The Spook's Blood (Wardstone Chronicles) (12 page)

Concentrate! Squeeze time! Make it stop!

It was working. I was beginning to control time. Every step the creature took towards me was slower. Its whole body was rippling with urgency but now it was hardly moving. Now
I
was running towards it. I hefted the sword, putting into the blow all the strength that I could muster – along with the fury and anguish I felt at the news about my master.

The blade sliced into the creature’s neck, cutting the head clean off. It hit the floor hard and rolled away into the dust
under
the bookshelves. The body tottered and took another step towards me, black blood spraying out of the severed neck. Then it collapsed at my feet, the blood forming a widening pool around it.

I’d felt a strange satisfaction on striking that blow. It was almost as if the blade had moved with me; we’d combined to deliver the perfect killing stroke. Grimalkin had trained me in its use, but I’d moved on from that. It truly was the Destiny Blade; our futures were now bound together.

I stepped back to avoid the blood, but I didn’t sheathe the sword. Some creatures of the dark had incredible powers of regeneration, so I had to stay on my guard. But this one did something else.

The orange light that had illuminated the creature from within suddenly floated up to form a helix, a slowly twisting spiral that hovered just above the body, then shot off, passing through the wall to my left and disappearing from sight.

Immediately a nauseating stench of rot filled the room. The body at my feet was just visible in the glow of the ruby eyes in the sword hilt. It began to bubble, an acrid steam rising from it. I stepped back, placing one hand in front of my mouth. It was decomposing rapidly. What had left it? I wondered. Its soul? What kind of creature was I dealing with?

With a heavy heart I remembered what it had said about the Spook. Could he
really
be dead? It was hard to accept. A lump came into my throat. I couldn’t just leave the house without being sure one way or the other. I needed to search for him.

I lit the candle stub again and approached the other door; the
one
that Mistress Fresque had used. I had assumed that it led to her living quarters, but to my surprise I found myself in a very small room with stone steps going down into the darkness.

What was below – a cellar? Is that where she’d gone each time she’d left us? Did the bell ring somewhere down there?

I began to descend the steps, the sword in my right hand, the candle held aloft in my left. I had switched them because the staircase curved away widdershins, in an anti-clockwise direction, and this way I had more room to deploy the blade. I was counting the steps, and realized that the cellar must be very deep. My count had already reached forty when they straightened out, and I saw below me what looked like the cellar floor. After two more steps I came to a halt. In the small pool of yellow light cast by the candle I could see bones scattered across the floor. One glance told me that they were human; some were covered in blood. I could see a skull and part of a forearm amongst the other fragments. This was the lair of creatures who fed on the blood and flesh of humans. I wondered if any of these bones belonged to my master.

I suddenly realized that there could well be another creature like the one I’d slain. Perhaps Mistress Fresque was waiting down here in the darkness, ready to leap on me.

Then I heard a noise, and a cold gust of wind blew out the candle again. I waited, hardly breathing, and put the stub in my breeches pocket. Then I gripped my sword with both hands and went into a crouch, ready to defend myself. The blade began to glow once more, and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness I saw red points of light moving towards me. There were
a
dozen or more. I heard a low growl to my right; another directly ahead. I began to tremble, and the ruby-red light from the sword quickly faded. There were eyes – too many eyes! How many of the creatures were there?

In a panic, I turned and ran up the steps, away from the threat. I blundered across the library, crashing into shelves, feeling rotten wood crunching beneath my boots. My terror intensified when I couldn’t find the door, but the light from the sword flared briefly, showing me the way. I hurried along the passage and out of the house.

Once on the path, I started running. Once again I heard noises, as if some large creature was keeping pace with me. That made me run even faster, and soon I’d left Bent Lane behind and was sprinting through the deserted streets.

I didn’t stop until I’d crossed the bridge. Even then I didn’t feel safe, and after I’d got my breath back I walked on until I’d left Todmorden behind. And as I walked I thought of Judd. What was his part in all this? He had visited Chipenden to hasten our visit to Todmorden. Surely he must have known what he was leading us into. I felt bitter and angry. Was he another of the Spook’s apprentices who had gone to the dark?

Then, on the edge of the moors, I sheathed the sword, crawled under a hawthorn hedge and, completely exhausted, fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

I awoke to find that the sun was already high in the sky. My mouth was dry and my limbs ached, but the worst thing was my sense of shame. I had run from the threat in the cellar. No – not just run: I had fled in a cowardly panic. I’d been a spook’s
apprentice
for more than three years now, but I couldn’t recall another occasion when I’d behaved so shamefully. I’d faced terrible things from the dark and somehow found the courage to stand and fight. So what had been different this time? All I could think of was that the years of fear, fighting the dark and being in continual danger had finally taken its toll. What if I’d lost my courage? How then could I function as a spook?

And there was something even worse to face. What if my master was still alive? I’d abandoned him. He deserved better than that – much better. I got to my feet and began to walk slowly back towards Todmorden. This time I would stand and fight.

IT WAS ALMOST
noon, but there were no hawkers or market stalls; few people were about on the west side of the town. As I walked through the narrow streets, I counted no more than half a dozen, and the last of these, the old gentleman with the stick we’d spoken to before, hobbled across to the other side of the street to avoid me. Then, as I approached the river, I saw Mr Benson sitting on his cart amongst the trees, some distance from the bridge.

‘Where are these books of yours?’ he demanded. ‘I haven’t got all day. They should be piled up here, ready to load onto the cart. My horses are getting nervous.’

For a moment I considered asking him to wait in case my
master
was hurt and needed a ride, but I saw that it was a waste of time. The two horses were rolling their eyes and sweating excessively. I had to do this alone.

‘I’m sorry,’ I told him, ‘but there won’t be any books to carry today – here’s something for your trouble.’

I reached into my breeches pocket, pulled out a few coins and held them up to him.

‘Is that all?’ he asked angrily, snatching them from my hand. ‘It’s hardly worth getting out of bed for that!’ He whipped the horses twice, brought the cart round and headed off without so much as a backward glance.

I headed for the river, but when I came to the dilapidated wooden bridge, a tremor of fear ran through me. On the other side, the servants of the dark lay in wait for me, and judging by the glowing eyes in the cellar there were a lot of them – far too many for me to face alone. But it had to be done. I had to find out what had happened to my master or I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

I took one step, and then another. I kept putting one foot in front of the other until I was standing on the eastern bank of the river. It was daylight, I told myself, and the sun was shining. My enemies would have to take refuge in darkness, somewhere underground. I would be safe unless I left behind the light of the sun. But wasn’t that exactly what I would have to do? I needed to find the Spook. At some point I would have to search the cellar.

I began to climb up Bent Lane towards the house of Mistress
Fresque
. As I walked, I remembered something else – another failure, a further dereliction of duty. When I fled the house I should have taken the
Doomdryte
with me and destroyed it. It was something that my master would certainly have done. I could imagine him now, telling me off for making that mistake. Would I ever hear his voice again? I wondered.

It was gloomy beneath the trees, but this time I could hear nothing following me. When I saw the house, I realized that the door was no longer hanging open. I stepped round the tree, drew the Destiny Blade and rapped upon it with the hilt.

Almost immediately I heard footsteps approaching. The door opened and Mistress Fresque stood there, pointing at my sword with a frown on her face.

‘Put that away!’ she commanded. ‘You will not need that while I am at your side.’

When I hesitated, a smile came to her lips but her eyes were hard. She was still young and pretty, but now there was an imperiousness to her manner – something she had hidden previously. ‘Trust me,’ she said, her voice softening a little. ‘I bid you enter. This time when you enter freely across the threshold of my home you will be under my protection.’

What was I to do? Although she was an attractive young woman, I knew that she must be allied with dark forces. One part of me wanted to push her aside and force myself into her house; the other thought it more prudent to accept her offer of safe conduct. By so doing, I might find answers to the questions that were spinning around inside my head.

When I had sheathed my sword, the smile spread to her eyes. ‘Enter freely and be safe!’ She stepped aside to allow me to cross the threshold. ‘Follow me,’ she said, leading me down the passage towards the library. The wainscot was now clean and shining and the house smelled sweet and wholesome. The library was once again as I had first seen it with the Spook, the shelves orderly and filled with books. And our selection of volumes lay on the table once more. Some type of extremely powerful dark magic was at work here.

But there was one change to the room that made me halt just inside the doorway. In the middle of the floor lay a skeleton. The bones were yellow-brown and old and the head was missing. I glanced to my right and saw a skull lying beside the bookcase to my right. My broken staff was beside it. These must be the remains of the creature I had slain.

‘That was my partner,’ said Mistress Fresque, gesturing towards the skeleton. ‘We lived together happily for many years until you encountered him last night!’

‘I’m sorry that you lost him,’ I said, keeping my voice even. ‘But it was him or me. And I think he killed my master, John Gregory.’

‘He would indeed have killed you, but you are wrong to think that he is no more. I did not lose
him
– merely the body that he had inhabited for many years. He will soon find another host – I hope it is to my taste!’ she said with a smile. ‘Then, in revenge for what you did, he will come looking for you, wanting to take
your
head.’

‘What kind of creatures are you?’ I asked.

‘I am a strigoica,’ she replied, ‘the female of our kind. My partner is a strigoi. We are from the Romanian province of Transylvania, which means, “The land beyond the forest”. We are daemons.’

‘Where is Judd Brinscall?’ I asked. ‘What part has he played in all this? When did he start to serve the dark?’

‘Do not concern yourself with him. He is close to death now. His life can be measured in nights or maybe even hours.’

‘Is that his reward for betraying us?’

Mistress Fresque frowned and tightened her lips. It was clear that she would not answer. So, despite my anxiety about the Spook, I remained calm and asked another question, determined to learn all I could, gathering knowledge just as my master would have done.

‘Why did you come here?’ I demanded.

‘There are many reasons for that, but we have kept ourselves to ourselves and lived here in happiness for some time, causing as little disruption as possible. Then I was ordered to lure you and your master to this place.’

‘Ordered? Who told you to do that?’

‘I cannot say. There are many from Romania who now dwell here. Most have arrived very recently. Some are very powerful and I have no choice but to obey them. They can call upon a terrible being that could obliterate me in an instant.’

‘Why were we tricked into coming here? So you could kill us?
You’ve
killed my master and now it’s my turn!’ I cried, reaching for my sword.