd – how would you feel if I bought it?’

‘Judd gave it to me knowing that it would be safe here. But it is probably better suited to your new collection,’ she replied. ‘I have looked at the book – it is an excellent study of the elementals of my homeland.’

‘You have lived most of your life in Romania?’ my master asked.

‘Yes, I was raised there. But my uncle left the country as a boy and spent most of his life in your land. On his death I came here to claim what he left me – this house and library and a very small income from his investments. I cannot draw on the capital – hence my need to sell books.’

* * *

After taking our leave we walked back through the trees towards the river. My master seemed lost in thought.

‘Is there something wrong?’ I asked.

The Spook nodded. ‘It’s just my instincts – they’re telling me to be on my guard. Tell me, lad, when we were talking to Mistress Fresque, did you have any sense of a warning coldness? Anything at all?’

The Spook was asking if I had experienced the chill that told me something evil was close by. As seventh sons of seventh sons, we had the ability to sense witches, mages and other servants of the dark.

I shook my head. ‘I felt nothing. Not the slightest hint.’

‘Neither did I, lad. But some types of witch have the power to block our sensitivity to such things.’

‘But earlier, just before we entered the house, I did sense something wrong. A feeling that we were being watched; that something dangerous was lurking close by,’ I told my master.

‘Well, that’s one more reason to be alert and ready for anything.’

‘Do you think she
might
be a witch?’ I asked.

‘I’m not jumping to conclusions, lad, but there are a few things bothering me. Why were there such a large number of books about the dark in that library? What would be the motive for acquiring them? Did her uncle have a special interest in such matters? If it weren’t for the fact that Judd is a friend of hers, I’d be more than suspicious.’

‘Do you trust Judd?’

The Spook nodded. ‘He was a good apprentice, and once I’d have trusted him with my life. But folks can change  . . . ’

‘There’s something else too,’ I told him. ‘She saw you holding the
Doomdryte
and I’ll swear that, for a moment, she looked furious.’

‘Then let’s see how she reacts tomorrow when we tell her it’s one of the books we’ve selected.’

WE LEFT BENT
Lane, made our way down to the riverbank, crossed the bridge and walked on until we reached the tavern. The sun was an orange orb sitting on the horizon, but it was already closed and locked. The Spook hammered on the front door with his staff several times. It was a while before the innkeeper unlocked it. He glanced towards the setting sun.

‘Another five minutes and you’d have been too late,’ he remarked. ‘And you’re certainly too late for supper.’

‘We’ve eaten already,’ my master told him. ‘Two rooms will do. And we’d like breakfast at the crack of dawn.’

Muttering to himself, the landlord locked and bolted the door behind us and then showed us to our rooms. As he
was
about to leave us, the Spook asked him a question.

‘We hope to conclude our business with Mistress Fresque tomorrow and need to transport quite a large quantity of books. Do you know of anyone who might have a horse and cart for hire?’

The man scowled and shook his head. ‘Nobody this side of the river will want to cross that bridge. We keep ourselves to ourselves.’

Before we could question him further, he left the room, still muttering under his breath.

‘Well, that’s a job for you tomorrow, lad. But first you can come up to the house and help me make a final choice.’

We retired to our own rooms, and it wasn’t long before I drifted off into a dreamless sleep. However, for some reason I kept waking up. It seemed a very long night.

We had to wait over an hour for our breakfast because the innkeeper didn’t rise until the sun was well up over the horizon.

The Spook wasn’t best pleased but he didn’t complain. We left our bags in our rooms and, clutching our staffs, were soon walking up Bent Lane once more.

‘The service at the tavern isn’t very good,’ I remarked.

‘That’s very true, lad,’ my master replied. ‘But we have to make allowances. The innkeeper is a frightened man. I’m beginning to think that there’s some threat from the dark on this side of the river. Or maybe there has been in the past. I’d like to get back to Chipenden with the books as soon as
possible
, but I think we should pay Todmorden another visit in the very near future.’

When Mistress Fresque showed us to the library, there was something a little colder or perhaps more hesitant in her manner. I looked about me and for a moment I grew dizzy. The feeling passed very quickly, but for a moment the shape of the room had appeared to change – along with the atrium. Yesterday I could have sworn it was a perfect circle. Today it looked more like an oval. Was I imagining it? I was probably just tired, I thought – I hadn’t slept well.

She gestured at the table. ‘You are going to make your final selection from these?’ she asked.

‘Mostly,’ said the Spook, ‘but we’ll examine the shelves once more just in case we’ve missed anything.’

‘I’m sorry, but there is a book here that I cannot allow to leave the library.’ She pointed to the
Doomdryte
, which she had set apart from the rest.

‘I’m sorry too,’ said my master with a frown. ‘But I must have the
Doomdryte
at all costs. It’s an extremely dangerous book and one that must not fall into the wrong hands. I would buy it in order to destroy it. If it is the price that bothers you, I am willing to pay a great deal of money to take it away from here. But once again I’d have to stagger my payments.’

Mistress Fresque smiled. ‘With reference to that book my hands are tied. In my uncle’s will there is a codicil that lists the books which must always remain in this collection. That book is on the list. Every year a lawyer comes to check that they are still present in this library. If they are not, I forfeit the house.’
There
was a finality about her words that gave my master no room for manoeuvre.

‘Is Judd around?’ he asked. ‘I’d like to have a few words with him.’

‘He set off early on business,’ she replied, returning the forbidden book to the shelves before leaving us without another word.

We continued our work in silence. I knew that my master was thinking hard, but short of stealing the book there was nothing he could do. John Gregory was an honourable man and certainly no thief.

At last, after another search of the shelves, we narrowed our choice of books down to three hundred and five.

‘Right, lad, we’re just about finished, so get yourself across the river and find us someone willing to cart these books to Chipenden.’

I nodded and, carrying my staff, set off through the trees towards the bridge. It was late afternoon and the air was still warm and heavy with the drone of insects. I was glad when I emerged from under those leafy branches into the open air. The sky was cloudless and there was just the lightest of breezes from the west.

Crossing the bridge back to the County side of the town, I noticed that, in contrast to the bustle of the previous day, it was almost deserted. It suddenly struck me that the innkeeper was right – hiring a horse and cart would be no easy task. But it proved even harder than I expected. The first two men I approached hurried wordlessly past me, a look of disapproval
in
their eyes. Strangers just weren’t welcome here. Or was it the fact that I was wearing the hood and gown of a spook and carrying a staff? Because spooks dealt with the dark, people were always nervous around us and sometimes even crossed the road to avoid us. But accustomed as I was to such reactions, this seemed more extreme. I felt sure that something was wrong about this place.

In a carpenter’s workshop I had my first piece of luck. The man rested his saw long enough to listen to my question. Then he nodded.

‘There’s no townie here does that kind of work, but old Billy Benson has a horse and cart and he’s always short of money. Maybe he’d do it if the price was right.’

‘Thanks. Where will I find him?’ I asked.

‘At Benson’s Farm, of course,’ the man replied in a tone that suggested that
everyone
knew that. ‘Go north out of the town; it’s over the top of the moors. You’ll see the track. He runs a few scraggy sheep.’

‘How far is it?’ I asked.

‘You’re young and fit. Shake yourself and you could be there and back by nightfall.’

Mumbling thanks for the second time, I left the premises and set off at a jog. What choice did I have? No doubt the Spook would be unhappy that I was taking so long, but we really did need the transport.

It soon became apparent that I was not likely to return to Todmorden by nightfall. It took me well over two hours to reach the end of the meandering track across the moors. As I
walked
, my thoughts turned once more to Alice and the lies I had told her. My heart felt heavy, and I thought of the future with dread. It seemed we were growing apart. With her increasing use of dark magic, we were following diverging paths.

The farmhouse, when I finally reached it, was a small ramshackle building with slates missing from the roof. When I knocked on the door there was no reply, but I was pleased to see a couple of horses tethered behind the house, and a cart that, although it had clearly seen far better days, at least had four wheels. Mr Benson was no doubt out tending his sheep.

I waited almost an hour, and was just about to give up and go back to Todmorden when a wiry old farmer with a collie at his heels came into view.

‘Be off with you!’ he cried, waving his stick at me. ‘Strangers ain’t welcome here! Be off or I’ll set my dog on you!’

I stood my ground and waited for him to reach me. The dog didn’t look particularly fierce but I held my staff at the ready just in case.

‘I’ve come with an offer of work,’ I told him. ‘You’ll be well paid. We need some books transporting to Chipenden. I was told you had a cart.’

‘Aye, that I do, and I certainly need some brass. But books?
Books
, did you say? I’ve carted some things in my time: coal, manure, mutton, even people, but never books. What is the world coming to! Where are these books?’ he asked, looking around as if expecting to see them piled up somewhere.